The Path to a Healing Heart

It will be hard. Getting there. Showing up. I am the pariah the scapegoat and the energy turned inside out The push or annihilation The final push to the finish line or I will be finished. I can't bear another year of this existence. I've clung too long to this raft set on foreign shores forcing myself into thinking that this is just a dream and it will soon be over and the shore the elusive shore will finally emerge from the fog. My arms are too weary now. My nails are chipped and my body heavy with fatigue there is no shore there is only water rapidly rising to take me along to the depths wanting to claim me and the pull is great great great All I have to do is let go and sink - let the water fill me to become one and find home at final last.

One month and counting without sleep. My cat who is in pain wakes me up before dawn after I've had only 2 hours sleep. I give her some painkiller, or food and I try to get back to sleep but can't. This is a very hard place to be in. I am exhausted all the time. The strain of not finding a place, the holidays, the sense of total alienation and guilt combined for not being a better - whatever And my cat - who I can't help - that is the worst. I am simply at a stalemate on where to do what to do - how to do it and how to afford it this after spending thousands of shekels I was supposed to use for moving for my cats at vets. They all got sick - I kept shlepping them in taxis back and forth to this clinic where they essentially did nothing but the same routine standard blood tests without ever diagnosing the issues at hand properly. I had to then go back like a dummy, log on and find the actual remedies that were needed and the proper treatment - and then spend more money for th

My father died on this day - 27 Elul. He was a smart man, a man who loved to delve into different angles and the mystery of things. He built his first ham radio at a young age and was a ham aficionado for the remainder of his life. Valedictorian of his class, he graduated from High School at 16 and entered podiatry school. Then a stint in the army during WW2 where he treated foot wounds. His passions in life lied with the stars, telescopes, cameras and photography. He loved to travel and see the world. He would spend hours in his dark room developing photos he'd taken on sojourns into Manhattan and beyond. Always looking for the perfect shot. He was funny, interesting and had a good measure of charisma. He was the only son of 4 daughters, born to Molly and Abraham Kauflauwitz. He wanted to live the good life and managed to buy a home on Long Island for my mother and their 3 children. He had a practice on the basement floor. I never saw much of him and that was a very strange feelin

I need dishes. I have but one plate that is used in rotation. I have no gas and will use a hot plate in rotation. I have some vegetables. Maybe will pick some pomegranates. I have some tempeh and tofu. Will make a stir fry. But do not have oil. That will be hard. I have not done shopping. I will make a movie on this and post. Let the video speak for itself. And be happy. Yes. And reach for all the blessings on the day of Judgment.

The small voice just got smaller. So I asked this person a question, hoping to get something beyond the pat. And this is how it went: *I'd like to posit a question for the writer of this article - and hope to receive an answer before Rosh Hashana - and that is - what role does she think/believe the klal to play in the Teshuva processes of those tinokot shenishbu - i.e. the ones that fell through the cracks, that need extra support. Where does the notion of Kol Yisrael Arievim Zeh Le-Zeh play out and figure into the equation of Teshuvah. Is in fact, Teshuvah a solely personal and solitary endeavor? And what if that person embarking on such an endeavor find themselves incapacitated, blinded, deafened or rendered imobile for whatever reason, being orphaned, widowed or sunken into poverty - what role and how much of a percentage does the role of the klal play - if at all - in the process of teshuvah of that individual? Also it would be helpful to know why this concept isn't spoken

Never experienced joy on a holiday. It is a riddle. Like many things never experienced. Climbing Mt.Fuji for example. My grandmother did cook and bake and surely she was a genius in the kitchen may Hashem bless her soul for eternity. But there it ended. For the food was mixed up with the negativity of emotions that pervaded the household of the angry ones, the misplaced and the silently brooding. Synagogue was an opportunity to be *on* and be what we never were and I dreaded, no - hated it. Screaming matches would begin but it was rare that I yielded. Pitch forks and hot coals. I would stay home alone during those days trying to re-piece fragments. The Holy Days - of avoidance, non-participatory pastimes where the Jewish people, God and I were on opposite sides. Us and Them. And Them were never at war with each other holding knives and cramming heads into ovens. Simpler people with uncomplicated lives. And God was furious at me as I was told because of the suffering I caused my mother.

Such an important lesson right there. When the absolute atomic bomb comes crashing down and shooting out nuclear fallout and debris where AM I holding? Who do I trust? What IS my first reaction? PANIC. That's where I hold. Just plain old panic. The same conditioning that is prevalent first row core disposition that's running the show. Well, I lose something - go into panic. It's usually around that. Symptomatic of losing trust, losing security, comfort - the first barrier that protects. Root chakra. Evident in my broken back and broken relationships that are pathetic attempts to rise above in spite of having no solid foundation. Only guesswork. ARGH. So tests come. Big time. Hello tests, how are you today? Did you enjoy the little performance of angst and thoughts of annihilation that went on just before? Did you? Did you? Regardless. It's Amalek. And the instances that come between the panic and understanding are getting shorter - indication of movement towards wholene

God hears all prayers. Sooner or later the answer will come. Do not ever give up. Or think that He can't hear. He does. Always. Without fail. And the answer will always be what is most perfect for your greater growth. All prayers are heard so pray and direct them to Him who hears all prayers.

I was the invisible child. Never mattered unless I reflected back to them for them something of worth they could add to themselves. Of myself for myself I didn't matter. I was as in the words uttered to me *You were a mistake*. So live with that notion for years and try to decipher truths from lying lips and untwist the twisted and make sense of the chaos and unreality and knowing all the while that the farce is in full swing even though you're only 3 years old - you know and are told insidiously to play along or warrant annihilation - so you do but fighting it and them and their lies and their stupidity - all the way. A scene from a day in the life of an invisible child and the players who share/d the same blood - nefesh as I and their distance and indifference - just one scene of the thousands till I upped one day as all did except birth mother - and left the scene of the crime. Who we see here - mother, sister, brother, dog Ginger, myself in the distance with a neighbor. Tow

I feel that many would rejoice when I die That many would give a high 5 upon learning that I have kicked the bucket. Yes, celebrations throughout all connecting pathways there will be a holiday on that day that will come. Cheering and knocking glasses and feasting and dancing. On the day I will die, there will be those that will smile.

It's been 2 months without cooking gas. I simply cannot afford it. I cut back on food, I stopped buying bottled water. Stopped buying even the simplest of things that are not essential. I am stopping my phone because I can't afford that either and will work with a cell phone on a card. My upcoming holidays will be spent lying in bed contemplating how I will get from point a to point z without falling over. I have pain now almost all hours of the day. At night my knee starts with excruciating burning pain from a knotted vein, then I can't fall back asleep. Then the itching from the pesticides in the foods starts erupting. Then the gas and intestinal pains from whatever food I managed to wrangle starts upchucking. My cat who is in pain cannot be seen by a vet because there's no money for that either. And I think I must stop complaining and suck it up. Because it's not the holocaust and it's not Darfur. I can still get a drink of water before that's taken from

My rabbi used to say Sha BAT - with emphasis on the BAT like baseball BAT. The Syrian way. He taught me much - then we kind of fell apart when I told him I was taking my cats to Israel. I don't know - so much turmoil with relationships. This one wants to punish, that one wants to judge, this one wants to remain aloof, that one holds grudges. And me - I'm reeling like a turnstile; oh! you want to go this way? Let's go! I can't figure any of it out. None of it. I have no idea how this human thing operates. I know misery was placed in my heart from day one and then compounded with daily abuses till the misery was claimed. Now I shy away from any relationship that has to do with human beings and their shticks - I can only bless from afar. It is judgment to be this way - what can be done to undo judgment? Absolutely nothing except do the best I can do and know that all actions, thoughts and words are reciprocated in measure and that measure adds to another measure and with e

FromWikipedia - What Cruelty Is: Cruelty can be described as indifference to suffering, and even positive pleasure in inflicting it. Sadism can also be related to this form of action or concept. Cruel ways of inflicting suffering may involve violence, but violence is not necessary for an act to be cruel. For example, if another person is drowning and begging for help, and another person is able to help, but merely watches with disinterest or perhaps mischievous amusement, that person is being cruel — rather than violent. Cruelty usually carries connotations of supremacy over a submissive or weaker force. Gevurah - Strength Planet: Madim (Mars) Briatic Colour: red Number: 5 Magical Image: a mighty warrior Briatic Correspondence: power Spiritual Experience: Vision of Power Titles: Pachad, fear; Din, justice. God Name: Elohim Gevor Archangel: Kamael Angel Order: Seraphim Keywords: power, justice, retribution (eaten cold), the Law (in execution), cruelty, oppression, domination

Had to venture out No food - no thing for any one at all. I walk with a stroller because if I faint I can always crash into it first and not onto pavement Wheels serve double duty as grocery cart while holding me up getting to the bus stop - would video it but the camera is too heavy It's a long walk onto the highway the middle of no where crossing over to the other side and then waiting waiting waiting for the bus and it comes in due time B"H Coolness envelopes Then the long bus ride into the desert my eyes focused on open spaces and gleaning the energy I will need when I dis embark into the heat Eyes averted down down The stroller opened I lean and breathe and hope I can make it - dizzy now been feeling low since yesterday stomach et al Shopping for food is hellish trying to maneuver away from crowds, into faster lanes and get out out out as soon as possible without fainting Heart starts beating so fast I can't catch my breath sweat is pouring from my brow - I reach for

It was my job to seek out the turquoise stones deep within the heart of the desert. I'd often liken myself and my treks to that of the mountain goats, the ibex who could stand on one foot precariously on narrow cliffs, edges and mountain ledges. I was the swift footed one, assured and loyal, trusty to return with the bounty that would ensure my family survival and a little bit more, in times that were harsh, fierce and sometimes outright dangerous. For there were factions, tribal adversaries that were also miners for the precious stones. There were no claims to any of the caves or caverns or even to the land surrounding them. Anyone who came could take. This was the unspoken rule. But still there were jealousies and rivalries among the *pickers* and getting to and from intact was a skill that required swiftness, intelligence and the ability to become invisible, riding low, keeping small and inconspicuous. It helped to have company on these treks - my guide, friend and ally - my ble

Tehillim - Psalms - Chapter 126 A song of ascents. When the Lord returns the returnees to Zion, we shall be like dreamers. Then our mouths will be filled with laughter and our tongues with songs of praise; then they will say among the nations, "The Lord has done great things with these." "The Lord has done great things with us; we were happy." Return, O Lord, our captivity like rivulets in arid land. Those who sow with tears will reap with song. He will go along weeping, carrying the valuable seeds; he will come back with song, carrying his sheaves.

Thou shalt not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself: I am the LORD. Leviticus 19:18

Grandfather was a medicine man of great sensitivity. He could read the trees, taste the wind and understand the ways of the kingdoms of nature. Many days he spent gathering leaves, bark, roots, berries and plants. Each one wrapped carefully, separate and placed within his special papoose he'd fashioned from birch bark and pine wood a long time before. In meticulous fashion he would tend to the medicinals - sorted, cleaned, washed and aired them to dry. His remedies and potions aligned the westerly wall which faced the rising sun, so that for a few minutes each morning all of the remedies would be charged with the new rays of the morning. Chants for the earth, drum for the heart beat, rattles for cleansing. Each beat and gutteral sound vibrated through the mixtures in prayers of his heart that was always filled with great honor and love for all that Is, Was and Will Always Be. My remembrances of both of my ancestors is deeply etched and engrained on the fine ladders and labyrinths o

White crystal beads were fashioned by grandmother in her wigwam of birch and skin grandfather built. The stones traded for meat and fur of the bison hunted and dried in pemmican, heaps stored in the clay and wicker baskets that lined the bottom of the cellar below. A small hatched opening that stored the roots, berries, dried corn and the meat. All was quiet in the evenings when the fires were finally extinguished and the last cries and laughter were exhaled - in those moments of after sun set grandmother could sit and polish the crystals on the fine pumice tablet - criss crossing over and under, this way and that, light as a feather her touch, leaving no ridges or nicks - just smooth edges, like glass their sheen sparkled bright as she wet them each with a dip, first in fat, then in water - and back to the polishing. Then after she was satisfied with their clear moon light she'd start the fastening of the knots that would hold them fast and steady. A knot, a tie, a wrap and a pull

photo by amsterdamned!

I stand at the counter Waiting for my turn To score the meat Wondering what’s in it this time. Praying no effects, no effects, no effects. Hearing the screams. Each time. Envisioning the hoisting Final blows All in the time I must stand there In the pools of blood, guts and organs Labor of love My mother is self absorbed Queen of the sick minds Her life long mission To visit with as many doctors As humanly possibly Hypochondria – my other sibling Life revolves around her body And its pain Since my inception I’ve dealt with my rescuing her And her succumbing to non existant Diseases Her life line being being prodded and poked Tested and deemed sick to warrant Raised eyebrows, worry, concern The prized cream, pill, lotion, prescription At the end like one would hold a trophy And the high – the absolute high Of before going to her fix The giddy voice. Been there for 50 years. The contemplation is her system The intrusion is her children Unless they ooh and ahh about The daily affliction A

Rampant just charging through hearts and streets from the seed of a thought takes root, fed through media and ego - ego media to become full fledged revenge taken. Blood spilled in rage. Feuds to feed. Injustices thought to be. Shame inbred. Intoxication. None can undo the threads that choke. It is the satisfaction they seek. Thrills. A shot here. An explosion there. Getting off on pain of another. The sickness inside the body of the collective like a fungus. Spreading out intensifying. Only fire. Only water. Only purification can rectify the plague. It is here. It is among us. It is happening. Now. Hide. Hide. Hide. The storm is approaching. It will destroy all in its path. The corrupt and the haughty Will all evaporate in the blaze then flood then quake then winds. All of it pulverized to the atom. Nothing left. Seek refuge. Seek shelter. The day of reckoning has arrived.

Worry is keeping me from sleep. It sits on my head and beats it like a drum. I resonate now to leads of how to cure the unknown disease. The more I read, the more I see how the illness was not addressed properly and what could be done given the right zipcode and pocketbook. So I must move beyond the physical and go into the higher levels of awareness to get the knowledge to heal. I fall asleep, feel her presence wake up, interrupted fearing the worst, reassuring her, reciting the words most suitable for the moment and careful with tone and opening heart all simultaneously when I can't manage to see straight. Too many late nights tethered to my screen. Too many days in a state of dull pain - the aches that are now melded between her and I like a knot of silver threads tied eternal.

The Talmud says that a person can be evaluated by three types of measures: (in Hebrew ) kees, kos, kaas , - his pocket kees ), his glass or cup ( kos ) and his anger ( kaas ). I will take my kos for now. My glass - or cup. I have a variety of glasses and cups. About 5. They are what is left after many breaking. Three match, they are clear glass with handles. Resistant to heat. One is a large white bowl-like ceramic coffee mug. One is a tall peach colored mug. I try to keep them as clean as possible. The one I use the most is the peach. It can get stained with coffee and tea, requires more scrubbing and the ocassional soak in bleach. Then it sparkles. I have one small shot glass that was hidden for a while. I got it a thrift shop. I use it for kiddush when I remember. I still have yet to get a normal kiddush cup. This particular shot glass has little nicks cut into it as flower decorations up its side. It looks fragile, but it is rather sturdy. All have been used for remedies througho

I will stop being enterpainment for the masses. The almost 2 grand hits I make a week with this stubble of a place called blog that encompasses whatever it is that makes up a life in the Holy Land. Enough. I had thoughts of tearing this down. And maybe I will. Nobody needs to see this and nobody needs to satisfy morbid curiosity at my expense. To that I say - go get a life and read someone else. This is my blood here. And I'm not hawking, selling or advertising. I'm barely hanging on to ground zero but with the last fist of fury. One thing I will not be is a statistic. That is the pact I know I've made. And nobody will be burying me in an unmarked grave either. Ditto as above. You're witnessing resurrection. So a little respect. Thanks. And to the doctors of animals out there in their various coats of white how you have the audacity to just cash in the chips without healing is beyond me. And my own shortcomings of not being able to discern between good judgment and emot

Chin up then. Forward and upward. No fear. Just do.

Gevurah Gevurah Everywhere you look Severity, cutting down Destruction and violence It's a force out of control Where the weakest pay the price for the ignorance and evil machinations of the *elite* power wielders. Parchness, starvation, sickness poverty, corruption this won't end until it's all done and all hearts are broken bodies fallen to their knees and the grins of the malicious are wiped off the face of the earth.

Plunk and bam, slsss, whump In the semi darkness the velvet trump of sound lay down harmony in the cacophony some soul fine tunings here in the At Mo's Fear Some interludes of juicy lush distant hand swing memories of jots, dots, hip-hopscotching thru streets of Man Hat Tan it was just fine sister to be in mid town riding for riding's sake against wind and time Yeah, it was. Night skyline indigo never failed to whoosh in smooth cascading vibes over Brooklyn bridges and under dives Brighton passes that 7 thousand miles is signaling real good rhythm now straight into the broken heart of the Mid Ill East - with a shift and a breeze the moon phased trees in silver rims crazily brushed with frenetic salty brims as sun light gently dims and shadows of passing white boats get etched in an ocean of cobalt blue notes.

I have syringes and vials on every surface from the kitchen to the floor to the table to the bed. All sorts of potions, remedies, supplements and liquids to keep my cats alive. In our constant movings, they've all contracted bugs, viruses and ailments. One had her teeth broken the other had his teeth pulled, one has immune deficiency, the other a mystery. and I keep on mixing up medicines in all variations to keep their systems going because the vets the clueless ones in white coats never can diagnose but can dispense with antibiotics and read out blood sample numbers and sometimes sew a limb together. My inheritance is gone to them. The money to get free is now out of my hands and here I sit watching one writhing in pain stupified in between while I ply him with arnica, vitamin c and lactoferrin and light candles my constant vigil and pray and sigh. My warrior brave one, the tree cat, my indigo prince lies like a rag, the heat, the pain, a mixture for devils not princes, not the c

Catskills, 2000 - Morning I got in my car, ready to go to the only supermarket within miles to get kosher meat they stocked. As I rev up the engine I hear and feel a rickety vibration. Ordinarily I wouldn't take chances driving and take it to be looked at. It being a Sunday, I figure I'd drive to Catskill (the town I needed to get to), see if there was any kind of place open that could have a look, and worse came to worse, I'd leave it for the next day when everyone was open. But I'd still be careful driving. So I start down 212, onto the freeway (87) then down the county road towards Catskill through Saugerties and this rattling is getting louder. Since I bought the car second or third hand from the dealer, I'd put everything I had into it. I bought it for a thousand bucks and invested 4,000. Every month something else broke down. Eventually I pretty well replaced everything that could be replaced. One day when I was getting it inspected, the guy had a look und

this morning. 3 full grown all in different placements but she knew I would find them and so they were slightly mashed had zero worms warm to touch in spite of thoughts of barren seasons a smattering did appear - ripe and exquisitely sweet.

One of the routes of trauma – not roots mind you – but routes This is a branch that leads to and from the genes – is one of poison, i.e. toxic streams of baseless hatred transferred down the generational highways, coursing through bloodstreams and arteries and creating who we have become. This toxic stream is derived from the liver, spleen (through the heart like a poison arrow) and up to the brain in a blended Mix of hormones that renders all that it meets on its way corroded, weak And imploded – not unlike sulfuric acid. It is bile – and it travels through blood, filtered down from purity into toxic sludge, from inception together with milk of my mother. She unaware has passed this to her children – and like clones, the generations have become carriers of this waterway of poison. It is a black brownish mackish thick, not unlike tar, though thinner in consistency and able To seep into crevices and the lower places without any interference. It is a coarse, non reflective Panic and

Part 10 1. Three are the mothers (forces); three forefathers come from them: Air, water and fire. Their offspring are the seven planets and their hosts, and twelve are diagonal ribs. 2. Three are the mothers (forces): Air, water and fire. Fire above, water below and air is the decree that decides between them. A sign of this is that fire upholds water. 3. The world is like a king on his throne. The cycle in the year is like a king in the province. The heart in the soul is like a king in battle. 4. One opposite the other was made by the Creator: Good opposite evil, evil opposite good, good from good, evil from evil. Good recognizes evil, and evil recognizes good. Good is kept for the good, and evil is kept for the wicked. 5. Three: Each one stands alone. One defends, one accuses and one decides between them. Seven: Three opposite three, with a decree deciding between them. Twelve stand in war: Three who love, three who hate, three who give life, and three who kill. The t

Aura the embroynic envelopments surrounding the bodies when all is calm like the glassy seas and lakes, the vapors are soft shining oval and smooth. When trauma infiltrates into the core system, a tear in the protective membrane occurs, causing leaking of the energetic field which then solidifies in a rigid pattern - spiked and jagged almost like the edges of a chain saw or porcupine, rendering it dangerous on both ends - the giver and the receiver. It also creates a porous gateway with millions of entry ways where a smooth surface cohesive would be unified in protection. It makes for clumsiness as all 6 directions can be uneven, especially where left and right are concerned; imbalances, catching on things, people and picking up all atmospheric energies because these prickly edges also act as sensors in a magnified way - antennas come to mind. This is why many who are engulfed in trauma seek solitude and nature - as there is nothing to catch on to, interfere with or pick up that would

I don’t think much about my situation - because if I dwell on it I will just get increasingly depressed. There is a lot to dwell on – from my health to my cats to the apartment to income to having evil eye spells cast on me to moving back to America to staying and the reasons why. And on into the bigger picture. So I totally numb out for hours and hours lying in bed going from one website to the next and deciphering and analyzing people, situations and outcomes. My university of psychology and assessment. It's intensely stifling hot in this place and this is compounded physically by the fact that walking now is impeded with my spinal issues and now it appears that the foot I broke last year hasn't healed properly and I will have to either be broken again and set propely or else something else like weights to get it to settle in. When it was broken last year I had to move around – fending for myself when the rocks and the dynamite was being thrown at me and just to go to the ba

I dreamt I was fighting with a transient for my brown bag that contained all my documents, i.e. ID. Not the first time I've dreamt about my ID being lost or stolen. I won the fight to the bloody end. Then in another episode in the dream I decked Joan Collins who wore white. Yes. The things dreams are made of. All apologies to Joan for the scuffle.

There was a moment in the checkout aisle that I stopped. I just stopped - it all - pleasing, wanting to fit, trying to appease. The whole nine yards. And it's not like I am starting from ground zero in a fit of codependency either. This is years and years of preparation of refusal to cave to the consensus. My spine, the nemesis, dictator of all movement and travel chimed in with its all-knowing stance of *how much more of this utter BS will you endure, for heaven's sake*? And the drugged slow movements of the consensus players just drove it home for me - and that is - enough. Every single time that I venture out to do whatever it is I must do - in this case pay my rent and then round it up with some food for the Sabbath - there is a crisis. I am picking up energy all around me and no doubt putting it out - and I am dressed like the eccentric that I am in the midst of *Plastic La La Land of the Oppressed* everyone with either peroxide blonde tit showmanship or empty porn addled

The fig tree has signaled to me That she will not be bearing any edible fruit. Period. Not this year. Not next or anytime in the future. I stopped asking why a long time ago, when nature indicated that sometimes you just gotta accept things as they are without asking too many questions. The yield of this season has been thousands upon thousands of miniature figlettes cast down to the ground since May till now without one big enough or ripe enough to call even fruit. These are aborted attempts at fruiting. The leaves too are crisped, alien-like and yellowed On the sparce branches and in fallowed heaps. Just another indication of the neglect over the years of this property and atmosphere in general. Barren. The pomegrantes too are not reaching their full bloom exploding before their time in an act of suicide. Tiny red and white immature seeds exposed through the cracks like colorful Chinese lanterns hung and smashed. And the olives, still standing over the ages and sages but a closer loo

Tallying up my life at this crossroads. Successes and failures, maybe gauge some absolutes from seeing it in print - and here it is Dropped out of school at the age 13 never to return. Divorced at age 21 - still haven't remarried almost 30 years later. Have never held a *job* more than 1 year at a time. Though have had many. Have trouble completing any project, business, goal. Do not own a home. Have issues with sensory integration - too much volume or not enough. Have been in solitary confinement now for almost 40 years. Give or take necessity gleaning. Strengths seem to lie specifically in seeing the bigger picture and connecting with nature. Weaknesses seem to lie specifically in regulation of emotion, thought and action. Give well, don't receive very well. Get under people's skin, don't understand the mechanism or reason why. Coasting, numbing out, rising above this level of consciousness to either no man's land or spatial galaxies - travel mode. Prefer the ston

Sorting through the Bag filled with remnants of my life Through Israel, Brooklyn, Woodstock and back to Israel again. Tripping through sand dunes and woodlands Piecing together the fragments of roots, wings and spines. Maybe I have roots and wings - it’s just the spine that can’t carry. Or maybe like my pathetic and dying garden – cursed by the elements. Either not enough water or too much fertilizer – or just the air has been hostile, though my feeling is that it is the soil. Compact. Too dense. Too too. Old pattern of extremes. In all my travelings – too much – too little- too late and too early. The ever present regulators not functioning. Being in overdrive. In sorting through finding loose ends and connections to where I come from. In gratitude to my great-aunt in Florida who sent me the Family Tree. Lots of name changings along with creativity and beauty – along with the proverbial tragedies in all their manifestations. Manifestos and photos. A reminder here of how imploded

How wonderful to be in the position of being able to read the climate, the disposition and the motivation of the other. In this ability - going deep - deeper than any psychologist could ever fathom - reading souls - maybe - I've been wary - ever so - from the feedback -from the backlash from just being identified and sought after - limelight no thanks. Just presenting whatever it is that I can muster up and offer in this mumble jumble guessing game that all seem to be caught up in. And everyone IS guessing. Listen up because I won't be repeating this. And as always you can quote me - just make sure you have the name right You position an idol in front of you, and that was only a man only. Not a god, not an entity, not a prophet - just a simple soul with some extra sparks. Thank you very much. On to the other - the mother. The mother is Jewish - she is connecting now to her roots - and in many years of introspection especially in the realm of her own adoption and the disconnect

Born into chaos - into shards thorns and broken promises Into hatred, submission, pain The journey back is the journey Home is the Healer's Walk That's what I've conjured up in these last few days. On the verge of tears every few minutes. Michael, the world, me, air, my cats, my mother - life. Everything just tied up into a bundle of fatigue and wanting to know more but getting busy signals or *return to sender*. And then there is a figurine that keeps on popping up here and there like an icon - a black figurine - outline of a man. A shrouded man, a distant man, an outline. All over I am seeing this in many variations. but the Da Vinci stance the most common. But I digress from what's been churning over in my mind - and that is the severely abused are actually the supreme healers of the age. But the trick is to actually come out through the other side, through the spiral, through the elements, through the facade and veil and shadows and chasms. Through it all - must eme

Nature, love and retreating Seeking solace and forgiveness Red hands, inked in echos from way back when the soul was just starting out clean slate the robbers took what they did and we spent our whole lives getting over it with music forgetting and nature abetting, water wetting and open spaces letting. I knew you from the shy indirect no eye contact glance glazed over like black roses under glass pained the sneak look away too intense to keep steady or to have scrutiny plummet through the truth of you. Common ground the distance between us and them, the gift of gentle spirit, the rough patch of being too trusting, naivete to a bloody pulp fault and hands clenched when open palms would have sufficed, and vice versa when clout was called for. Raw it was a life hammered out gold and purple, there was never enough and always too much never feeling full enough but always overflowing and many times flooded My storms carried me through the East Yours through valleys of the West I'd peer

Everything is karma. All that comes to me in doses of pain all that is gifted in rites of receiving all that is meted out in cascades of suffering karma. All of it. My garden, so ambitious to plants, give life in a barren state of mind and being - just a reprieve please with some green, each day though I return to the scene of green with more heartbreak. All my efforts in vain. What gives. Earth? Water? Or man? Today I creep into the backyard see the piece of plastic I had attached to keep prying eyes and feet out - blown down, slightly crushed, my eyes wander into what is left of the gasping plants and see that someone had pinched off the bell flowers that bloom only once a year from a succulent. Pinched off. The bells just drying dying in the cracked soil. A leaf from another plant high hitched torn off. Small noticings - detective I am - this, that, odd things moved. I know - I feel Things are not right. Hearts so tainted. So callous. So hating. People without agendas except to caus

The Prayer of Maimonides Almighty God, Thou has created the human body with infinite wisdom. Ten thousand times ten thousand organs hast Thou combined in it that act unceasingly and harmoniously to preserve the whole in all its beauty the body which is the envelope of the immortal soul. They are ever acting in perfect order, agreement and accord. Yet, when the frailty of matter or the unbridling of passions deranges this order or interrupts this accord, then forces clash and the body crumbles into the primal dust from which it came. Thou sendest to man diseases as beneficent messengers to foretell approaching danger and to urge him to avert it. Thou has blest Thine earth, Thy rivers and Thy mountains with healing substances; they enable Thy creatures to alleviate their sufferings and to heal their illnesses. Thou hast endowed man with the wisdom to relieve the suffering of his brother, to recognize his disorders, to extract the healing substances, to discover their powers and to

Cleaning, my artful meditation One square of stone at a time I pour water and gather Gather and pour in the intensity of this wave of heat only liquid can alleviate. In every corner now it is apparent how the amethysts are popping up - this in a cluster that one in a chip another in a crystal placed for context in an atmosphere so barren and unyielding to anything but tears. I bumped into a chair a bowl carrying my purple chips waiting for stringing toppled sending the violet beads to the floor bouncing resounding in little smacks as they hit the hard surface. This too became my meditation. Scooping lifting, scraping, finding, carrying, pouring and contemplating the contents of a bowl being filled.

There is a large fig tree that I have been observing since moving here. It is a rare source of insight and shade, and during these times in particular, I am ever so grateful. So I will start with the offering of its feminine quality and this I perhaps will elaborate on further into this essay or in another. It is a sense of its generosity and intuitiveness. It is very much a maternal type of tree, leaves and branches open, dropping its first tiny fruits as a gesture of offering to the ground, to those that cannot climb, to the earth itself in replenishment. Throughout the days since Pesach, I've been noticing increasing numbers of tiny fruit on the ground. Just tossed here and there randomly. Some released by the winds, some by the birds that flock to its branches. Some, I would think by the tree itself in a method of *release* such as one would exhale the breath or release a clenched fist. I notice its self grooming and fastidiousness where it lets go of only the very dry leaves,