Inertia

In the twilight of life,
at the turning point
upon the hill of habit,
shall I descend the other side,
or garner my wings and fly?

Having not remembered my Creator,

until the days of my youth were past,

I am caught midway in the flight of fancy

by a torrent of wind that creates resistance

to change, even for the betterment of my soul,

as I make an effort everyday to find my way.

~~~~~ ~~~~~

Teshuvah, the all embracing, ever pervasive remedy

seems sometimes so far out of my reach,

and unless I gather my strengths together,

to teach myself how to fly,

I will reside in the shadows of my past,

consumed by regret, plagued by unrealized dreams,

crushed by the heaviness of being,

and defeated by the lethargy of inactivity.

Solitude

They’re all trying to rule, direct, and guide

While I’m trying to bide my time and find

The freedom within in order to blossom

As a human being without chagrin.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Falling prey to the sway of the rhyme

Of someone else’s poetic construction,

People pleasing was never something

That I thought to be guilty of until now.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

All I want,

is to be left alone with my thoughts

During the week, when time passes slowly,

In a self imposed fragile solitude

That is founded upon the solace

Present in a welcome isolation

From the world.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Yes, truth be told, that is to say,

Within the confines, originally imposed

Upon the world due to the coronavirus,

I am flourishing as an introvert.

Being mostly socially inept,

Anyway, this is where I belong,

And have already found

my new normal.

Silent Reminiscence

Abandoned by all that was once familiar,

shattered by the deception of calculated lies,

torn, by the dissolution of a friendship,

and the realizations that progressively lead

to disillusion, freedom, and renewal.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

A flight to sanctuary, two thousand miles away

from everything I knew that seemed to be real;

yet, was proved eventually under scrutiny

to be a house constructed of playing cards.

A seemingly random shuffle dealt a new hand,

that offered a perspective unimagined on the frontier

of a land, unexplored, ripe with potential and possibility.

Angst

Living on the edge

of the mind’s frontier,

led close to the edge

of my capacity to fear.

~~~~~

Inculcated, by his design

without a firm foothold;

nor, a steadfast ensign

to lift up so bold.

~~~~~

Rather, these meetings

between myself and he,

will inevitably singe

all my efforts “to be.”

~~~~~

Yet, a very present help in time of need,

appeared to me to lead me out

of this darkness that had encompassed me,

glistening in shimmering white.

~~~~~

He foretold of my departure,

and guided me along the way

to freedom in the midst

of existential angst.

Forgotten Possibilities

Photo by Donald Giannatti on Unsplash

Many places, arrived at by life’s choices,

concretized in time, once a decision’s made.

A multitude of possibilities, cast aside,

in favor of the one, that changes everything.

A blanket of snow in winter, covers

all growth, that has since decayed.

Spring brings renewal to the heart and mind;

consolation to the cobwebs of the past.

Summer bears the burden of responsibility,

when all is brought to the light of truth.

In preparation for the autumn leaves,

that will fall gently to the ground.

These natural cycles are determined

by less factors than our own choices.

I was once given “a round tuit,”

a constant reminder of silence.

post corona blues

I have found my niche,
here, at the desk where I sit;
staying connected.

Pixels appear in harmony, arranged as letters in words, forming sentences in scripture, poetry, and essays. Sometimes, appearing as colorful details in art or photography. While outside, according to the news, if I dare to read, it seems there is still no reason or rhyme in the world.

I’ll take my solitude in front of the screen, 12hrsperday, excepting Shabbos, when I seek my connection to G-d. And, the world may continue on its own, for I know that G-d is sovereign; and, despite the appearance of chaos, all is running according to His plan.

There is still a certain feeling, bittersweet in character, that pervades my existence. Unlike most, I have no recourse to seek a “new normal,” beyond my own cozy solitude. I concede, that everything seems to have fallen into place for me, as I sit, study, and pray, while awaiting the new day.

Depth of Spirit

My heart pitters and patters,

while the glitter of the world subsides;

my desires shift to the transcendent,

as past and present collide.

The fireworks of yesteryear,

only a gleam in my mind’s eye;

the essential truths of my life sear

my conscience, and memory.

Called, to transcend the mundane,

wayward paths of my youth;

to let go of all done in vain,

while forging ahead in truth.

A smile brings comfort,

to every soul that yearns,

for the depth of spirit,

that like a flame will burn.

Acceptance & Renewal

“When night comes, and retrospect shows that everything was patchwork and much that one had planned left undone, when so many things rouse shame and regret, then take all as is, lay it in G-d’s hands, and offer it up to Him. In this way we will be able to rest in Him, actually to rest and to begin the new day like a new life.” – Edith Stein

Every morning,

my mind is like a blank canvas;

until, upon scratching the surface,

I can begin to see layers of sadness

underneath the pristine dermis.

The exploration of each coating

would require careful attention,

as every detail may bring,

meaning to the painting’s revelation.

Like the previous chapters of my life,

the unrealized dreams, yearnings of the past,

unfulfilled hopes – these all resurface

from time to time in my thoughts.

Yet, I am on a new path,

ever since I left my past at the border;

a new trajectory, meant to last,

as if born anew, ever looking forward.

Having sloughed off the doldrums,

brushed off the dust of yesteryear,

and shed outdated programs,

to embrace all that is real.

Still, I am only a human being,

full of memories, dreams and the potential

to transcend, while remaining grounded,

ruminate, while not getting lost in the consequential,

and move steadily forward, while being at peace.

Chiaroscuro in Pixels

It is very hard to write this way, beginning things backward…
– Hemmingway, The Torrents of Spring (1926)

Like a canvas, a tabla rasa, a fertile void,

I sit in front of the screen with a blank document.

The contents of my personal past, impressions,

stored in long term memory, surface upon reflection.

The neocortex bears its fruit, when searched at will,

for the pieces, fragments, and shattered images.

What is actually “recalled” may be newly formed,

especially if semantic memories mix with episodic.

In placing any of these reflections upon a blank page,

they are first filtered through perception.

Perhaps, an artist has more control with a brushstroke,

than a poet, taking liberty with shadows and light.

This is the question, how to present the puzzle,

in a way that best represents the truth?