Friday Dispatch: Poem as Verb

Dream / heal

"The closest we can come to thinking about God is as a process rather than a being. We can think of it as 'be-ing,' as verb rather than noun." ~ Rabbi David Cooper

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Friday greetings,

Swim into this with me. Soft focus. Don’t try to make anything make sense. Let the words wash over you. Notice how you feel. Then begin.

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Poem as verb. Poem as crocus pushing through cold earth, reaching for sun. Poem as subconscious swimming to surface, searching out the light, disoriented for a moment at the moment of surfacing. Poem as intake of breath, release of holding too much for too long. Poem as lovesong, as courage. Poem as act of faith. Poem as keening. Poem as blessing after blessing. Poem as in even, as in especially, as in now and now and now. Poem as where do I put all of this love. Poem as in thank you, sky. Poem as awe, but not the lofty kind, nothing distant or grand. Poem as ear to the ground. Poem as bow down low. Poem as thrust into what Rabbi Alan Lew named so beautifully: This is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared. Poem as I will carry you. Poem as thank you for meeting me here. Poem as together. Poem as naked before you. Poem as seed, sprout, sapling. Poem as journey. Poem as every voice ever that called out to you, Oh God. Poem as ash. Poem as wildflower. Poem as peace.

In this way, poem as dream.

In this way, poem as healing.

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Dream and heal, words I learned today
share the same Hebrew root

that cannot exist without the suggestion,
the shadow, the light of the other,

or hayareach, light of the moon,
a phrase in a pop song I plucked

into English, pleased by my smattering
of understanding.

Healing, an ungraspable dreamscape –
forget soft, blurred edges

of a new dawn, this is hard, cold floor
beneath bare feet, first thing

in the morning upon waking, still
alive when so many are gone.

Finding a way to go on –
this is the dream that folds itself

into healing while you are sleeping,
the dark reprieve from too many
bright hours of absence.

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Let the poem come to you, through you.

Let the dream dream you. Let healing happen.

Pen to paper. Brush to paper. See what happens.

Shabbat Shalom and love,

Jena

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