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and shed outdated programs,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?