The Longest Journey: a poem for Tisha B'av

The longest journey

begins with a breath -

   breath being one of the names of God -

and ends in Breath:

   as the name of God is a prayer: amen.

It is played out

on a bridge more narrow than fear

and wider than Heaven,

and gathers together
the battered, embattled rubble

of broken days and history.

It is - as if it ever wasn't - love,

that journey of unknown proportion,

coming not because of,

nor in spite of, but 

a love that is whole

and endless

   and love -

      God, yes!

         Love,

             in all its infinite

                 and glorious

                    unknowing

                       boundlessness -

                          Love.

                          Love.

That is the journey.
That is the breath

That is the name
of God

Amen.

For Tisha B'av

Head to Heart

The longest journey

begins with a breath -

   breath being one of the names of God -

and ends in Breath:

   as the name of God is a prayer: amen.

It is played out

on a bridge more narrow than fear

and wider than Heaven,

And gathers together

the battered, embattled rubble

of broken days and history.

It is - as if it ever wasn't - love,

that journey of unknown proportion,

Coming not because of,

Nor in spite of.

Love that is whole

And endless

   And love -

      God, yes!

         Love,

             in all its infinite

                 and glorious

                    unknowing

                       boundlessness -

                          Love.

                          Love.

                          That is the journey

                          That is the breath

                          of God.

Amen.

For Tisha B'av

An Absence of Color and Light

We sat among the willows,
and we wept,
there by the river
that flowed
clear and cold and swift,
--branches dancing,
barely dancing--
as they swayed
and swept the ground.

We stood among the weeping trees,
Prayers mixed with
visions of ash.
and smoke
that rose and billowed,
Black against purple-stained blue
-- the blue of periwinkles
and royalty--
and a sky smudged with soot and
an absence of color
and Light,
and the altars we had left behind.

How can we sing
with no stone walls
adorned with lapis and gold:
-- the blue of royalty
and the blaze of the sun--
How,
before that pillar of fire,
that billowing smoke
that is empty of God
and absent of Light?
That raged in a fiery, metallic storm,
licking at loose rubble,
that once was strong walls,
that once was adorned with
the presence of God?

We wept,
and did not sing,
and found no music
in our unstrung lyres
and broken harps.
We wept,
for how could we sing?

And after the weeping
and the fire
and the absent,
Empty,
broken altars--
Pale morning.
and skies of purple-stained blue
shot through with scarlet and gold.
Mist tangled in those willows,
their branches dancing--
barely dancing--
barely skimming the swiftly flowing waters.

A moment--
A breathless,
silent
sacred moment.
that was a psalm,
A hymn of color,
and holiness
Made anew.
And there was no absence.
And there was light.

And there,
among the willows
by that swiftly flowing river,
We found a new prayer
And sang.


For Tisha B'Av