Dreaming
waiting at the gates
a series of life dreams
flying flying flying
to the worlds on high
to the depths beneath
trying trying trying
dreaming there are dreams
schemes that are dreams
the past is a dream
sighing sighing sighing
messages are signposts at midnight
memories of sunsets fading
voices from guardian angels
coming coming coming
music in another dimension
the future vibrating thunder
drumming drumming drumming
alphabets of antiquity converging
from a shell a bird emerging
reversible faces always changing
a man through the day walking
dreaming dreaming dreaming
A Moment in Time
Sometimes
one finds a place
he wishes he could stay forever.
To freeze
a segment of time
before it melts away.
Wishing to hold on to the present
as if there was no tomorrow.
A few moments of perfection
( a parenthesis )
in the midst of a hectic life.
Striving for peace,
for the eternal,
for transcendent heights.
In the Desert
When the wind speaks to itself
in the desert
sheep keep on grazing
while shepherds
lift up their heads a bit -
looking for a sign.
When the wind sings a tune
in the desert
the sand dances
and the prophet gazes
intently into the future.
Silent and rolling
waves of hills
flow toward the horizon,
consciousness riding
along the crest.
For each time of day
there is the changing
of the color guard.
The silhouettes of morning
turn hazy in the afternoon
and then,
pink, red and purple promenade
in the kaleidoscope clouds
of the evening hue.
Each day has its beginning
and each life will reach its end;
footsteps in the sand
which are no longer -
still, every voice
and every step
are recorded in the dunes.
When the sun blazes
in the desert
shepherds gaze into the past
while prophets lift up their heads -
looking for a sign.
Dreams Die Hard
When young
I decided to forge
a new path
through the forest.
With enthusiasm
and fire
I burned a trail
through the undergrowth,
where only a prophet
or fool
would dare to go.
Great peaks
and deep valleys
I took in stride,
till clear blue skies
turned cloudy and pale.
Lost and without direction
I knew I had to go on.
Dreams die hard
even when groping
in the dark.
Then suddenly
I found an ancient path
winding its way
next to a river
flowing to the sea.
What I once called new
had turned dull and jaded.
The way of antiquity
revealed secrets
I had always longed to find.
With new strength and vision
of the ultimate goal,
I now forge a new path
parallel to the ancient road.
Dreams die hard
even when blinded by the light.
A Psalm for the Turning of the Seasons
Of my life I will make a free will offering to God
On the alter of the universe
by a swift flowing stream
I have known many days and many ways
The sun makes me glad for my blessings
The moon reminds me of my birth right
A free will offering of peace I will make for my life
But strong will I stand for my life
For death is for another time and place
I love the autumn breezes
Leaves turning colors
New paths to seek
Change within non-change are the many faces of God
The reflection that animates the world
Within which many mirrors may be pathways of light
Life and death a perpetual crossroads
And our time a gateway to choose
Choose well my eyes - choose well my feet
Let my heart hum peace and let my voice sing aloud
In seeking Your essence may I be quickened
In seeking Your truth I am once again bound
Yom Kippur Eve
In a place beyond time
in a time beyond space -
I met You there.
I'm not sure what I saw
for You have no form.
I don't remember what I heard
for there was not even a sound.
(except for the song that my soul was singing
a candle flame prayer from the end to the beginning)
And my soul was ecstatic for it felt Your Presence;
my heart was aching to be closer still,
and I wished I could fly
way beyond
so far past…
till the candle burned down
swallowed up in the void.
In a time beyond space
in a place beyond time -
I met You there.
Simchat Torah
And now there is nothing left to do - but dance.
Dance!
For the forgiveness of Rosh Hashana
(if there is still any doubt)
Dance!
For the atonement of Yom Kippur
till it permeates every fiber of being.
Dance!
To recreate God's protective Succah
hovering just above us.
See the letters dance!
On Torah scrolls of flickering flame;
black fire on white fire
in titillating circles of rhyme,
returning upward to their source,
so far Above.
Sing!
With creation born anew.
As the scroll reaches
its end
is enwedged
in its beginning
once again.
All the gates of Heaven are open -
especially the gate of joy.
Pure joy of being.
Pure hearts longing
to be one
with the One,
the only One.
Stay one more day He whispers -
I can't bear to see you go.
Jerusalem of the mind
winds its way home,
as rain clouds of blessing
begin to form in the northern sky.
Now there is nothing left to do - but dance.
Let the year begin!
Seeds and Sparks
Seeds and sparks,
fire of glory,
waterfalls of blessings
on a long winter night.
The moon in its halo of rainbow colors,
stories of the soul hidden in light.
Dig down deep
to the source of all water,
hearing the rain fall
as it fills an ancient well.
Memories like a river
flow through the valley,
back to their home
in the mind's open sea.
Open a door -
ten paths are waiting.
Wait for the time
and the voice to go through.
Worlds are united in breaths single motion,
lifting up a song
to the heavenly dew.
Time in the right space
gives a suggestion,
a hint,
a mere taste of the world beyond.
And this world like a dream,
travelling through creation,
awakens the buds
of spring flowers renewed.
A Spring Walk
Each spring
my thoughts
sprout again
into poems.
Rambling commentaries
and instant insights,
flashes of inspiration
while rainbow flowers unfold.
Weaving thought waves
and reflections
on a loom
of new hope.
Seeking once again
a new path
through an old forest,
following the soul's
continual desire
to flame up
and be renewed.
Shadows and sunrays
fall across the pathway,
a mysterious bird
is singing,
harmonizing alone.
And then,
in a moment of silence
a prayer is born.
Two butterflies
dancing together
ascending heavenward
as one.
Life's parable resting tranquil
between nature's constant heartbeat:
God as the lover
of creation the beloved.
Seder Night
Yes my children -
I hear your questions
I too hear footsteps in the distance.
Listen!
To the story of life
As it unfolds.
Once we were slaves,
Cried out in despair and God heard:
With an outstretched hand
Nature took another course,
Water turned to blood
And later seas turned on end
As we followed God faithfully
Into the desert of our own rebirth.
And now we have this holiday
To celebrate and remember,
To engrave once again
On our open hearts
That it was us who came out
And stood on the mountain and promised
To give over to the children
Of the future
The wonders of the past.
The collective unconscious
Running through our blood.
Look!
Upon the door post -
A reminder and a sign
To protect and pass over to generations
As yet born,
A promise delivered
But not yet fulfilled,
While between the lines
Of history and precedent
The story of our people
Defies logic
Battles conquerors
Lives on miracles and faith,
In new beginnings
Tragic endings
Sanctification and sacrifice on the alter
Of human destiny
To be free!
A light unto the nations
In a world of darkness
Where groping armies
Are still pursuing us -
Their wheels sinking in the sea.
But we light candles
And make it to the other side,
Where shining in the distance
Is the prophet of the future.
Elijah come drink!
Blow the shofar!
Herald a new beginning!
Redeem the first born!
And the last to be born
Before that fateful day
Will cry out from the weight
Of human bondage
And the misery of our self imposed doom.
But here at our Seder
The light of hope is shining bright
The bush is still burning
And is not consumed.
Bar Yochai
In your cave at night
secrets hover like angels
looking for a friend.
You sit by your candle
and spin a web of connection,
a unity of worlds barely perceived.
Piercing through galaxies light years away;
a river flowing down of heavenly dew.
And you anoint with thought
the eternal soul,
gracing for a moment
its dwelling place below.
A Mirror, a Candle and a Name
And then there was light…
Reflections in a clear pool,
a mirror of delight.
Children playing like children do.
Children's faces
loving, living, hoping,
smiling faces in a mirror
light years away -
or so it seems.
And then there was darkness…
A deep darkness and sounds of boots and sirens and broken glass.
A dark, deep pool with no seeming end;
a tunnel effect of evil called the Reich that would last
a thousand years.
For just telling the story
we must add light.
To complete the circle we must be the light.
Reflect the light with our own mirror of belief.
Remember with a candle
those who are no more,
asking silently -
could it happen again?
Did you hear the names?
the children's names
and then the silence of the lambs
to the slaughter.
Do you hold their light?
Did you hear your name?
And how do we remember?
Build a museum?
See Schindlers List?
Paint a picture?
or a nightmare,
a fist,
a tear,
perhaps a candle
reflected in the mirror of Jewish commitment
of lifestyle,
of pride that screams and then prays -
make the light grow!
Reflect their silent names
in your name
in your light
in your reflection.
Could it have been different?
Would you have done differently?
And the question is raised:
why is this holocaust different from every other pogrom
inquisition, expulsion or massacre?
Is it the children you ask?
They had no choice this time -
not to flee or convert or beg for mercy.
One and a half million children -
enough stars to brighten the night.
But their innocence you ask?
One and a half million black holes
whose darkness now no light can penetrate -
unless its a spiritual light
and a promise to carry on
and on and on…
And today
is the world getting darker or lighter?
In a world of atomic energy
what is a small candle;
in a world of computer chips and the information highway
what is a name, a singular name,
and in a world of masks and throw away consciousness,
what is a mirror of truth?
And so we proclaim
with this candle -
we shall live.
And with these names -
we will remember.
And with these mirrors -
we will be the conscience of the world.
Did you hear your name?
If not -
you are alive!
Did you see the light -
then their memory lives on.
Did you see the mirrors -
then you are a reflection of God.
You are the light of the soul
of Israel reborn
and resurrected,
a young child
in our ancient homeland
whose light shines from Jerusalem -
Am Yisrael Chai!
And today
while the Reich lies buried in its own deep darkness
never to arise again,
let these lights bear witness
to us and our children yet to be born -
Am Yisrael Chai!
River Mikvah
waters of life glisten
on the river of time
while purity of soul creates
a harmonious rhyme
waters run deep
in the psyche of man
submerged in the unconscious
an uncharted land
immerse beneath the waters
enter her womb
spontaneous renewal
a cyclic tune
another opportunity
to begin once again
the past kisses the future
while present scars start to mend
purity of life
flowing in harmonious time
waters of the soul glisten
as the river sings her rhyme
The Poet
Wandering among the mountain peaks
that reach to touch the clouds,
the poet grasps for a parable,
something to reveal the meaning beneath,
in the valley
where the wind whispers secrets
and bending trees become dancers;
even the eagle gliding above confirms
a hidden sign,
waiting to be revealed.
To the poet the world is translucent,
nothing is as simple as it seems,
yet all complexities
can be translated
into the simplest common denominator.
Looking through a window, a mirror,
a turning wheel,
waiting till it comes around,
again.
The poet wears many hats,
none of which really fit;
forever changing clothes, switching roles.
Deep sea diver.
Heavenly flyer,
scanning the landscape
from a slowly deflating balloon.
Searching among the world's junkyards
for a good find,
a cliché,
an important saying for posterity.
Through allegorical sunglasses
the poet shades himself,
protected from reality's glare.
Turning illusion into parody,
delusion into a ballad;
from the balcony the star
belts out her tune.
Skipping stones on an empty beach,
kicking up dirt on a country road.
The sun stops and poses,
just for him;
shimmering on a lake
of no return.
Squeezing out of life
all that he can,
rejoicing in those little things
that others cast aside.
Eternal optimist
manic depressive.
A revolutionary
looking for a cause.
A believer in God:
waiting for God to believe in him.
The poet as prophet
to whom no one listens,
but who goes on speaking
to himself and the wind.
Six Dimensions
so near and so far
an atom and a star
relative in importance
to exactly where you are
so long and so short
the alleyway and the court
the waves and the sea
beneath a ship waiting at port
so high and so low
the tension of the bow
so much to accomplish
before the start of the show
so fast and so slow
watch as the river flows
the sun shining down
creates a mesmerizing glow
so soft and so loud
footsteps lost in the crowd
a voice heard in the distance
as the moon rises through a cloud
so dreamlike and so real
time and space form the wheel
drawn together by fate
like the wax and the seal
At the Crossroads
At the crossroads
a man is standing alone,
asking for grace.
He comes and goes,
an honest seeker,
stopping for a moment along the way.
In the haze of the morning mist
the dew drops on the flowers sparkle,
in the rays of the rising sun
they dazzle the eye -
and then disappear…
By the river that is flowing
he stands in the midst of mystery,
secrets rushing by just beyond reach.
He can see it…
He can hear it…
It flows through him…
and he is found -
water slipping through the palm of his hand.
Standing on the mountain
but the mountain is dangling -
over his head.
Full of awe and reverence,
full of fear and trembling,
an oath quickly uttered.
He remembers -
if he blinks it is gone.
By a fire in the forest
the night is still and looming,
shadows on the trees,
silhouetted across his mind.
The coals are brightly glowing
he is mesmerized and yet conscious -
sleep walking through yet another life.
In the breath of times unfolding
a man in his own way is standing
alone…
praying for grace.
