D. Avraham ~ Musings

I am a wet rag

Dripping with sweat

And tears squeezed

From the bottomless depths of the Deep

Twisted into tight knots that

Bunch and cluster

And clump upon each other into

A tangle of damp seething compacted

Tensions –

Wearied and spent.

No one really understands me

Except maybe Mom.

.

She does,

Or, did.

.

Probably not anymore

Now that she’s passed on

Passed away, as they say.

Passed on, far away.

.

We spent a lot of time

Wondering

During those seven years

If she actually understood

Anything

Buried under that thick coat of

Calcified Brain Disease –

Alzheimer’s, they would whisper.

.

My Dad thought so.

He was convinced.

Sure.

That beneath that

Veneer of a nearly blank stare

His wife was still

Well

Still

.

Of course he had to.

It was the only way

That he could understand.

Cope in

His new role of

Trying to comprehend

What

To

Do.

.

Even when

Truthfully

There

Was

Nothing

To

Do.

.

No one really understands me.

But I guess that’s to be expected.

.

Since I’m not

Who I was

.

Not who I thought I was

Yesterday

Not even a shadow

With its boy in tow.

.

I once was a boy with

A mother

Understanding

Everything

Shielded within that protective coat of

A Mother’s Love

Encouragements, she would whisper.

.

She always thought so

She was convinced

Sure.

That beneath that

Imperfect exterior

Was the heart

Of a Hero’s

Will.

.

Of course she would always say

That no matter what I did

Or, who I became

She would

Always love me

Even if sometimes

She might not like

What

I

Might

Do.

.

Even when

Truthfully

There

Was

No

Reason

To

Do

So.

.

No one really understands me

And that needs to just be

Accepted

.

Even if I

Don’t like it

One

Bit.

.

No,

Not

One

Bit,

At

All.

Don’t Cry Form Me Am Yisrael

.

I’m Tired of the Tears

Really

Not that I think

That they’re insincere

Not Fully

.

Don’t cry for me Am Yisrael

The Truth

Is the Presence has

Never left you at all

It was just the Booth

.

Don’t cry for your loss

The Promise,

He has kept.

It is you, that refuse to close
The distance
.
Don’t cry for me Am Yisrael

No guilt

There is only one thing left

Truth to tell

And, that’s to rebuild.

I’m not a Luddite

.

I’m a child of the modern world

Born in the Age of Aquarius,

Graduating through

The generations

Of Me

X, Y, and Z.

I even know

My bit from my byte

.

But, what I don’t understand,

I just don’t comprehend

Is this need

For the leash,

Even if it does come in

Metallic chrome

And one’s favorite

Ringtone

.

No, I am not a Luddite

.

All my pencils remain unsharpened

Still wrapped in their packaged

Saran Wrap Cartons

My Bic hasn’t run dry

And the keys are practically unused

On my old Olivetti-Underwood

And the tablets I take

All have touch-screens.

.

Yet, there is something I don’t get

That which makes no sense at all

Just because

One gets some new tool

There’s this need

To chain it to their soul

And make it the focus

Of one’s goals

.

I’m not a Luddite

.

I’ve owned several cars,

Some old, some new

With AC, ABS, and GPS too

I played the mechanic

On a supped up old Harley

Even once fixed a tranny

And I am not confused

As to why my muffler needs a baffle.

.

But I am confused

I’m completely perplexed

Of this eternal truth:

The faster we go,

The quicker we can get

From point A to point Z

The less time we have

It seems, to enjoy the scenery.

.

I’m not a Luddite

I like my tools

I respect my tech

I have no desire

To return to sender

These new Secrets of Fire

.

But I do also want

The tranquility of

Noise that’s not white

And air that’s not filtered

And mostly I miss

Those long hours

That long ago were once

Just ours.

We want MoshiaH now

As long as he’s wearing

The Red Cape and Boots

And when we call, he will respond

And swoop down

From his Heavenly Roost.

.

We want Superman immediately

As long as the streimel fits

And he follows the right rabbi

And of course, he is above and beyond

All that questionable pedigree

Of David ben Yishai

.

We want redemption

As long as it comes easy

Without any of the difficulty

That are prone to interesting times

Change is never easy

But its easy not to change

We want what we want as long as it meets our specs

For of course we know best.

.

We want MashiaH now.

At least I do

.

The darkest time of the night is just before dawn

– Midrash Tehilim, Chapter 22

I’ve decided to take things seriously now

And laugh away at all that time will allow

For seriously, who can’t smile

At all the guile that people pile upon themselves

.

I’ve decided to be silly today

Because there is no point anyway

For really who can’t help but frown

At all the clowns that abound

.

Seriously

We live in our memories

Those we recall,

And those we create

And laugh at all those realities

That slip and fall

From our mental plate

Why shouldn’t we aggregate?

.

Scraps and hints

Fragments of hue

Head pounding

Stomach churning

Pressure mounting

It’s all askew.

.

We live in our memories

Those we recall,

And those we create

And laugh at all those realities

That slip and fall

From our mental plate

Why shouldn’t we aggregate?

Otherwise like mist

We

Would

Simply

Dissipate.

Wrapped in a red stained prayer shawl

Tear strained supplications

Pour through

Tears streaked across

My heart

.

A scoffing piously cynical believer

The world is spinning upside down

Too bad for me

My feet are rooted in the ground

.

Wrapped in a bleached white shroud

Gloom forced dirges

Hover under

Gloom cast over

Mind.

.

A star eye skeptic

Refusing to despair

Life’s proven beyond a doubt

To be a capricious affair.

.

Wrapped in a deep blue essence

Hope void adjurations

Stick like melted sugar

Hope the hands aren’t

Mine.

Perched on the Precipice

Relishing the Remaining Moments

Suspending the Sabbath

Slowing the Cessation of the Separation.

.

Separation

From the perspiration and desperation that is so commonplace

Division from the collisions and revisions that define this race

We trudge in the muck and muddle that delineate our rank and place

Days blur into an in-conglomerate mass of headaches and risk takes

Till we find solace (though finite in its consummated success)

Only in the 9 a.m. auto race,

Meant simply to propel us at a break-neck pace

Closer to that pestering perdition we are seeking to out-space.

.

Slow      Down

.

A Moment.

.

A Pause.

.

Let the day last a little bit longer

Allow the peace to prevaricate the passing pauses

.

Before re-entry returns us to that turbulent trajectory

Restrains us to that repressive rhythm.

Of Deliberate Distractions and Complex Compilations

Dizzying our senses into dull Impressions

And Paling our Perception

Until we are nothing more than a collection of apprehension

Regulated by trepidation

A configuration void of significant incorporation.

.

Until the next Sabbath

When we can stop

And Recollect our lost effect

.

Savor the Seductive Smells

Delight in the languishing light

Elude the Epilogue

.

Harbor the Holiness of Havdalah-Separation.

My son is the greatest

Child in the world

Lest

He’s driving me crazy

Causing me pain

Anxiety and frenzy.

.

My son fills my heart

With unbound joy

Apart

From the times he’s causing it to split

Tearing it in two

Or boring a hole through it.

.

I cry sometimes

From the innocent

Wisdom that crosses his lips

I cry sometimes

Feeling impotent

To stop the inevitable eclipse

.

Oh, my son, my son

Do you know that everyday

I face the trial of Avraham

Oh, my child, my child

Will we too find that

Elusive ram hiding in the wild?

.

Oh, My Son, My Child

My Love, My Gift

My hope,

My Trial