I went out to the hazel wood, drawn by the elaborate nomenclature, of its trunks, branches, and leaves, as if something stirring in the wind called to my soul. Because a fire was in my head, I needed to find a path, never before taken through these woods.
To my dismay, every way was already trodden with the footsteps of my predecessors. For, my ancestors have passed by this way, on horseback, in carts, walking side by side. From the shtetls of Europe to the Golden Land of Opportunity. Assimilation entangled me.
Until the woods opened up to a grove swept clean of the debris from past ages, raked clean by some heavenly angel, who with tears, showed pity towards me and my destiny. I have always searched within and without, above and below for a place to go, that I can call home.
Renewal is at hand; despite those few occasions, when my awareness slowly unfolds, as if by restoration from Above. My scattered self, arranged into something that resembles yesterday’s me.
Sometimes, not until my second cup of tea, am I able to recognize any continuity of familiarity; and, so, I wonder, is the rest of my soul still dreaming? Or, perhaps, fragments of my psyche have not yet been retrieved, from Shomayim (Heaven), where they are still being cleansed.