49 toward the Omer

malkhut shebmalkhut

Sometimes,
the reason
you choose
the work

cannot
be how
you do it

and sometimes,
healing
the pain
of the world
requires
not having
to heal it

You
have seventy
faces—so do I—

We will turn
ourselves, each other,
around again and again
and find everything in it.

48 toward the Omer

yesod shebmalkhut

The dog lays down on the dike.
It looks so good, I try it myself.
Do you need to be pet? I get asked.
Everyone laughs.

And in this hug,
here, by the bike,
I’m done worrying
about if I am wanted,
and our connection,
thus, is possible.

47 toward the Omer #2

hod shebmalkhut

I sit on the stone ledge, give myself space to know that I don’t have to know what’s here in order to be here, let the search to know fall away. What’s left? Well, everything. I walk home barefoot, step after dusty step, find myself unexpectedly met.

47 toward the Omer

hod shebmalkhut

She asks if I want someone else in the room, tells me what I will feel before I feel it, guides me to breathe deep and let my body sink down to the earth, shares what a trigger point is. You’re not making it up, she says,

referring to muscle pinching nerve that muscle then tightens to protect, maybe a referral from somewhere else, and refers me to PT. You’re not making it up, she says. She says this and not only this, and in giving me both, she gives me a way forward.

46 toward the Omer

netzach shebmalkhut

Постоянно, my brain says, as it has every netzach day for weeks. I finally look up the etymology, relearn the combination of standing and time that makes up always. Is eternity in perfective or delimitative aspect? I ask. Depends where you’re looking out from, God says.

45 toward the Omer

tiferet shebmalkhut

At night my mouth learns what giving and receiving actually mean—another narrow bridge rediscovers joy—and today is the third day running, which means I’m off and running. My jawbone bounces with each footfall, masseter and temporalis finally trusting me to keep me safe.

The thoughts are a restless kitten; I take her out of my head, into my hands. Eva, Theo, and Rosa head to shul, and I am with them part of the way. No more lip service, God says. Yeah, I’m done with that, I say.

44 toward the Omer

gevurah shebmalkhut

I run to someone else’s home, knowing they are not home. The thoughts come, and I remember I have more choice than I used to. What do I have other than choices? God, give me what I need to know in order to change,

but ideally not by the way of suffering. Maybe, God says, what a soul is is the ability to change without any external input. Free will was in this place, I say, and I didn’t know it. I set my direction again, again, again.

43 toward the Omer

chesed shebmalkhut

Today, I put on my shoes, run to their house regardless of if they are there, knock on the window. I wait a moment. I see the growth of the succulents in the stone bowl. I keep myself. At home, I run home.

42 toward the Omer

malkhut shebyesod

I bring half an apple, water, my keys, a handkerchief, and all the people and choices and years that have helped me get to this place where I am solid enough in myself to ask you if you can help me understand.

41 toward the Omer

yesod shebyesod

When you lay a new foundation, does it go above or below the old one? Foundations, God says, are not linear; that’s how they can also be connections. How awesome is this place, I say. Me? You? Here? God says, laughing.

40 toward the Omer

hod shebyesod

A year and two months later, Dr. Nanine Ewing dies. I remember all of us lying down on our bellies on the carpet of that hotel conference room, finishing the dance, faces full above the candles we then blow out.

And how have I done, Nanine? “Appraise the affects that come from universal group stages,” “Identify movement that has interest and draws intention versus movements that take us into past or future,” “Contrast movement of spontaneity and authenticity versus performance”—

learning objectives for “relationship with the body unconscious”? If you weren’t performing, God says, then you don’t need a review. My love quotes an elder: “You know, someone told me once that if you’re looking for the truth,

that means you don’t have it. So stop looking. Then you’ll have it.” I stop looking, keep writing. My head is heavy from the hour and maybe only from the hour, and there is nothing, and everything, more to know.

39 toward the Omer

netzach shebyesod

She chooses a few points to be moxi needles. She holds a lighter, clicks, moves, says as plumes of smoke rise, I won’t leave the room while you’re on fire. I am grateful. I breathe, slowly stop being incensed.

38 toward the Omer

tiferet shebyesod

At the optometrist. Episcleritis, which I am told was probably caused by all of the above. The radio plays. I tune in, hear “why do you see, why do you see, why do you see right through me.”

37 toward the Omer

gevurah shebyesod

How many social workers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? I pretend they ask me. Only one, I respond, but she’ll probably caution you that the bulb won’t do much good if it’s burnt out.

36 toward the Omer

chesed shebyesod

Malden. I’ll have leftover ramen. The couch takes me in. We go to bed under yellow linen. In Northampton, I make us dinner for the first time in weeks: split pea soup, some peas decidedly unsplit.

35 toward the Omer

malkhut shebhod

She collects daffodils to see us home. We picked good ones, she says to me by the car. I think they picked us, I say. You haven’t picked me off yet, the final tick says.

34 toward the Omer

yesod shebhod

The tide rushes out faster than I ever thought it could. I look down, see sand where there was water. The island we jumped on rocks to get to is no island at all.

33 toward the Omer

hod shebhod

Today, our hair keeps growing. I sit on the screen porch on the iron chair next to the compost bowl, look out past it to the open door and the rain beyond.