Posted in interNational Poetry Month, poem, poetry, song

A Letter to Jonathan by Manouk Rachelle Rosenfeld

In Hebrew, the same word is used for song and poem. This song is a poem, or this poem is a song, in any language. Manouk, a student of mine at David Yellin Academic College of Education in Jerusalem, shared this with me. As we continue poetry month(s) into May, we at The BeZine want to share its message with you, our readers.

This past week has been one of loss and sorrow here in Israel, with the death of 45 people in a crushing crowd during a religious celebration last Thursday night into the early hours of Friday morning. Lag B’Omer, the holiday, celebrates freedom and resistance to tyranny. The religious aspects go deeper, with Mystical Connections to an ancient rabbi believed to have handed down the Zohar, a principle text of Kabbalah.

This song is dedicated by its writer to Yonatan Zaken, who died too young. The BeZine dedicates it also to the 45 young and old Israelis who died last week, and to those we know and love we have lost in this past year.

—Michael Dickel, editor


Dedicated to Yonatan Zaken
Music and Lyrics: Manouk Rachelle Rosenfeld (Vd Woestijne)
With Yonatan Gelfand, Guitar, backing vocals, and recording
Lyrics translated into Hebrew by Noya Rosenfeld
@2020 All Rights Reserved

There is a place
Called heaven
Where loved ones go
And never come back,
Where time is not counted.

Magical rides
And violins 
Play in the dust of clouds.
And i am here empty handed…

It's been a long time now,
I've seen the contours
Of your face.
You have been brave.
They say you're better off now…

I look up high.
You promised me
You would be the brightest of all.
I know you will always be

Dancing in a field
Of memories so free.
No, I won't forget,
You remain a part of me.
יש מקום
הנקרא גן עדן
שלשם האהובים שלנו הולכים
ולעולם לא חוזרים
מקום בו הזמן לא נספר

נסיעות קסומות וכינורות
מתנגנים בעננים של אבק
ואני כאן בידיים ריקות

עבר המון זמן
ראיתי את צורת פניך 
היית אמיץ
והם אמרו שיותר טוב לך עכשיו

אני מסתכלת למעלה גבוה
הבטחת לי שתהיה הכוכב המואר ביותר
אני יודעת שתמיד תהיה 

לרקוד בשדה
של זכרונות חופשיים
לא, אני לא אשכח
אתה חלק ממני

The roof of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai Tomb, Mount Meron, Israel (2010 photo)
It was at the site of this tomb that the Lag B’Omer Tragedy of 2021 happened.
Source: WikiMedia. This image is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike
4.0 International3.0 Unported2.5 Generic2.0 Generic and 1.0 Generic license.
Bar Yochai Tomb, Mt Meron, Israel
(photo from 1920–1930)
Public Domain Source: PikiWiki – Israel free image collection project via WikiMedia

©2021 Manouk Rachelle Rosenfeld
All rights reserved


The BeZine Spring

Posted in Beauty, Essay, First Peoples, General Interest, Michael Watson, Spiritual Practice

A Brief Meditation on Grace and Comfort

GardensAfter a cool, damp week the sun is out! June is in full bloom, our perennial gardens bursting with color. In the the kitchen garden rows of tender plants have appeared in the raised beds, and we are eating mesclun. Lovely!

Here in Vermont the trees are a dense, lush green. Plants need to take full advantage of our four to five months of warm weather, and go about the tasks of reproducing and storing energy with vigor. In just a few weeks, by late July, the foliage will begin to thin, already preparing for the autumn to come.

We have stopped filling the feeders as the birds have other food sources available to them. Now that the feeders are empty we will likely take them down and store them until October. Come the first chilly days of autumn the birds will remind us to bring out the food; we have a good working relationship!

I recently read a post on Australis Incognita, an interview with an Australian Aboriginal elder, Uncle Paul Chapman. The essence of the conversation is that we learn who we are in the world by paying attention to the landscape and Nature. There is an ancient Indigenous knowing that we can’t figure it out by turning totally inward, as that is out of balance. We learn from bridging the worlds of inner an outer, self and landscape.

Reading Uncle Paul’s words reminded me we are of the landscapes we inhabit; we even have our own internal seasons. I often suggest to students that after we watch for a while we may begin to notice that sometimes the inside and outside worlds are in sync, other times not. Lately I have found myself diving deeply into the interior, even as I engage the Natural world as it bursts into furious activity.

Lately, I seem able to stand with a foot in each world, shifting between them as need be, and am rewarded by moments of grace. Grace reminds me to be grateful for my life, family and friends, and the Beauty surrounding me, even as I feel disappointed and angry with much that is unfurling in the world. Grace encourages me to be concerned for my grandchildren, and curious as to how we humans will manage the road ahead.

In dark, difficult, times it is easy to forget that summer invariably follows winter, and life sprouts anew when given any opportunity. This will be so as long as there is life on our precious blue-green planet. May we take refuge and comfort in that.

Evening-Sky The sun has broken through and the sky is a brilliant blue. Over the lake a layer of clouds, white and bubbly, hangs. Trees and gardens are  abloom, and the scent of lily-of-the-valley and lilac saturates the air. The day is beautiful. May we walk through this day in Beauty, together.

– Michael Watson

michael drumMICHAEL WATSON, M.A., Ph.D., LCMHC (Dreaming the World) ~ is a contributing editor to Into the Bardo, an essayist and a practitioner of the Shamanic arts, psychotherapist, educator and artist of Native American and European descent. He lives and works in Burlington, Vermont, where he teaches in undergraduate and graduate programs at Burlington College,. He was once Dean of Students there. Recently Michael has been teaching in India and Hong Kong. His experiences are documented on his blog. In childhood he had polio, an event that taught him much about challenge, struggle, isolation, and healing.

Posted in Poems/Poetry

THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS

THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS

by

Wendell Barry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

·


Wendell Berry (born August 5, 1934) is an American man of letters, academic, cultural and economic critic, and farmer. He is a prolific author of novels, short stories, poems, and essays. He is also an elected member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers and a recipient of The National Humanities Medal. MORE

The poem is from Collected Poems of Wendell Berry, 1957-1982. Worth your time.

Photo credit ~ female wood duck at Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden, Portand, Oregon, USA courtesy of kat+sam under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License via Wikipedia

Photo credit ~ Wendell Berry courtesy of David Marshall under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license via Wikipedia