On Love and Hate

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My son’s wall, age 9.

LoveandHate

On Becoming Me

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BecomingMe.img

Help me to measure the depth of the ripple
Extending from shore out to sea
Help me to measure the strength of the pebble
Returning those waves back to me
Help me look in the face of what seems not to be
And see what is clear to the soul
Help me grasp in the dark while not feeling at all
Help me sustain and nurture my whole
Help me smother the seeds and still think of the flowers
Soon to come out of the depths all aglow
Help me fill up with joy and shout aloud to the world
Help me unearth what I’ve buried below
Help me weather the storm and feel with the rainbow
Diffusing that clear sliver of light
Help me descend to the depths and return safe and sound
Help me complete what my heart knows is right
Help me to balance when my wheels start to roll
To run while not going to far
Help me to fly with my wings that are bent
To reach up and connect with the star
Help me to look at myself in the eye
To feel how to swim in the sea
Help me to laugh when the time comes for joy
But please help me just to be me

On Snow

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SnowIn the winter it snowed, and the drifts piled up and the streets turned into slippery passageways. It was cold outside but I put on the gloves and grabbed the shovel with my icy hands. It took a long while, and then the driveway was clear.

I went and I came and I saw that the neighbor had made a big pile as he cleared off the car, and he had placed that big pile so that I could not leave.

I felt the force of the ignorant and the power of the survivors in the mountains and molehills of the snowy banks.

Did I mean so very little, or was it that I meant so very much?

It mattered then but it hardly matters now, but every once in a while I wonder what happens when they are shoveled under a pile of dirt, when the snow covers the stone.

On Locks

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It seems strange now to think of myself as a prisoner, but I was one, in my own basement, for the 6 long months between the time when I asked him to leave and the time of his departure.

I had to get away but I could never leave my babies, so there was no place to go but down.

I used to take the door handles off, it was my only cushion against him when I tried to sleep. You can’t get in without the handle most of the time, but when he was really angry the screwdriver worked just as well so I guess it was a silly idea.

He let me come upstairs when the schedule said so, but down there was my home, my nest, and up there were my beauties, my loves, my jewels.

I remember lying there in the darkness, as the sounds of my children dripped down through the ceiling, their tears leaving stains above my head.

Once I tried to keep him out of the basement by installing a lock on the door. I never thought he would actually break the door.

Maybe the locks kept me in instead of keeping him out.

On Blogging

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One day I’ll write about it all and today seems like a good day to start.

My life happened in the Orthodox Jewish community, where we all are the same and the Rabbis rule.

I should have baked cakes and I should have listened, but I am me and they are them and now I am free.

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