Above and Below the Surface of a Lake

G-d leads me into wider and wider fields,

some far from home, wider fields

of flowers, of pleasant grasses upon which

to lie, to watch the hovering clouds

with wandering eyes, with careless eyes at peace

with all I see, I watch the clouds,

I follow G-d, I follow all the clouds,

I lie down in the green meadow,

I cast a drowsy eye up to the heavens;

consider how much a heaven

is the earth.

_______________________________________________________________________

Is the earth

a heaven?  How much?  Consider

the heavens I cast a drowsy eye up to,

the green meadow I lie down in,

all the clouds.  I follow G-d, I follow

the clouds, I watch with all I see

at peace; with careless eyes, with wandering eyes

to watch the clouds hovering, to lie

upon pleasant grasses, of which flowers of

wider fields, some far from home,

in wider and wider fields, lead me to G-d.

                                                                                                                                  --Steven Shields

*

CIRCUMNAVIGATION

Everything is a circle

No edge

from which to fall.

A mandala

A Sufi in the center

round of white skirt

Whirling

Spinning

Like the

Moon

and sun

Illuminated circumferences

Circadian rings of light

Cross over

And over

 the great round earth.

Like the

deep round sound of the

drum, or the 

singing bowl struck awake

its overtone

Resounding

Like the echo

In a canyon

Tell me,

Where do we

Start or stop?

Tell me,

where is the beginning

or end

of the ocean?

                       — Anda Petersen

*

EVENING SERVICE

1. Creation

Light contracts onto the horizon

leveling shadows as it goes nowhere

by day or dark. Song created

its departure. Your own voice, unsure

of those first few words.

2. Revelation

You extinguish seven bayberry candles

arranged on your coffee table.

Their wax vapor intercedes for the length

of your sleep.

3. Unification

Are you sure the fire is nothing

but the sky’s atmosphere grazing

in the unlight of our turning?

4. Adoration

The yellow jasmine twists around

stones piled at the garden’s edge.

You leave its scent in the open window

to untie the words of your dream.

5. Redemption

They all fell out of the shifting

smoke-blue stratum. Who is here

to rekindle them as an azalea

reclaims its broken leaves each spring?

6. Direction

It must have been the hush of the crickets

that woke you, unsounded stillness, or—

the undertone of the waking wood dove.

7. Expiration

When you take down the citron from

its persistent branches, do it in the thorned light

of the crescent moon. There is no need to search

for the mourner’s song — all the names are lifted

into the green crown of evening.

                                                         —Ellen Powers

*
 

SOMETHING INSIDE ME/ZEV DAVIS

I step

ever slowly.

My eyes peer through the dense

atmosphere, deep, yet I can sense

something

Can't say

what all it is.

Nothing seems to stop me.

I feel that somewhere there is a light

in spite

of what

is not there, yet,

it is all so clear.  Yes,

I must be doing something right,

Perhaps.

Never

sure about that—

I mind my p's and q's,

pause and think before I act, and

watch out

both ways.

Listen, careful

of what I hear, discern

words that I hear and absorb them.

Let them

show me,

and I wonder . . .

this is no miracle,

always there guiding me, a voice

within.

—Zev Davis

*

THE INTRINSIC IDOL

 
To be alone with oneself,
though there are people in the environ,
and a lack of necessary challenge, curiosity, or allegiance,
with which to work a matter out
in the community,
or in oneself
and the allure,
of that lickerish allure,
in its purpose:
specifically, the world's wound,
being incarnate in the self, also,
with a modern nominality's
withdrawal of the sacred, thereof
and for meddling with one's religiosity, within.
—Lee Goldstein
 

"Hear the voice of my supplications when I call out to You, when I lift my hands towards Your sacred Sanctuary." (Psalm 28:2) 

Obstructed from our sight, You wait behind

This wall of stone, my God, and watch me write

These sticks of words which hopefully ignite

A constant flame whose warmth You feel behind

                This massive wall I can't surmount.  Behind
                This wall—on our side of the wall—Your light
                Is barely seen, so only from the height
                Of prayer we glimpse the other side behind

The wall, where You are found.  But will the wall
Transform, allowing us to reach You there
Behind this wall which has no door or gate?
                Behind this wall, which may become a shawl,
                A drape, a bridal veil, a thin veneer,
                You wait for us; with outstretched arms You wait.
                                                                                                   —Yakov Azriel
 

*

PSALM 23 REVISITED
 
1.
“A Psalm of David.  The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” (Psalm 23:1)
 
 

The Lord, my Shepherd, brings me to a field

Where flocks that He has gathered safely graze

And eat the tender grass His servants raise,

Protected from gray jackals by His shield.

                The Lord, my Shepherd, plays His flute, revealed

                To those who seek the tune of faith and praise,

                For when His flute is played, the heart obeys

                The soul’s most sacred yearnings, long concealed.

I shall not want, for God has taken me

To quiet, peaceful streams; and in this hour

Of overwhelming grace, His flute is heard.

                 I shall not want, for now my soul can see

                 His staff, allowing me to sense the power

                 Of the word of God, the fullness of His word.

2.

"He brings me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters." (Psalm 23:2)

How often had I lost my way, and been

A stray among red snakes that lisped my name

And fed me dust.  Until my Shepherd came

And offered food without the thorns of sin.

                My Shepherd is the Keeper of the inn

                Who searches for His guests among the lame,

                The faint, the stragglers who have walked with shame,

                The mute, the maimed, the famished and the thin.

And every guest is treated like a king;

Within His inn, the water tastes like wine;

The fruit is picked from gardens in the east;

                The bread is baked by Levites who can sing

                The Shepherd's songs, and Sabbath candles shine

                As lodgers eat the Shepherd's Sabbath feast.

3.

"He restores my soul; He guides me in straight paths, for the sake of His name." (Psalm 23:3)

Before the dawn, before the morning light,

Before the Shepherd's stars are swept away

By sun-beamed brooms and all the glare of day,

A sudden, inner flash of inner sight

                Invades an inner eye with inner white,

                Inscribing cloud-like words unstreaked by gray

                Upon an inner sky.  I read, and say

                The words in prayer: How close is God tonight.

How close is God, as close as breath, how near

Is God, like wind upon my hair, like air

Inside my lungs.  The lantern of His name

                Reveals my Shepherd's paths; I have no fear

                Of hungry, stalking wolves, for He is here,

                And more than here, the Light inside the flame. 

4.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” (Psalm 23:4)

 In the valley of the shadow, shrouds are worn,

For lethal germs of leprosy infest

The air we breathe, the food that we digest,

The water that we drink.  Yet  though we mourn

                Beside our graves, avowing man is born

                To grieve, feel pain and die, our lives are blessed

                By grace: the wife with whom we build a nest,

                Our children’s wings, the down that’s never shorn.

How great this grace, for we, the deaf, can hear

The Shepherd’s music play while lanterns burn

To give us light, though we are blind; the trance

                Of faith will seize our limbs and persevere

                Until our crippled, palsied legs shall learn

                To dance the dance of God—to dance—to dance—

5.

 “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You have anointed me with oil; my cup runneth over.” )Psalm 23:5(

Master of heaven and earth, for Whom the stars

Of countless galaxies are merely dust

And ice, insignificant specks of rust,

Why do you dress my wounds and heal my scars?

                Master of heaven and earth, for Whom the bars

                Of space and time are blown away in a gust

                Of wind, why do You steer my ship in trust,

                Repair its tattered sails and broken spars?

Master of heaven and earth, why this grace,

This overflowing cup of wine?  And how

Can I repay You for Your Shepherd's rod,

                Your staff, the gentle shining of Your face,

                The table You prepare?  To You I bow,

                To You I raise the cup and drink, my God.

6.

“Surely goodness and grace will follow me all the days of my life; and I shall sit in the house of the Lord forever.” )Psalm 23:6(

The Shepherd's key has opened wide the gate

To gather in the wise with books they wrote;

The righteous come, and prophets who devote

Their lives to God, the noble and the great.

               But who am I to enter gates?  I wait

               Outside the Temple court, and watch a goat

               That guards a mended, many-colored coat

               While Temple-priests and Levites celebrate.

If only I could be a voice that sings

With those who dwell within the House of God,

Or hold the coat to see if it might fit,

             Or stroke the Shepherd’s goat that plays with kings;

             If only I—but look, the Shepherd’s rod

             Has cleared a space inside, for me to sit.

                                                                                       —Yakov Azriel

 *

In this world of Hidden Face

What we do is hide our faith,

Tuck it into folds of smile,

Dust with accent of exile.

What our soul seeks is truth

But, too sweet for wisdom tooth,

Truth will have to stay aloof,

And reject all hints of proof.

We will ramble in the wood,

Try to catch a glimpse of Good

While here, behind a tree,

All its glory is mocking me.

                                                      -- Miriam Kitrossky

*

LIGHT 27: A PRAYER OF TWO POETS

King David:

El  is my light and my salvation

    whom shall I fear?

El is the stronghold of my life

    of whom shall I be afraid?

Dina:

When did You give me my expansion

When did You tell me “be” and I “was”

When did You offer me your first word “love”

And I became love

When did You allow me to know You were You, and I was I

When did You tell me “you will know” and I “knew”

When did You place me “here” and “everywhere”

King David

One thing I ask from El,

  this only do I seek:

that I may dwell in the house of E1

    all the days of my life,

to gaze on His beauty

   and to seek Him in his temple.

Dina

What can I give You back, if all that I am , You are

How can I thank You if not with my tears of adoration

I am here far away, lost in cold sidereal travel

but You are still my central sun

my spirit burns

because it was never hidden, never disguised, never covered

King David

I will sing and make music for El

My heart says of You, “Seek his face!”

I will see His goodness

   in the land of the living.

Dina:

I want to remain in memory as I really am

The essence, the center, the tenderness

The being who utters all the words without words

Who enriches all space with the music of silence

And adores Him who sits in his throne of All-Nothingness

                                                                                                                 —Dina Grutzendler

*

WITHIN AND WITHOUT

I look about me, clarity and light,

softness, kindness intertwines with sparks

that fly into this atmosphere.  No trite

growth of verbiage.  I know it works

in this luscious space, as I delight

where the colors flow, push back the dark.

I look about me, clarity and light

softness, kindness intertwines with sparks

ignite sensations inside me, all the bright

things, bring out the fire, raise a quark,

and yet another, combines, a flame embarks

on an adventure, body and soul in flight,

I look about me, clarity and light

softness, kindness, intertwines with sparks.

                                                                                 —Zev Davis

*

AN APOLOGY

to F.W.

How the wrongs done to you

have filled your lungs with God.

Your wrongs, my wrongs,

fill our pages.

We cannot

speak the name of What Is

without letting our breaths

go out—

     Still,

Light continues to attend

the white spaces between

our words.

                       —Ellen Powers

*

ARCHITECTURAL PLAN: FIRST DRAFT

A well of cool water murmurs in the center of the garden

And seventy lecterns surround it,

All made of solid wood from the Tree of Life                                          

And on each is an open book, made of recycled paper from the Tree of Knowledge.

The whole world is pervaded by a fragrance of citron

And seventy girl students are hovering,

The head of each is ringed by a crown of cloud

Where she keeps her best ideas in crystalline clarity.

And seventy spouts reach from the well to their feet

As if strewing sundry scents

                                          and minnows

                                               and verses

                                                   and the gold which is good.

And above them four sukkot give shade

Like canopies of date-palm and cedar in the courts of our G-d.

And at evening seventy campfires are lit in a circle:

Black fire dances with white fire

And all the matriarchs dangle from the thatch like a feast-day mobile

To explain what was hidden and stopped to the winds of the time.

—Tamar Biton

 from the Hebrew: E. Kam-Ron

ANTICIPATE

We sit on the edge

Is it time?

Could we rush to the edge

Push it?

When will it be, exactly?

Are we sitting the right way?

How do we choose our position

Our stance

Some stand while others run

Those ahead call out

Pull us with them

There are so many paths

And at the end

We will be asked

"Did you anticipate this?"

The correct answer is

"…and toiled towards it."

                                        —Mindy Aber Barad

*

from JERUSALEM

Footsteps, birthpangs

yeast in the soul, whole

worlds in shreds

Gog v’Magog then

Eliyahu ha-Navi

ben Yosef ben Dovid

but first empty tefillin

one more chaos to come

*

Herding her deadstock

little lost thoughts

shellshard, klippos, whole

world of shards

what light is lent me

*

A man stands.  A man cannot stand

in the landscape around him.  Light escapes him

loss is his name    & the fullness thereof

ludicrous loss

undersong of our language

In the end build a name there, home

perfect in ruin

sounding the Name

*

Conceal me in Your tent’s

concealment

even Your hiddenness hidden

all but Your hiddenness

hidden from me

*

Tikkun chatzos

midnight north-wind

sings thru the harp

hung over the bed so they rise

for the hour the heart poured out

till nothing left

thrown then & thrown

again & again

endworld to endworld

then again thrown

*

Small psalms fill the mouth

& the one

breath stopped

that would have pushed them out

*

Vaporous certainties

eyes in a box

icons, idols

disciples of screens

the becoming-machine of Edom

no-road to no-throne

*

Two doors to two chambers     now

spin them     now install seven more

sevenfold interopening

inonunfolding

*

Innermore Even-stone

holds the whole singularity

earth blooms around it

first circle clarity second

dimmer third nearly opaque

                                                      –Jakob Stein

*

CAESURA

How is it words lift and sail,

drown among the silences.

I hear you Gertrude Stein,

your vast shadow echoing

along the rue and through

the texts of soul.

How far to the next beginning.

How far can moon move the sea

even as we stand here making

a grammar from all the

empty spaces.

                             —Doug Bolling

*

Afterword: Ladder and Quilt