Every Time the Truth Is Told

Elul Day 11, night reflections

Just three weeks away from Rosh Hashanah, and I am truly in awe of the power of grief. It is both elusive and tangible, slow and slippery, and consistently heavy, as if someone had poured wet cement into my chest. Grief presses on my heart and sneaks up behind my eyes. 

Before I have words or insight, the heaviness is there. The Hebrew word for heavy is related to the word k'vod, which means honor or glory. This feels a little hard to reconcile while wrestling the undertow of grief, which hardly feels glorious. Maybe being present with our grief, letting it roll through us like a storm, will bring a glorious peace afterwards. 


Bearing Witness

Tell me your story

I was
diagnosed with cancer at age 25 
  This was

my second
abortion   I started

smoking crack
in eighth grade  She left

me  I make myself throw up      my parents 

are dead I’m afraid to let go

Opening the heart

like the ark in the sanctuary

inside are the sacred comforts

Each time more of the story is revealed

I gather up the pain

like the dead leaves of late

Every time the truth is told

I burn the leaves

each brown withered shadow

leaving its acrid scent

so we remember