Letters

Purposefully Purist On My Own

(Written for the Le Mood festival, Nov. 2013)

What A Soul Wants to Hear

Why did you choose me? What did you see in my inner being? I was unsighted, unsought. You told me my hidden truth is in your mind. How did you notice me through all the bubbles and clouds? Can ours be a destiny intertwined? You said you see what I don’t know. Teach me to herald your light in mine. Convince me that we are G-d’s property.

Ambling In Re-creation

“I want to teach what we will create into the night,” I said to my wife. They shall be people who will in turn bless. “First I will teach you how to bless,” she warned. “We will color the sky with our love,” I promised. Bring the clear reds of honor and the yellow matchsticks of kindness. Our golden blues have hues that will not wince. Tell the children there is everlasting meaning in the silvery night, and then they will match our praises.

I want to investigate why anyone ever chooses to be invisible. Why did Adam and Eve hide from G-d? Was it because they shamed from the loveless low of lonely sex after the snake? They would never glimpse eternity without Shabbat. There is the purposeful obscure night and the daylight trite. But it’s youth who won’t be seen in the lunar sunlight. It’s that three-quarters light, waxing and waning, coming and going, that exposes their disingenuine intentions. No full commitment from flat embarrassment. How the void follows us! I ask my wife at each checkpoint: “Now where are we going?” When it becomes a twosome, there is fusion. And life is hopefully recreated without confusion. Hear the breathing of G-d into the nose, the breathing of what He knows. Here breeds the pair.

Birthing Only In Love

Every life wants worthwhile meaning. So why employ artifice and guile? The snake took shortcuts to beget. Adam and Chava – why did they bite? Are we lazy from birth? Was it being swaddled that made us feel complete? Please the work of championing life. Make it worthwhile to risk and even totter. A man must trust a G-d outside of himself to be created from G-d. Maybe the newborn in us cries when we gasp the air we never had inside the womb. We ate the food of our mother and heard the call of her voice through the glass walls of her stomach. Hurt with her screams and her overjoy upon birthing us into the air. Immediately we began a kiss on her nipple; our food came now along her skin. Our new world is on top of her tummy. Our life was nine months in the making.  All begin with this questing question: “Will I be this profound forever?” All want this every day. We shall not be beguiled nor beguile another, we vow. How long will this remain, we pray. How long do I retain?

I always wonder after I pray my morning, afternoon, and evening prayers, how long will I sustain before the prayers break up into petty smarts against the world? For how long does praying envelop its own poetic beauty? Should not a person become the poem of his own words? My mother and the woman I’ll marry – can I enact their biographies within me? Curl and not recoil?

The wag asks the fish what it thinks of the water and the fish answers “what water?” just as we answer “what do you think of the air?” until we choke out its pollution. It’s a poisonous life we must avoid. It’s a_voiding life. This is the should we shoulder and the shudder of the soldier.

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