Some tears pour from my eyes and others from my heart. What once was a head-game and theory is now heartfelt and real. I have grown in my compassion, leaving qualification on the curb. Letters and notice mean so little in the full-out scheme of all the world; like fashion, what is true today, stood on and dependable, is next years joke and off-hand reference. The thump of the muscle deep within me is a compass I can trust. The daily tide of splash and rush can spring water to my face, but what rouses my spirit is much more. I needn’t worry for its receding or discount that it is faithful; it abides with me still and will keep me if I let it. Some sounds ring from my voice; others resonate from within, these are the ones that last.
Aim is as important as a strong arm.
I am not one to order an appetizer,
I prefer the main meal.
Even if I carry the majority of the entrée home
I like to have it all there before me.
Knowing there is enough, might I want it,
means peace of mind
and I can relax and eat what I wish.
That’s how much I fear.
Fear opening my mouth to ask for more.
Fear not anticipating my actual appetite.
Fear of having nothing to show for my evening out.
What could it all be like
had I felt free of rules and public policy
that must be carried out in private?
I might never know,
but what I do know is
that I need to overcome this.
Not because of starving children near or far,
not to eliminate the science experiments
of mold growth and wilted lettuce in my frig,
But in order that I have a chance to have my desert
and eat it too
and leave the rest unordered.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault