Crazy To Believe

They say it’s over. They've turned out the lights and drunk themselves to bed.
They say she’s crazy to believe. That she should anticipate the end instead.

She doesn’t. It’s wild. In her heart. She still believes.
She still holds the lifeless hand of her friend who’s still asleep.

They say the lives that were taken, were just a casualty of war.
They turn tears to dust, turning their faces from the horror.

He lives in a war zone, his bravery is written in the creases on his face.
His windows bare witness, to the demons he’s chased away.

They say redemption is absurd, they claim we’ve been forsaken.
They call themselves indifferent, when deep inside they’re aching.

They are aching. Aren’t they. Don’t they ache for something real.
Don’t their words feel cold, even for people who don't feel.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTM3lRbdZUk

Screw You Hippies

You know how people warn you before you go places? Like especially before Israel.

“Don’t go to Crack Square.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Don’t hitch with Arabs.”

“I’ll kill you if you become a hippie.”

The tone kind of shifts at the last one.

The thing about floaty-ness is that no one buys it. No one believes you actually feel God the way you think you do. No one thinks that even if u do, a shower-strike is the thing to take you higher. No one likes people who trip on God.


Why?

Because we don’t believe you. It’s nothing personal. It’s just that we think you’re a liar. Because liars lie.

If you claim you feel G-d, don’t, because we don’t believe you, we can’t imagine what its like, so we don’t think it’s true. And if it is, we envy you. That’s why we don’t like you.

Also. Take a shower.

A Little Thing Called Divine Providence

It's nearly two years since Elana's accident...and she's still in a coma. Not a day goes by that her name doesn't go through my mind, or rush down my spine. I miss you, Elana.

http://www.jewishpress.com/pageroute.do/38625

If G-d Had Eyes

In memory of the heroes who stared G-d straight in the eye.

If G-d had eyes.

What would He see.

Would He see goodness in blood.

Or darkness like me.

If G-d had lips.

Would He cry with His sons.

If His daughters could see Him.

Would He let His tears come.

If G-d had a head.

Would He hang it in shame.

Would He regret what He’s done.

Or would He call it a game.

If G-d had ears.

I’d give voice to my angst.

Even my silence would scream.

And the Heavens would shake.

If G-d had a face.

I’d do nothing but glare.

If truth spilled from evil.

I’d believe He was there.

If G-d has a heart.

Let it be aching.

If thousands have shook.

Trust His is breaking.

My Israel Escapades ;)))))

http://thisiswhyiloveisrael.blogspot.com/

Gods of Self-Deception

Maybe you’re invisible. Maybe your vanishing act was caste.
Maybe you’re a ghost in your own home, a stranger moving by too fast.

Maybe every torch you’ve lit extinguished. And maybe no one’s ever cared.
Maybe you’ve disappeared in the eyes of the world. Maybe you were never even there.

No. Each breath you take is given. Each move you make is watched.
The slightest contraction of the chest is whispered, granted to beat and permitted to throb.

So maybe you’ve got holes. Vibrant flaws that scream and sear.
Maybe the condescending whistles really are, the only things you hear.

Maybe you’ve been begging. But no one’s let you in.
Maybe you’ve been playing this game forever. But He’s never let you win.

Still every fall is measured. Every scar you’ve razorred, mapped.
Every hurt has been determined. Every tear that's fallen, kept.

Every smile is carved and painted. Each cry you sound, composed. Every
lump in your throat, created. And the gun in your hand exposed.

So maybe you really are just as small as you imagine. Become a servant to perfection.
Maybe you’re really nothing but you’re image. Fallen to the gods of self-deception.

No. Every tear you’ve shed’s been counted. Every word you uttered, framed. Every thought you’ve thought is written. For, every moment G-d repeats your name.

To Kill a Scorpion

To kill a scorpion,
Might thaw the venom in your veins.
And maybe revive the desire to play,
With the God we caste away.

First revel in the chase.
Then the comedown from the high.
Lace your fingers in the clouds.
And peel down the sky.

The culmination of the world,
Is jumping off the edge.
You’re never high enough,
If you’re still clutching on the ledge.

So first revel in the chase.
Then the comedown from the high.
Lace your fingers in the clouds.
And peel down the sky.

***

Cheshvan’s astronomical sign is Scorpio. Scorpions are cold-blooded, and symbolize indifference. Apathy. The challenge of Cheshvan is to revive our desire to serve G-d. To soar the G-dly skies.

The very purpose for soaring is, contrast to popular belief, the comedown afterwards. To drag the G-dliness from your trip down with you as you fall back down.

If you’ve been soaring and are still looking for a spiritual high, you are not high enough; you need to fly some more.

The sign that you’ve achieved G-d is that you’re ready to fall again.

***

If you don't truly understand the above...I hardly do either.

Fearing Fear

This is going to confuse you. I'm roughly certain that it will since, it confuses me. Fear confuses me in general. I hate fear. I fear fear. Throughout my life I’ve found fear to be the most powerful, motivating emotion to ever kiss me.

At one time, I feared the worst, because the worst kept proving its existence. Now, oddly, I fear that it will never go back to the way it was.

The way it was, wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She wasn’t supposed to get hit by a car or fall into two year long coma. I wasn’t supposed to tweak things in my life that didn’t want tweaking or become the teenage equivalent of Manis Freedman (forgive me if I am totally flattering myself).

But she did. And I did.

Now its been two years. And its gone. The inspiration. The horrible metaphors. The ridiculously clichéd manner in which my thoughts involuntarily formed into the words I swore to God I’d never say.

And now I am actually jealous of myself. Jealous of the way I once let myself think. Of the things I once let myself do. I now covet the days when I actually believed hard enough to let sound like that. And the times that I didn’t care how trite or preachy I came off.

I once feared the days that fear found me. Now I fear, I’ll never find those days again.

This is what I wrote almost two years back.



Ps. Israel is awesome. I just can't sleep. Therefore I started thinking about weird things like fear.