Aviv

O Aviv, upon your full moon, hinge all of the promises anew. The grains of the barley harvest, are roasted, ground, and sifted. Mixed with oil, a handful of frankincense placed on top. Then, consumed by the flames, it’s smoke arises to Shomayim. Thus, completed, we may partake of the abundance of the harvest.

The sheaf of the first fruits stands as a reminder across the generations. To all who aspire towards righteousness, as upright sheaves, standing in the field. Waiting for the harvest, we seek renewal, when the day arrives for joyful reaping. And, the sheaves will be gathered, waived like lulav branches in the wind. Carried across the lands of the earth, to be planted anew in Yerushalayim.


Pesach offering,
unleavened bread, wine, and guests;
waiting for next year.

Be-ing

Elusive, grey sky,

Background of countless raindrops;

Never ending flow.

Sometimes, like an ineffable puzzle, my mind rests in the midst of an incomplete picture, with the past on hold, and the future on pause. Time seems to be a superimposed structure upon eternity. Mood becomes everything – the ultimate color of an endless reality, never changing, always experienced from the center of being. The rain is a reminder that everything happens in the present moment.

Worry dissipates, fear diminishes, and peace reigns in the stillness of the heart. A meditative experience that blends into the passing hours of the day. There is no room for regret, nor concern for tomorrow. The potential of renewal exists in every moment of time, that passes unnoticed, because there is no linear reckoning of time as such. As is written, G-d placed eternity in the heart of man (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

Gabriola Island

Cold awakening,

each morning at 4 a.m. –

kindle the fire.

The telephone is my only connection to the outside world, that is to anyone not living on Gabriola Island. Otherwise, my friends, family, and associates are three thousand miles away; mostly none of them no where I am, for I have wandered far north to Canada. I only recall one phone call, wherein I was compelled to liquidate an investment that was originally made upon recommendation of a friend. Honestly, I think that the small group of investors no longer wanted to be in partnership with me, after I had abruptly left Philadelphia. I kindly accepted the offer to receive back the exact amount that I had invested.

Every morning, I wake up around 4:00 a.m., when I begin to feel the cold of the room. This is my reminder to put more wood on the fire. My day begins with facing the challenges of a Canadian winter; yet, I am mostly snug in my modest place of residence. The restroom is always cold; so, I usually splash a little bit of water on my face, without immediately taking a shower. Later, I get a ride to Haven from L., who works there in the kitchen; she and her husband are renting this place to me.

Because I am taking workshops at Haven, this is an ideal situation for now; in retrospect, I should have felt blessed by these accommodations; however, I did not actually realize, nor fully appreciating the conveniences. Surely, I lacked gratitude at the time to both my landlords, as well as G-d, who arranges everything from His lofty place in Seventh Heaven. Yet, my New Age worldview at the time, seemed to offer, by way of osmosis from various teachings, a sort of go with the flow of the Universe attitude; yet, without proper respect towards the Creator of the Universe.

soul journey

Photo by Enric Cruz López from Pexels

The water recedes,

from the stone and pebble beach,

back into the strait.

On Gabriola Island, I lived for several months, in a few locations, the most charming, sheltered in a small structure, with a bunk bed, and wood stove, three thousand miles away from Philadelphia. I felt secure, and as isolated as Thoreau at Walden, so far from everything that I had known in my life. A new chapter began on that island, as my life unfolded in an unexpected way.

The wings of the Shechinah, next took me to find shelter in Sedona, Arizona, where I lay my head down on the red rocks of the desert. Initially sleeping at first in the early days, in my car in Oak Creek Canyon, a tent on Schnebly Hill, and only my street clothes and a leather jacket, with my back up against a brick wall, while my knees were pulled up towards my chest all night for two weeks, as the cool November moon cast its glow upon my place of refuge, hidden amongst the shadows of a church building.

From the States to Canada and back again, only to be redirected, to a city on the edge of the Colorado plateau; miles from home, where familiarity had faded into oblivion. Now, a pilgrim on the earth, like Abraham, who knew that his true home was only with G-d alone. Wherever I may be called eventually to roam next, perhaps, even being uprooted again from this place near the San Francisco Peaks, I will heed the call, going in faith to where I am called.

Floating Images

Pastel fluffy clouds,

as I drive westward in flight;

eagle captures sight.

If painted by an Ukiyoe artist,

the sky would appear to be closer,

to my recollection, than any words

that I may have to offer.

As if lifted upon eagle’s wings,

spring breeze soars through open windows.

My car slows down upon arrival;

the San Franciso Peaks tower majestically,

over this blessed day, replete with snowcaps.

Never before, have I had this sense of freedom; having left everything behind me, the new horizon seems endless. I digress, for this is but a moment in time, captured by the pen; yet, the actuality lives on. Having received a perpetual blessing, it seemed at the time; now, I realize that while memories like this never seem to fade, time continues to take its toll on my life. Still, nearby the peaks, sheltering in place, daily blessings are renewed like the cycle of the sunset and sunrise.