Mind and heart, at their peak,
Reflect the light that is unique. They have their own snow and their own history. Be careful lest you mix their dust with mystery.
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God’s lamp is shining
In every apple of the spirit The firefly gives light of life The summer night does wear it. And you, you stitch the wise Curtains of the mind, The green auroral sweep To the vast, unceasing wind. The marble maiden enters The stark and rough tent Her beauty is our beauty, We give her her tint. So our home shines with beauty It is the house of God And the blend of its colors Beyond stone, beyond wood. There is nothing in the world
That does not arouse thought. No vain star, no meaningless quark, No cell whose quest for life is overwrought. It is in the resonance Of every photon, And every galaxy struggles valiantly To shout out and draw his coat on. Everything can be read, No expanse of space lies fallow, Even to the medieval mind Lit by the merest tallow. The Torah is shining, It sparkles like fireworks in June, It is the sun that one day Will strike with its full blast upon the moon. And you who are wise of heart, You whose eyes are wide as saucers, You who have ridden upon the backs of dolphins And discovered all the Blakes and Chaucers, Will read the Torah in the firmament And every resonating string And every theory of frothing space And every ptesosaur’s feathered wing, Because everything is the word of God, Because the night is a patch of His robe, And His words are swimming in the Amazon’s mud And in every nascent, fizzing globe. And then turn in from the night From the star-speckled field, For some light may be seen, Yet still more is concealed. Healthy bodies, meaning: pure and clean,
I mean, beautiful within and without-- And noble souls-- How I would wish to meet them hereabout-- Said to be—I say—courageous and sweet, Said to be pure as olive oil, I hesitate to say—where is my hope? Are they all mythic & beneath the soil? We must strive to increase Among all humankind, Even more, among Jews, Cultivating the clarified mind-- Is there such a thing, Any such thing remaining? I would rather visit gravesites With the wet wind raining-- Push away your thoughts That disturb this twin intent-- It is the goal of life-- A soul’s embodiment-- Through means of deed & mind-- Through spiritual flair-- Though I’ve been disappointed On this thoroughfare-- The songbird sings
With natural art. The sculptor and poet Are his counterpart. The songbird contains Every species of song, Every thought, every scent That the wind bears along. He unites all scraps Of stray melody, Discordant to others, In his own single key. His unified soul Sings without and within, Till he binds and unites From the bone to the skin. And the clusters of song That his visions release Adorn the world With points of peace. When it is love
That impels you to return And not the fear Of flames that burn, You must persuade yourself To forgive All you did wrong, As you ask others to forgive All you’ve done wrong. And when you are clear, And free and scrubbed And fresh and dear, Down will come brightness From the highest good And turn all your dimness To a rain-smelling wood. |
Yaacov David Shulman
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