Chanuka

The vastness of night, like a great ocean, surrounds you now
while your soul whispers the name of God,
HaKodesh.

Holy One, You Who fosters all life,
I stand in the dim of the waning moon, at the darkest time of year.
I have journeyed far and wide and I am weary now.
I have struggled and claimed my traditions.
I have wrestled with forces greater than I.
The road has been long, the battles lengthy,
and I am worn.

Holy One, You Who illuminate my being,
aid me summon up courage and stubbornness, persistence and hope.
You Who restores all souls, hold me now, embrace me,
bathe me and cleanse me, wash away the impurities of my travel.
Help me emerge clear and fresh again, my inner courtyards shining again,
ready for the sacred ceremonies.

You Who kiss each life awake,
help me find my hidden vessel of sacred oil.
Fill my lamp, pour Your pure rich golden oil, the first press of olives
over me, that I might soften and heal.

Fill me. Fill my containers up.

O Holy One, You Who treasure all creation,
aid me re-consecrate myself, my body, my spirit, my soul.
You Who I am but a particle of, renew my life force,
kindle my flames.

And each night, one by one, increase my light.
That I might ever shine
and sing Your song in this darkest of nights.

Holy One, walk with me
and light my way.

As I light this candle, so too may You kindle my seven inner flames
and the eighth, that I may know wholeness.

I rededicate myself this night to that which You wish of me.
May I walk in the path of Your light.

Simchat Torah

Yedid Nefesh, Heart of my hearts,
Soul of my souls, come dance with me.

It's time, it's time to dance, my Loved One,
come this night and dance.

Yedid Nefesh, You Whom I adore,
just as I pray for rain,
that my fields and gardens may bring forth new life,
so do I dance my thanksgiving for Your wisdoms,
which water my spirit, nourishing my inner lands.
And so, in celebration, I dance to You.
You Who gives me life,
this dance is for You.

As the moon grows dim, come dance with me.
Place Your hand in mine.
For this is the evening of endings, and this is the evening of beginnings,
the eternal dance of life.
And You, You thread through it all,
traveling with me through closings, the dying times,
into the rewindings, the reworkings,
through that which is seen and that which lies hidden,
through that which is known and that which is mystery,
through that which is written, and that which lies awaiting to be expressed,
I dance with You, my Partner, through it all,
through all the cycles of my life,
ever returning to the start,
that poignant, fresh, glistening point,
font of burgeoning life.

So come Yedid Nefesh,
let us dance the dance eternal.
You Who my soul adores.

Sukkot

Yedid Nefesh, Love of my soul,
I now enter my sukkah lushly decked with the produce of my life,
herbs of wisdoms, peppermint, sage, rosemary, and basil,
fruits of learnings, ruby apples, musky grapes, juice filled pears.
I hang up all my deeds, my hopes, my downfalls and my desires there
in which I will rest and meet You, my love.

And there I wait for You
having left my settled habitat, having stripped away all domestication,
abandoning it all as I ran down the pathway through the garden beds
into my untamed abode,
breathing in deeply the fall fresh air, and
joined by the birds and squirrels, butterflies and rabbits,
bees and deer and creatures of the night.

Yedid Nefesh, dear one of my heart,
You call me to break free of all my restrictions.
You remind me that my soul needs to soar in the wind,
gasp at the moon's rise,
shake free of all confinements.

You formed me wild in my core, and each year You woo me
out of doors, by Your side,
and in my small ramshackle Eden, You
restore me, revive me, open me wide,
enliven me.

Each fall I hear your call and shake off my routines
remembering the places we met when we were both young and unrestrained,
the wilderness , the mountains, private gullies, and wadis,
at the drawing of the waters, in the fields at edge of night,
waking at crack of dawn.

Yedid Nefesh, Soul of my soul
I race to meet you beneath the smoky branches of pine,
beneath the huge golden harvest moon
beneath the canopy of endless stars which fill the heavens.
Enlarge me,
help me find my way back to my native self
and fill me once more, my love,
with wild rambunctious
joy.

Neilah

The time nears for the closing of the gates, so
your soul called upon the name of God,
HaRachaman.
Compassionate One,
Who loves passionately from deep within.

HaRachaman,
I’ve traveled far, my staff in hand.
I’m weary and my provisions are at an end.
The path seems narrow and at times disappears all together.
I’ve walked through thickets and through brush.
At times I’ve lost my way.
Show me your gates, that I may seek refuge.
Receive me at this day’s end.

HaRachaman,
I’m not perfect.
I’m a human soul decorated with history,
an earthen pot imprinted by life.
Each mark can be seen either as a sign of imperfection, damage, and thus
the pot is cast off, or
as having been made interesting, etched by use, rich with story,
the imperfection becoming ennobling, and thus,
the pot is treasured.
My offering is myself, a dented pot, humbled, unfinished,
filled with possibilities.
I beg You open wide Your gates, and embrace me.

HaRachaman,
I’ve journeyed long, my body worn, my resources at a low ebb.
The path winds. The gates lie closed.
I’ve walked through valleys and through wilderness.
I’ve lost days clinging to the familiar, afraid of the unknown.
Help me find an open doorway, that I might find shelter.
Enfold me as I wander in.

HaRachaman,
I’m imperfect.
I’m mortal, product of rich loam and starry heaven, living in exile,
a cloth aged by use in life.
Fabric that can be seen either as threadbare, torn, and thus
the fabric is tossed aside, or
as in need of repair, woven through with threads of beauty,
able to be mended, and thus,
the cloth is valued.
My offering is myself, a timeworn cloth, faded, fragile,
woven with potential.
I beg You, open wide Your gates and receive me.

HaRachaman,
The light is fading.
I ache from wandering, from the ways I’ve strayed from my path.
Now I pray, help me see an entrance, and
if one gate is closed, help me find my way to the next.
For night comes and I long to return.
Enclose me in Your arms that I might come home.

Open wide the gates, HaRachaman, that I might enter,
open wide the gates,
HaRachaman.

Neilah- Seeking the Gates

Gates stand, thresholds to sacred places.
Passageways.
Your soul longs to enter the gates.



Would I know them if I passed them by?
Will they be made of gray stones wizened with age or
of stones of gold washed warm by the sun?
Perhaps they stand strewn with roses and open to the air or
completely overgrown with ivy?
Will the gates be locked by wooden door, keyhole crusted with rust,
key hidden in an ancient unknown place?

Will they be guarded by angels with flaming swords or
beings blowing silver trumpets?
Or will overgrown bushes cover them altogether and I'll pass them by,
the gates remaining unseen?
Must I storm them seasoned by years of questing,
or will they swing wide open only by
a slight touch of an innocents fingertips or rustling longing of soul?

Need I proof of travel, a secret password, or
will someone wait for me to come, on the lookout, and call my name
beckoning me to enter just as I pass by?

Is there only one entry and will it look the same to all?
Do entries change from year to year, last year's closed to me now?
Will they reveal themselves to me only when I stop looking or
will they appear mirage-like from the distance?

Will I meander through, saunter in as if by mistake?
Will I miss them entirely by my rushing before the night's tides shift?
Will angels sing to me, throwing me a key, a hand guide me, clasping mine,
and at the last minute, draw me safely to harbor?

I stop at the well, unveiled to Hagar, where Abraham strove,
and Jacob lifted rock, which followed Miriam,
looking for clues to gates and mysteries.
I rest, looking down into the waters, perchance to catch a glimpse
of a gates reflection in its depths.
Nothing is where I think it is.
Every time I seek, what I find is in another spot.

In letting go I find my way is lit by stars of fire and chariots carry me up
to gardens scented with apples and guarded by gates
which are opened by doves.

The night is being drawn closed like a curtain.

So open wide the gates, and let the light shine on my path,
that I might find my way,
that I might my way find.

Yom Kippur

It is time to stand before Your Maker.
You can feel the rustle of the heavenly pages of the Book of Life and the Book of Death.

You reach towards the Holy, calling upon the name of God
HaBorei
Creator, Former, Maker


HaBorei,
You Who create, You Who breath life into my bones,
I who am in Your image, I who am dust and ashes,
I come to you dressed in white.
White as the east and white as the west,
white as emptiness and white as fullness,
white of my death and white of my birth,
white of passage as I stand in both.
I dress in white. I bare my feet,
I stand on Your ground, where I came from, my namesake, and
where I will return.

HaBorei,
You Who shape, You Who give me life each moment.
I who am in Your image, I who am dust and ashes,
I come to You dressed in white.
White of the burial shroud and white of the wedding garb,
white worn in freedom and white worn in judgment,
white of the moon and white of the stars,
white of emptiness and white of light,
I dress in white, unadorned, container of all colors.
I stand before You as You made me, uncompleted, imperfect,
beautifully crafted.

HaBorei,
You Who form, You Who sustain me each second,
I who am in Your image, I who am dust and ashes,
I come to You dressed in white.
White of leaving and white of returning,
white of exile and white of homecoming,
white of struggle and white of release,
white of where I came from and white of where I will go to,
white of responsibility and white of power,
white of night and white of dawn.
I bare my soul and open her.
She, a white dove, flutters to nest with You, as
I come before You
dressed in white.

HaBorei,
My Maker,
remember, that I am in Your image, remember, that I am but dust and ashes,
aid me cleanse, purify me,
so that I may walk more clearly, see more keenly, choose more wisely,
live more truly,
in the days You grant me on this earth.
HaBorei,
You Who brought me into Life,
deal with me
with compassion.

Tashlic

It is time
to go to the water, place of all beginnings,
sustainer of all life, embracing many worlds,
place of transformation.
She flows through the earth, through your body,
renewer, restorer.

And there, at water's side,
your soul calls yet again upon the name of God,
HaYotzeir,
Shaper of this Universe.


HaYotzeir,
You Who speaks all into being,
You have taught me to go and learn from the water,
for she holds lessons that I need.

HaYotzeir,
You Who imaged us at the Beginning,
You have told me to go to the water, and as I toss in my crumbs,
casting off deeds which diminish me, You say, bend low and watch the fish rise.
They rise to feed and sometimes are caught,
just as I become snared, trapped, consumed, in the nets of life,
the nets I weave for myself.

HaYotzeir,
You Who shape the earth and her wonders,
You have told me, go and learn from the water,
for she contains within her remnants of primeval floods, waters of chaos,
and mirrors the layers I hold within myself,
that rise and swell, rise and swell, forces of shadow that struggle to dim the forces of light,
and You urge me this day, to claim the light.

HaYotzeir,
You Who whispers secrets into the universe,
You have told me go and learn from the water,
for she fills me and I reflect her.
Go to the water which lives You say,
which are replenished by rain, which flow to the ocean, which shift in the wind.
Go, see her movement, for she teaches
that staying in one place without replenishment bears stagnation, slow death.
She teaches that I too need move, be added to, change, transform,
to like her, be fluid.

HaYotzeir,
You Who dreams the universe alive, You Who fashions marvels,
You have told me, go and learn from the water.
For just as the waves dance with the shore and are drawn by the moon's beckoning,
so too do I dance with spirit,
drawn by You.

So I come to water's edge and cast away that which weighs me down,
releasing it to the water, which will carry it away,
that I might leave the shore lighter, cleansed, kissed by water's lips.
A step close to You, HaYotzeir,
You Who gave me breath,
You Who gives me life.

Preparing to enter Rosh Hashannah & the Yaamim Noraaim

It is time,
to walk into the holy spaces of this moon.
They wait for you,
lying like shimmering river washed stones stretching across a creek.

Each links to the other, holding teachings your soul needs.
And as the sun lowers in the sky, and the new moon rises,
your soul calls upon the name of God
HaYotzeir
One Who shapes it All.



HaYotzeir,
You Who create the world, You Who create human beings,
all of us different, yet all of us the same,
You Who brings all into life each second,
I stand before You on the threshold of newness, my table decked
with ruby colored apples, amber honey,
breads laced with raisins , shaped in crowns, in spheres,
for You indeed do reign, and life itself goes round and round, a circle.

HaYotzeir,
You Who shape all life, You Who bring us all into being,
Who filled us with light and with shadows,
my praise and thanks to You,
for all the miracles I have known,
with each breath, with each beat of my heart.

Thank You for my life.
Thank You for enabling me to reach this very moment in time.
Thank You for allowing me to witness, yet again, this birthing of newness,
pristine, fresh, yet scented with innocence, one more time.

HaYotzeir,
You Who create, in this season of golden light,
in this time of perfect balance between night and day, when all is in harmony,
in this season of the earth's harvest, when all lies sweet and in its splendor,
help me to walk my life in beauty.
Help me to use my creative powers for good.
Help me to extend my hand and join with You as partner
in preserving, mending and bringing blessing to this world.

Help me take my place with grace, and bring forth life.
HaYotzeir, You Who forms All,
walk with me through this doorway of a new year.

I celebrate Your wonders.
I honor Your Creations.

Walk with me
as I immerse in this time,
as I ready to re-create myself,
HaYotzeir,
You Who shape it All.

Psalm 27 in poetic voice for the month of Elul

You are my light, You save me, whom shall I fear?
You are the stronghold of my life, of whom shall I be afraid?

When those near me to do evil, to eat my flesh, my adversaries, they will stumble and fall.
If an army comes and encamps against me, my heart will not fear,
if war rises against me, in this I trust,
one thing I ask you, one thing I seek,
to sit in Your house all the days of my life,
to see Your splendor, near Your palace.

In frightening times You conceal me in Your sukkah, You hide me in the secrecy of Your tent,
When my enemies surround me You lift me high upon a rock and raise my head.
In Your tent I sound notes of Teruah, I sing wondrous songs to You.

Hear my voice when I call, be gracious and answer me,
for my heart seeks Your Presence.

Don't hide from me, don't turn away from me, for You've been my support.
Don't push me aside or leave me, for You are my very core.
Though my father and mother have left me, You have gathered me up.
Teach me Your ways and lead me in a clear path.

Don't let my soul be given up to those who thirst to injure it,
for those who speak against me falsely come near, breathing violence.

I am ever thankful that I dared look for Your goodness
for I found a land of life.

I wait for You.
May my heart be strengthened, and given courage,
as I wait for You.

Tisha B'Av

You enter the fire of loss.
Memories spring up of destruction, flames racing, your people scattering.

And the name of God
El Roei
One Who sees when you cannot arises within your soul


El Roei, One of Vision, aid me unveil that I might weep,
weep for dreams lost and hopes shattered,
for houses burned and souls extinguished
before their time.

El Roei, One of Sight, uncover my heart that I might weep,
weep for that which once shone, transporting souls, now lying in ashes,
for that which birthed healing, now destroyed, in ruins,
that within the world of space, that within myself,
that now lies empty, wildly desolate.

El Roei, You Who see, come,
travel down with me, down into the depths,
for You can see in the shadowy places.

They are there, I can feel them,
all my ancestors live in me.
I can feel them in the pulsing of my blood, in the beating of my heart.

Each ninth of Av they call to me
crooning in the night alongside the jackals,
the young men slain, the babies starved, the women raped and killed.
I see their bodies in the moonlight.
They flicker inside of me.

El Roei, can You see them too?
They join and merge with all else that has died within my life,
dear ones gone, hope lying still born, dreams dashed,
all flow into one long blue river of tears.
We all float together holding hands.

So come to me, El Roei, and show me a vision
of the seed You embedded in this day,
carried in the whispers as light dims.
For in this day also lies an opening.

They say on this day Messiah will be born.
That on this day of grief, sorrow will be transformed to heightened joy,
wounds will be healed, and all will be united, pristine, newly born.

El Roei, One of Vision,
open a window for me
that I might take a brief glance, a peek, and glimpse
the souls that are dear, the glorious light of all flowing into one melody,
all opposing forces joining hands, the lion curled around the lamb.
Let me see the voices of joy and gladness and of lovers,
sounds of feasting and singing, resounding from all corners of the earth,
gaze upon all gleaming and restored, all healed, all whole, all
One.

And then, bring me back, El Roei,
You Who know the whole.
Wipe my eyes and hold me, and sing hope into my bones.
Stir the setting sun, lay a silken cloak around my shoulders
that I might sleep and dream my dreams.
So on awakening I will see more keenly than before.

El Roei, You Who witness all, walk with me
as I prune my vines and stride the hills and smell the earth's fragrances and
weep my tears into fertile soil.
Walk with me as I look towards the sky for strength and step forward
into the day and cut my grapes to crush to wine.

El Roei, Seer of Visions, stand with me
as I walk this moon of Av
As I walk, stand with me,
You Who see it all.

Shavuot

Your soul now stretches like a flower unfurling her petals,
opening wider and wider.
It is now time,
time to ready for wedding.

For one day you eat only dairy foods,
taking you back to the beginning of life, to the first food that sustained you
when you emerged into this world.
You remember that primal closeness, the innocence of the newly born.
You remember the Garden.

You drink milk, color of the Moon, bearer of knowledge.
You gather roses, rich with fragrance, sacred flower.
You begin your pilgrimage, walk of faith, carrying the fruit of your fields,
of your being, to offer as pledge, as betrothal gift.
And you call upon the name of God
HaKodesh,
Holy One,
One Who is dear to your soul.


HaKodesh,
You Who are Holy, You Who see the holy in me,
this eve I am ready to join with You.
I have struggled to release that which binds me,
so that I might be free, fully free,
to stand with You.

Now the time has arrived.
I am garbed in light. I am decked with roses.
I am ready to go beneath the wedding canopy,
to engage my soul, to wed.

I join all my ancestors at the foot of the Mountain.
It too is touched with light. It is aflame, kindled.
The sacred places are waiting.

I have been here before.
Each year I return to this spot in the desert.
Each year we meet here again, under the canopy,
And each year we wed ourselves differently.

Each year more of myself emerges.
Each year I shed more husks, pass through more gates.
Each year I am more free, more of me is present to unite with You.
And each year of my life I learn more of You.
We wed different parts of ourselves each meeting.

So my Beloved, so Holy One, so my Maker, my Source, my Wellspring,
I come to pledge myself anew,
to join with You in Holy endeavor.
I circle You in candlelight. I bind myself to You forever.

HaKodesh,
let us enter once again our covenant. Let us renew yet again our vows.
Let us start once again to walk together.

I join with You Holy One and enter into my task once more,
to take my place beside You
that we might join as healers of the world of creation
that we might practice the art of loving kindness
that we might be practitioners of ways of light
that we might dance together
all of our lives.

HaKodesh, Holy One,
I betroth You to me forever.
I betroth You to me in righteousness and in justice.
I betroth You to me in loving kindness and in compassion.
I betroth You to me in faithfulness.
I join my soul to You, HaKodesh, Holy One.
I am Your precious one and
You are my Beloved.

Lag B'Omer

The fields lie rich with seeds, life emerging tender, frail.
You feel joy rising through your bones.
You are ready
to release yourself into life's mysteries,
calling upon the name of God
Magen,
Shield of your soul,
Defender of your being,
as you wander through unchartered lands


Magen,
shield me as I walk
for this journey is fraught with dangers.
The land is rugged, barren and scarce, only thistles thrive.
And the process of healing is as challenging as is the land.

Parts of the soul yet mourn, for slavery injures the spirit,
and in this, the cleansing time, the soul aches
need be felt, that I might remember, deeply know,
that living in captivity is not my natural state.

It is as if this time is engraving on my awareness the after effects of
the experience of slavery
so that I might here after recognize it subtle encroachments
and know to leave it, leave it quickly,
should it reenter my life.
It is not my native destiny.

Magen,
You Who protect me.
I number my days cleansing my soul to meet You
and You, in turn take stock of me, waiting for me to truly be free enough
to join with You.

We count each other, numbering that which we love and
that with which we struggle.
I yearn for You yet pull away not yet ready, this too, part of my preparation.

And so I walk, wrestling with that which tries to steal me from life
until one morning as I wake I find manna on the ground.
A token of your care.
And then each morning, there it is again.

And I feel Your Hand feeding me, holding me, helping me mend,
softly, lovingly.

Until one day I know my mourning time is done.
A time of celebration has arrived and into the woods I go.
Exuberantly I raise my bow to the sky, aiming my arrows upwards.
They fly through the air pointing the way towards the future, into the
unknown, revealing new directions.
And the flames of my bonfire at night illuminate fresh possibilities.
And these I celebrate. They are as precious water in the desert sent by You to
reinvigorate my spirit.
They fortify me as I make my way, forward.

And I dance
just beginning to learn the steps,
just beginning to learn how to dance with You
as my partner.

Magen,
be with me.
Dance with me.
Safeguard me as I find my way to You.
My Shield,
My Helper.

Yom Ha-Atzmaout

Your soul draws toward the Land.
A longing rises, memories unfurl,
primeval roots extending through the earth, through the centuries of time,
and you call to the name of God
El Brit,
God of Covenant


El Brit,
You with Whom my soul is bound,
aid and protect Your sweet Land
to which you guided my people.

Land of hope and Land of earth,
for thousands of years you've woven through the dreams of my ancestors.

I dream of you bathed in golden light.
You are old, yet youthful, luscious, promising, tempting, taunting me
to learn of your secrets, your hidden places.

Long ago my fore-bearers fell in love with you.
On your hills they sang love songs and grazed their flocks.
On your plains they built cities and gardens.
In your fields they wrote poems to you.

For thousands of years you came with us wherever we roamed.
We never forgot you, always sang of you,
seeing your golden stones and green hills, saying blessings over your fruits,
their scent perfuming our mornings and our nights.

My children, my youth lie in graves in your earth, and
my elders till the fields.
My blood is mixed with your soil while you live in the beating of my heart.
Each blade of grass that withers injures my soul
and my spirit croons over each tree that spreads its roots.

Rock and stone, barren and lush,
mountain and desert, rushing waterfalls and dried wadis,
your length and breath I have memorized,
they lie imprinted upon my heart.

Land of light and Land of shadow, Land of purity and Land of bones,
Land of soul and Land of blood, Land of despair and Land of hope.

I dream of peace, you echo with war.
Dream and horror, haven and terror, home, Promised Land.
You are mine, my soul is yours,
dream and nightmare, real and imagined.

Your earth tells stories of when the world was first born.
The gazelle still run as they did thousands of years ago.
Ah, how I love you.

I remember you veiled from ancient days when but a maiden.
I see your weary lined face now etched with tears and smiles.
I pray for you to find your way. I mourn each of your fallen.
I sing of your magic.

My ancient Promised Land, Land full of promise.
Land of earth and Land of dream.

El Brit,
One I have bound myself to in covenant,
protect your daughter and care for her,
for she is my heart and the light of my days.

El Brit, remember her and
bring her
Life.

© 2008

Yom HaShoah

You remember all those souls who were just like you.
And you call upon the name of God
El Olam
Eternal One,
One Who shines through the night
ever aflame.


El Olam
One Who lives throughout time,
there are times silence is the only sound
when facing horrors of the soul.

There are times when speech is too small.

White butterflies float, ghosts of the dead.
They perch on my heart,
visiting soul birds,
giving testimony,
silently.

They land on my bones.
They sing in my soul.
Their voices merge with my own.

I carry them
through my days and through my nights,
inside of me,
millions of them,
each with their own face.

Their wings beat inside my chest,
thrusting me to light,
thrusting me to preserve life,
thrusting me to live life
as a sacred trust.

They thrust me to life.

© 2008

Pesach

It is time
to call upon the name of God
Ein Sof
One without end
Whose horizons stretch forward eternally,
Who is always there,
always near.


Ein Sof,
One without end,
Who continues on with me forever.

Even the word sits powerfully on the tongue,
Freedom.
And in its wake
longing rises as surely as the waves,
so breathtaking, so salty, so elusive.

Each year
each day
each moment
each breath
You liberate me that I might go toward the wild places.

Under sun and through dried mounds of earth
I move towards that which I do not have in my life.
Just its dim memory which You etched
into my soul.

You guide me
away from the whip, from hunger, from fear,
away from watching my new borns drown in the river,
away from the land that is too narrow.

I move
towards the Sea,
towards freedom,
toward wilderness and wide spaces,
towards an unseen and promised land,
towards the unknown within myself.

Each spring
I follow the same route.

Ein Sof,
One without end,
how subtle, how eternal, enslavement can be.
growing round and round me like wild vines,
beautiful, lush, choking life beneath.

Get ready,
get ready,
for that which confines me,
that which I know well,
can feel like an old friend when it's finally time to say goodbye,
and can hold on
fondly.

And I need walk away
and leave it behind.

Leave it behind.

Leave the narrowness, the constrictions,
which distort my soul,
which imprison my spirit.

And breathe the night air deeply into my lungs.
And watch the blue stars shimmer.

They say one need travel in wilderness to hear Spirit.

Mystics go to the desert, drawn
like ones who walk to unheard music
calling, calling,
calling out their names.
Anything can happen there.
Bushes glow, angels dance, mountains burn with fire,
the common becomes transformed.

One emerges
different,
shedding a skin,
shedding a part of self outgrown,
and
it can feel cold without its comfort
for a while.

So be with me
as I rid myself of that which keeps me small,
as I taste the salt of freedom hungrily on my tongue,
as I stride eager through the waves,
and Ein Sof, as I emerge, teach me

what it is like to have space without end
what it is like to be unlimited
what it is like to be free

May I emerge from the waters with new parts born.
May I walk into the heart of the wild with open awe filled eyes

Ein Sof One without End
Teach me what I need to know

That there is no limit to soul
That there is no place without You.

Ein Sof

© 2008

Purim

Winter and Spring tumble and tussle. Wildness reigns.
Your soul knows this story intimately:
the twists and turns of chance and fate, the sense of possibilities hiding
everywhere, how anything can happen.
You well know the sometimes whimsical nature of life.

And your soul holds a longing
for a time of justice in this torn world, for a time of healing of land and creature,
for a time of wellbeing for all humankind.

So on the full Moon of Adar, your soul enters into the Biblical story of Esther
and lifts up her voice and sings:

Under the full moon I
put on a mask and
drink flowing wine
which in time blots out
the lines
between good and evil.

Under the full moon I tell
of newly promoted Haman's rage
that Mordecai the Jew did not prostrate himself before him.
Rage of ego, rage of a man of power
where the seemingly personal insult
results in a proposal for genocide:
to give to the king's coffers ten thousand talents of silver
to destroy a people: young and old, women and children, men and elders,
in one day
because,
because they are different, do things differently,
do not bow down.

Under the full moon I tell
how women of power act within a man's culture
where Vashti, the Queen says "no" to the King's request
to appear publicly for display,
but loses her throne,
where Esther, chosen for her beauty and sexual prowess,
subtly unfolds her strength
risking life to approach the king un-summoned,
using conventional forms of wine and dining as vehicles
to prepare the ground to speak her request,
yet shines, stands clearly,
as she metaphorically disrobes and claims herself
as Jew,
spokeswoman,
guardian of her people.

Under the full moon I tell
how an entire culture's fate
hangs by gossamer threads:
by Vashti's refusal to dance nude before a drunken male court;
by Ahasueruses' sexual desire among all the women in the country,
for Esther;
by Mordecai's sitting by the King's gates, overhearing
the King's chamberlains plot to kill the King, telling
Esther, and thus saving the King's life;
by the King's inability to sleep one night, ordering the book of records to be read,
the scribe happening to open to the recording of Mordecai's deed of redemption,
and the King realizing that Mordecai's act had not been rewarded.

Let me learn
to remove my masks,
to allow myself out of hiding.

May I work to create a world
where no people lie afraid because they are different.
May I work to create a world
where men and women, children and elders can say 'yes' and 'no' freely,
where differences are celebrated and relished,
where no creature knows fear.
May I work to create a world
where we can better see and hear Spirit in All.

May I strive
to add my bit in my days
to heal our world
that all might be safe in their cities and in their skins
in the light of the full moon,
in the light of the full moon.

© 2008

Tu B'Shvat

Your soul yearns this day to dance with the trees.

You've long felt a bond with trees.
As a wee one you watched them cycle
wondrously, beautifully, marking the seasons of the year.

You've watched
the weave of their bare branches against the winter sky,
their graceful, lacy pea green buds in the spring,
their gracious greens of summer, shielding you from the heat of the day, and
their brilliant foliage in the fall.

Your soul knows trees hold instruction on how to live life.
That you, like they, need ever reach upward toward the light.
That you, like they, need dance in your cycles.
That you, like they, need be flexible enough to move in the winds, yet stay
anchored in the earth.
That you like they, with their fruit, bring restoration to life.

You feel the depth of their roots.
You know within themselves they hold the mystery of transformation.
As do you.

Adam and Eve tasted of the Tree of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden.
From them you spring.

Now, in Mid-Winter, your soul feeling faint from the weight of barrenness
and thirsting for signs of life, she calls upon the name of God
El Ro-ei
God of Vision
One Who sees to the core of your spirit
One Who watches out for you wherever you may be.


El Roei
One Who sees,
aid me rouse from my sleep,
from my winter slumber,
and in the light of the full moon
may my sap once more rouse
and rise
and rise
and rise
and bring me into life
again
in a totally new way.

Help me grow another ring.
Help me stir that life may quicken.
Help that which need die
shed
so there is room for new growth.

Let me be as the Almond tree.
Let me blossom in the chill of winter,
lift my branches toward the sky
defiantly, with grace, and
touch the stars, and
hug the earth.
Let me stand despite wind and storm.

Help me, for
I am awakening.
I am quickening.
Hope is rising up my bone.
I reach toward the moon's light
toward the light of the moon
moving toward life
just like
the trees dance
on their
New Year's Eve.

© 2008