Replenished Spirits

The stone walls ripple rough waves.
Auburn. Amber. Sand. Colors of the earth.
Lavender. Periwinkle. Blue. The sky is
A perfect gradation.
These bus window views are so sweet.

Simple street signs and traffic signals
shine with the eloquent language of the Torah.
I smile as nostalgia whispers to me
my fathers bedtime tales about Rabbi Akiva,
little stories about the sages.

Back in T'koa, the skies were pink and orange
The lands flowed seamlessly. Muslim prayer murmered
Every person spoke with no rush,
feeling every word stroll out of the mouth.

On Friday night, our voices rose up
to Carlebach's Lecha Dodi and filled the air
and the lace mechitza and colored curtains
waved as smoothly as the whisps of hair
falling out from the bright paisley mitpachats.

The simple joy of existing here in Israel and
breathing the holy air sent me soaring into the air,
the wind blowing by bell sleeves gently.
I felt a tiny ballerina twirling within my depths.

Back in Arad, I ran down the cliffs,
the mountains were continuous and empty
extending so far that there wasn't a line to make.
Just a whimsical blue haze
separating the earths from the heavenly skies.

I felt them within me.
Even just a couple seconds was enough.
From up close, the mountains were rocky and dirty.
But from afar, all the mountains stuck together.
I felt them within me.

If we pick apart our memories and look up close,
it's easy to see the negative.
But when we let all the memories sit together,
the big picture is even more awe-some.

These mountains quilt together phases
of changes, transformations, and intentions.
The struggles rocky steps just a part of the bigger quilt.
A puzzle piece that tessellates.

Back in Be'er Sheva, when I held that lovely pigeon,
I could not stop laughing and smiling at the feeling.
The tickling sensation that
this land was changing me. Slowly into
someone I'd never known before.
It brought within me peace.

I get it. I finally understand.
Drum rolls please.
The million dollar question.

Why do people live here despite the fear of terrorism?
How do they raise children in such a Verona?

Because it's worth it. Every single rock in the mountains
makes it worth it. Just the simple joy of existing
and breathing the fresher holy airs.
The people's warmth and best priorities.
Israel brings peace.

As I traveled to T'koa that Friday afternoon
for the first time on a bus alone,
I saw a maze of sandy mountains and green,
and I couldn't help but cry.

This land is too beautiful!
So how could it be so hated by it's neighbors?
I see a place of purity and elevation
while they see a vile place of hate.
It doesn't make much sense to me.
So yeah, there's still that question.

I won't ever forget those mountains
and the light blue film the textures of shadow
that are so uniform in lack of formity.
Laughing and dancing endlessly
these campers didn't realize that
when they opened my heart,
they filled my spirit too.

The drawings held a certain essence.
A dreamer letting her dreams run free.
Wanderlusting on a golden tapestry
of effervescent joy.

I see everything fit together.
Pumping fists in the air with campers.
Earbuds singing stories in my ears.
Conversations about the deeper meanings.

The spirits all connect.

You know what the best part is?
Is that even though the experience is over,
I am still here. And these changes are too.
Hashem will give out his tests.
And this new girl will take them on.
With her new replenished spirit.

Iridescence

Do you ever
See broccoli florets and
wonder how it would feel
to take a couple steps on
tens of florets. A bed of green.

Just a step on the green and
it would curl around your toes
feel soft underneath your soles
your chin would rise and see endless lights
hanging perfect glowing sphericals

You'd feel the heat from above
and the haze would bring you
higher. Lifting something deep within
That part of you where words won't do

Do you ever
see little cups of jello in the store
and wish they were pools
so big enough to dive into. Immerse
and throw the red bits in the air.

Grab a friend and jump
Feel the texture on your back
the lovely jelly envelope
the blue and red confettis
as they dance and smile in the air

Do you ever
run down to the edge of the bridge
See the water and feel it glisten
and can't help beam
at such final truth. Serenity.

The sparkles harden and become
Diamonds. Diamonds! Even bigger than Lucy's!
Just big enough for you to step on
Your body lifts and flies to them.
Weightless floating Across the sea
From one end to the other.

The cold and breezy winds
wash over and pet your skin
and the glowing sphericals remain.
Softly and persistently. With
No intent but to share their peace.

Indeed, above the wind...
Why NOT climb the trees?
Tune and chat with the birds
Why NOT climb the clouds?
Make way up the luscious fluff.
Why NOT reach and touch the diamonds?

When the windows of the car roll down
and our hands go up, the wind
lifts our bodies up and the falsettos
Sound so sweetly and symphoniuously.

Words animate on
our favorite book pages.
Gatsby, Torless, Dickinson
 dance together in a circle
sharing their emotions past and above time.

All the salty seas turn sweet.
Lucy's diamonds Are free
to gather in our pockets to cherish.
Everyone will have a collection for keeping.

We must know how we are free
 to speak the unspoken.
Move the unmovable.
Fix the unfixable and
dream the unimagined.

The iridescence within us
Let it run widely as we bounce
our hair and twirl to the falsettos
of the words and sounds and feelings.

The lines between the three.
The cold breeze petting.
The birds chirping lovely tunes.
The part of you that can't explain.
Would become one with
Such iridescence.

Uber Driver Comforts

This whole thing.
Change.
Do people change?
I like to think I've changed.

But look where I am now.
Back where I was.
How many times have I been here?
too many to count.
This familiar feeling of melancholy.

How do you explain to someone
that you are a just a sad person
who also sometime enjoys being happy?

How do you explain to someone
that you want to be that person who makes a difference?
Not just one who exits in life passively
Because what's the point of passive living anyway?

If you can't better others
or yourself, than who are you to better at all?
Isn't the purpose of life to be a good person?

Honestly.
G-d.
Be. Honest.
Not all people are good people.
Some are good. But some aren't.

Usually the bad don't matter.
Except for tonight.
But once the melancholy hits, it's over.
Your already done with it, but its too late. It follows.

Dont dwell Don't dwell, said the art professor
but what does she know?
About trying to heal a broken heart?
They've hurt you. It's too late.
You've become useless.

Emotions. You can't help them.
But they are prisoners.
They govern how you act.

Dennis prager brings up a good point
That behavior is more important.
But what about those nights?
when the alcohol takes over.

And all you can do
is cry and cry and cry
What do you do
God please, tell me.

What do I DO,
When the cab driver
begs me to stop crying
begs me to stop feeling a way
Because im "beautiful"
when looks are clearly irrelevant here
flattery misplaced
he turns to me
don't cry.
your beautiful.

Tomorrow is a new day
Is it a new day?
With that logic
Tomorrow is just a cover up
A makeup for what's real.

Don't exit, do exist.
Can I tell you something?
nobody gives a crap.
Nobody fuckin' cares who I am
They don't care how I feel
And they don't care why.

But you know what makes me stronger
That my feelings are something too
And that I know that where there are lows.
There are highs too.
And I trust that G-d has those highs
In my future
But still,
Sometimes you just can't help
Being sad

For the sake of being sad

Does anybody get me?

I don't care

I just want to share

In case somebody might.

Life on the Cloud

My feet are on the soft surface.
As each foot makes another step,
the soft surface falls a bit sinking
sinking and making a hole.
It's snow. Wait no, it's a cloud.

I keep taking steps, through the white
the wind is crisp, fresh and clean
Another hole. It's uncertain what areas
Of the cloud are thick enough to hold,
But still, that's all part of the game.

The game? You ask, simply, but of course,
It's just the way things go.
At least on the clouds. One step. Safe
Two step. Fall. Three step. Safe. Four step. Safe.

Suddenly both feet fall, and I start falling,
Sinking faster through the wind,
The wind slapping, ouch! Wait no,
Was that an ace of spades?

Cards! But this is no drinking game,
Cacophonous, the cards are swirling
All around me, the noise,
Of paper at odds with the wind.

I'm taken back to the arena. Snap.
It's your usual fencing duel. Except

This time, I'm holding a set of cards.
It's a pretty good set, I'm proud of them.
I'm ready to enter.

No. Wait. I know him. Is this a joke?
The eyes. His smile. It's definitely him.
It won't phase me. It's fencing. This is my thing. Right?
But he doesn't have cards. What's going on?

That's okay this should be easier
But he just stands there. Arms crossed.
With that stupid smirk. Gently, smoothly,
walks over to me and my cards and pulls.

One of them. Trying to lick back the paper
With his fingers to see the precious numbers.
But he fails. The numbers are mine.
What is with that dumb smile?

But he doesn't stop. Hey Rebecca,
Are you sure I can't just take a peak?
Sorry. No. These are my cards. I'm tired
of your games. It's obvious.

These are my cards. Why does he want them?
If he really wanted them, he wouldn't pull.
And just like that:
as always, a realization:

He only pulls because he still cares.
The pushing, pulling, asking, probing
All with that stupid stupid smirk,
Only mean that behind the scruff and smile
Is just a petty guilty little boy.

Maybe the girl, who scribbled words
In her notebook, through tearing eyes,
Mumble Jumble, Vertigo, Yellow Words.
All the woes, left her all together, empty.

You would think. But now, she's published.
The words that melted the paper with her tears will
warm others within. Exhale. They do say
that the best art comes from pain.

Sometimes I wonder why we all think that
life is supposed to be good. It's just not.
That's the game. The obstacles are just opportunities.
Reminders of strength.

So he smirks.
So he pulls.
It's just chatter now.

This time, I'll hold my cards tight.
His stupid smirk. His glasses.
He still stands there, watching me try. Laughing.
His face melts. I look again. Blink.

But he's no longer there.
I'm on the cloud again.
What's the point of living in reality
when we can live in a dream?


I guess that's just my take on it.

A Snowy Day Dream.

(to be read while listening to "Follow the Sun" by Xavier Rudd)

Letting out a little smirk
As she intently listens to the teacher
she can see the stuff of substance
the glimmer in his eye.

Snow trickles down outside the glass
some pieces unsightly large
others smaller than tibids of fur
the sky pulls every single one

Some littles take their time in falling
other biggies plunge forth and some littles
skitter faster past the biggins.
But they are all headed down.
Gravity is funny.

The wisps swirl together in crystal
speckled sheens, moving all in unison.
They look even prettier when you can hear
the tickling of that sweet jazz strum.

One little gets smacked by the wind.
But rushes right back to it's spot, no care.
She can hear the harmonica whistling
A little tune that follows it's own path.

But let me ask: why do they rush to the ground?
What's coming to the littles and bigs when
they reach the bottom of the white wisps?
she nestles softly to sleep in her chair and hears

a lullaby. Some flakes open their eyes and rise
higher and higher, curl their toes and twirl their heels.
Words lay themselves down on other words and she
breaths in steadying her gaze onto all the wisps together.

The air is cold and dangerous in her nostrils,
but still feels pleasant as she lets it out.
In her mind, all the wisps are falling to a big black
sea of water, that moves rippling one way.

Just a regular body of water by a park
It's hard to find it's exact mark on the map
The wisps are crystal water but still have a part
dark sea inside each one in the collection of white sheen.

The snow falls into it, and disappears and melts
letting the rush go but continuing the rush within.
It doesn't really matter where the wisps are going
as long as they are going somewhere.

Because that somewhere is gravity.
The movement is obvious. She observes and
finds her friends in the wisps.
That one strolls steadily like Lily.

The group of whisps on the right seem
to stay together in a pack. Probably those
arrogant men she hears about. That last one in the corner
moves up and down like her friend, Carrie.

She scans the big group, spotting everyone person.
Neighbors, sisters, and exes. And just as
she's certain she's found herself among the wisps
a circular facial blur covers her view.

Blue eyes, taupe-y side swept hair.
His face and beard scruff comes into focus.
Across the room, he seems to be grinning
his eyes directly looking at her.

She smirks and feels her cheeks burn
quickly turns away, maybe he didn't see her smile.
But she's already caught. How could he?
Intrude her pleasant daydream. Ugh!

But her smirk is still there :)

Just visible Enough for Those Who Wish to See it

Pictures coming soon :)

A poem about ambiguity.

Tingle. Curated this mess.
Opening for nothing.
Muted mist.

Why did it happen? Was it ever true?
How do they see us? How do we see us?
Could I just, for a moment...
turn it off?

Gray knows the truth.
We fall down with gravity.
Breath in the foggy mist.
It's in the how.

Singing Words

Phases exist in bubbles of shininess
seemingly irredescent and invincible
as each one gets it mark through people
and their reflection in our memories and thought.

What's funny though, is that these phases,
are just figments, penetrable in a single moment.
fantasies of transparency, a way to wist
after, luscious truthful clarity.

Just visible enough for those who wish to see them.