It came to me as a thought,
an acknowledgement on Rosh Hashanah eve:
I do not believe in God as a being, an existence.
Though I perceive that ideas and rituals which accompany
belief have their origins in the core of man/woman
and our connectivity to the forces of life experienced
(observe a gray sky, a bare breeze, a soaring raven, a red geranium).
Tell me, please, what is this that makes my heart seek
to grow to share to help to gather together?
Then, a rabbi, in his sermon, said, through a metaphor about editors,
that God is dead.
Why, then, does he wear a prayer shawl and stand
Why make his declaration and its pronouncement as if
I expected an apology from him the next time he spoke,
but it was just to give a page number to turn to.
What is a belief that cuts connections?
Perhaps he has lost something in trying to lead, to teach:
perhaps he needs to sing from his soul,
(a friend told me the human voice is the primal instrument)
and find meaning beneath consciousness
because God, whatever it means within,
drives us to come together for confirmation for beauty for comfort
to acknowledge existence and struggle and shared burdens and blessings.
There are threads (perhaps he should try a weaver metaphor)
of praises and doubts, endlessly forming,
that have healed tears (tairs and teers).
No, that is not right. It is not healing:
there is the pain and joy of alone and in community,
there are expressions of self that stay hidden
and those that find company.
There is this cycle of existence, with meaning and none,
in a mind, or millions.
Hineni. Here I am.
There is what there is:
a tenuous solid connection.
And, I think, that is enough
when I lay my head down and when I rise up
and what is in between and after and before.