Shekinah


“I am the mother and the daughter. I am the bride and the bridegroom, and it is my husband who begot me. I am the silence that is incomprehensible and the idea whose remembrance is frequent. I am the voice whose sound is manifold and the word whose appearance is multiple. I am the utterance of my name.” – Sorita d’Este

“I am beautiful with you” – Lizzy Mae Hale

She said would you try something with me, a favor of a curiosity of mine. A wager between a man and something, I think I read about this in one of your rhymes. Would you come in ecstasy with me, and ride your way across the great divide? All I need is for you to lay your soul down beside me, and sleep with me through your night. She said my needs have built up like your phantoms, those daemons that stroke what they find. Nothing can be built on indecision, and to be without you I would lose my mind. She said, I know the door is open and its January outside, but between us there is something warmer, and it feels like summer, please room temperature with that wine.

And I looked to see the falling mountains, the ones that had been inside my mind. In front of me, there stood no dark valley, just a land of milk and honey and sunshine. Then she came out glorified in me, like a gift of pleasure given in kind. There were spells, sounds, and the feeling of her breath, carving hallelujah on my spine. The chills of a mystical lettering branded from past times. Something that dwelled deep within me beyond the X’s and the O’s. Moving so far beyond my boundaries, a warmth in passion and grace undefined. She said, I know the door is open and its January outside, but between us there is something warmer, and it feels like summer, please room temperature with that wine.

She said would you marry Shekinah under moonlight; know the light of my body, it’s by design. Take a branch out of David and fill me up, know I am beautiful when you are inside. For my ways are in love with your shadows, your hurts are scars, that I heal in your mind. Come bath with me, do not wait until tomorrow, make one out of two, it is more than a rhyme. For we are much more than lovers, we are greater than lust of the world that binds. From left to right, I am a source inside you, make me beautiful, and now is the time. She said, I know the door is open and its January outside, but between us there is something warmer, and it feels like summer, please room temperature with that wine. – 01.11.2019 – דָנִיֵּאל

The Cave


When your hiding underground, the rain can’t get you wet.

But do you think your righteousness could pay the interest on your debt?

I have my doubts about it. – Arcade Fire

I was young and I also aged, and spent my time surveying in a modern cave, while money was flowing all around, I spent my time underground. For seven by seven and seven years on I been searching these caverns of mystery till dawn. I’m no David with stars all around, except maybe those six points I think that I’ve found, the talking spirits of G_Ds underground, the ones that come out when your down. Immune from the dungeons that would frighten most so, not this explorer who followed his goals, led by fluorite, iridescent my soul, discoveries made without reading a scroll, the rumble of change is so near. Underground!

Such corridors of darkness, and rancor and gloom, hiding from somewhere to get somewhere soon, a circle still walking, hiding and damp, still all the mystery’s, the unpaid debt, a covers a cover when your enemy’s not around. Oh Adonai, can’t I stay underground. I stride to go deeper in mind here I go, still above me there’s chatter where life it still grows, the walls of these caverns shows mysteries of man, a sign of a doctrine, I need to understand. Underground!

It could be my faith wasn’t developed at all, or maybe the interest was what I saw on those cavern walls. It could be a stranger that passed in the night, when I was a boy sleeping oh so light, by destiny’s doorstep where magic lies, the Lord of compassion took me by different rites. He whispered such secrets, the cave knew such light, everything happened without much a fight. I was born to the tribe by the moon, Shekinah she showed me the way from the womb, Ma’arat HaMachpelah the immortals tomb, there I cried, in judgments eyes. And then I found my way out to the sun, to the sun. From underground! – 02.21.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

El Diente (Follow) 1990

El

For your ways are a different way, your voice so small, it sends me in, and I follow.

A place ahead, where heavens bent, above the clouds, where air is spent, I bend my brow, I cannot speak, for I’m alone, with my bare feet, on holy ground in simplicity, and I follow. Mountain range that meets G-d’s eye, am I awake or did I die, for vaults and doors are here for us to enter in and seek a trust, a two-way street, a two-way love, for G-d is here and I’m in love, and I follow.

El Diente, a raptured art, wrapped so high, an ark a path, and while I climb, I follow. For your ways are a different way, your voice so small, it sends me in. And there the wind, it speaks to me, high upon this mountain peak, tearing me, till I can’t see, yet still you want of me, and I follow, in disbelief I follow.

I’d like to say you hold me still, bind creation in my heart, but here just now, we are so far apart, like plants and stone, we cannot meet. Yet when I break, when I bleed, like here on this lifted place, I look and you say jump, and I will follow. And I will fall a thousand feet, rest my will at your need, and when I look you are high and lifted up, like always on this mountain peak, which you created and still you say follow, and I will follow.

El Diente’s trail makes me weep, when it’s winter, it plays my feet like a violin a string of glass, and yet I follow, where this way would have me go. If words could help, I’d sing them now, to the crest, the place of infinity, where G_D would turn to me and say follow. And I will breath here in this place forever, so high in your grace, free to follow.

For your ways are a different way, your voice so small, it sends me in, and I follow.

El Diente peak is a summit in the San Miguel Mountains of Colorado. It stands 14,165 feet above sea level, and to climb it in winter reveals an inner faith that demands one follow. – 03.19.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל


When the Angel Comes Upon Me


“When the Angel comes upon me”

Lonely boy takes an ice pick reaches in his shyness, so congeniality, soul is broken in a thousand pieces so tentatively. Every story told in virtual, every song played out of key, every psalm scribed for the kingdom, waits so far behind me. Now alone, and in wild spirit with a love in harmony, bring you now me to a high place, such an altar where eyes can see. For you swore me to a secret such a long time ago, entered wealth just like a wizard, blessed me, then said let it go. Said would you ask for better, said you might become a king, but you said I’d ask for nothing, for that’s where beggars find wings, and it is unto your arms, I know others do belong, and I’ll ask them all to join me, but just right now oh so inward, it is such a place. Better than free, better than home.

“When the Angel comes upon me”

I think how cool it is to play music, something magic in key’s sharp, David must have been like Jimmy, playing a guitar like a harp. All those minors everlasting scales of lost in me, fighting daemons, with a story, they lost the war inside of me. There it was in something different, scenes and parts, no treachery, lifted you and put me in prison, one that covers no lies in me, but brings me home. My Adonai, better than free, such a place, better than home.

“When the Angel comes upon me”

Charting stars, that show a passage, every word a path somewhere, intricate a web of glory, to the ends of this earth, great dreams that dare. Now you place me on a mountain, say stay still and speak your worth, for like so many who read this, your place is better than you’ve served. For this rhyme is for the broken, everyone whose knelt insane, rise and take a talon reaching, let it scratch embrace it’s pain, know it now, breath in his name, you are in such a place, better than home. Better than free, you are better than home.

“When the Angel comes upon me”

I have become a Beth Hart fan lately, funny how the whole world has heard of somebody, except me. I wrote this after listening to her song “Better Than Home”. What a miracle it speaks to inside of each of us, in our broken steps that we take each day. It’s kind of like Robert Frost wrote, and I quote, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference”. I thank Beth and Robert for such wisdom, it’s a blessing to be in such a place, better than home. Shalom – 01.27.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Sanostee (Ordinary World) 1973


Lately I’ve been dreaming of strange autumn days, a car, with my parents inside. Missions of the heart, and Jesus in the way, the sand on the rez its painted, painted art. There upon a desert corridor in flame, the Hogan stands empty and still, surrounded by a painting, of memory that’s stained, a course of my life not of my will. Daddy preaches goodness, while time it whiles away, fry bread and the smell of mutton still. Mom, she plays an accordion, that brings strange notes, so shrill, “No Dark Valley” changes nothing still. I reach for water it’s not there, the sky a winter’s gray, a bastion where I find my childhood’s real. Sanostee brings memories of life that death can’t kill, it’s not just an ordinary world, well G-D says it’s an ordinary world.

Still, so still a Thursday, a late Autumns day, Dad and Mum, they take gifts to help make things okay. Navajo, their hungry, and spirits must be fed, the spirits only willing, look how Jesus bled. The storms they move asunder, the sky looks purple black, I leave the Hogan looking, for some sheep can’t be led. I hear the sounds of angels, the psalms of ancient deep, moving I a young boy walking with the feel of ancient feet. Somewhere in the distance is the sound that mourns, the desert comes together it is the perfect storm. And I know there are missions that just can’t be reached, a lonely spirit crying, a wilderness out of reach. I turn blue takes the highland, the fire from below, a flame in the desert, a dream I will keep. Sanostee brings memories of life that death can’t kill, it’s not just an ordinary world, well G-D says it’s an ordinary world.

Sometimes I am lonely, sometimes I am sad, thinking of all others, and things I haven’t had, but then the dream before me, the one that mocks the past. My childhood in the desert, the best I ever had. It’s still just a Thursday, a strange autumn day, my missionary parents keeping daemons at bay. A trip out to Sanostee, a Thanksgiving noon, a storm out of the wasteland, bringing birth, out of a wound, a young boys wound. I reach for water it’s not there, the sky a winter’s gray, a bastion where I find my childhood’s real. Sanostee brings memories of life that death can’t kill, it’s not just an ordinary world, well G-D says it’s an ordinary world.

My parents were Wesleyan Methodist missionaries in the early to mid- nineteen seventies, serving the Navajo Indian reservation in Northwest New Mexico. Often they would travel to a place south of Shiprock, New Mexico, to hold services. While they served, I wandered, running through the desert washes, and climbing mesa’s that touched the sky. One November around Thanksgiving I believe, I saw a late autumn storm, that I have never forgotten. I dream about it still. I think we live in no ordinary world, although my faith tells me different. What is seen is ordinary, that not seen, not so much. I think what I saw that November day in 1973 was the unordinary made ordinary, and it was beautiful. – 11.27.2015 –  דָּנִיֵּאל

SHEEN


“So I said I am fallen, sweetly into this dark stormed sea, from those others, false accusations, those beliefs that terrify me”. Those words came from something beyond me, baritone, maybe, sexually sweetly, “do you not see, that fallen taste, I would love infallibly, that beautiful form I would, make sheen, strip away all the pain that surrounds belief. Breathe, sweet surrender to me”.

Oh who is it now that would judge over me, just G_D in all raiment, my name is indeed, for all sweet surrender in sheen and in storm come join me remember, one judge is its form, for you do not need a religion or peace, you do not need those men who breath death in their grief, for sweet, sweet surrender is all when you breath, it’s all when you breath.

Every, oh everyone says to me, your life should be this or it should not be. Why you should not have her or you should do this, it seems oh Daniel your life’s not of bliss, and if you would be poor, for poor you should be, and you should want something, but something you need. And voices they come, from those who speak while dead, there spirits with Jesus, that place of guilt dread. Oh I say of what there is respect of me, that part in endeavor that part you don’t see. But still they spell on with their Munchausen eyes, there daggers of pity, those Christian dead eyes, and bellows and billows of false sense of ease, I see it when they come to characterize me, for it is a time of dead dawn that is past, that person that holds there sense unwilling dread. For what is the truth of what you don’t see, the G-D you deny, that watches on me. Have you thought your soul so secure in its rest, while marching ore others those who know your best. What oh adventure when you come to die, to know you were wrong to know you lived less.

And now like the watchman that watches ore me, the daemon of purpose that changes with ease, would you know that now I surrender my rest, I give unto others the thing I know best. It is with a still grace and change upon dawn, a sweet near surrender to fly in a storm, a recognition of who holds all keys, a spirit indigenous, to damn theocracy, a billowing storm of all matter and rain. A gift of the purpose, creator all things, a light that moves, and catheterizes me. Reaches for you and ask you to see. A sweet, sweet surrender not Biblical form, a treasured of timber, ghost spirit no forms, and the one that drops down when you’re on your knees, I see that in you and I know it’s in me.

Oh who is it now that would judge over me, just G_D in all raiment, my name is indeed, for all sweet surrender in sheen and in storm come join me remember, one judge is its form, for you do not need a religion or peace, you do not need those men who breath death in their grief, for sweet, sweet surrender is all when you breath, it’s all when you breath.

For those of the select that are fallen, you are so beautifully made in G_D’s eyes, and I might add mine. – 10.11.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Faith upon Goodbye


We stand two feet apart in the terminal at Ben Gurion, his yarmulke off center, looking as if any gust of wind from the Mediterranean would turn its course on his head. “My time to go son, I hate goodbyes”. He stands there, lanky, the breadth and measurement of Moshiach, the eyes of redemption, his brown eyes entertaining lessons from some distant land. “I don’t know Dad, Goodbyes hold the sound of love, hello’s the timidity of happiness”. “I’ll take the goodbyes”.

“It’s a little bolt of lightning spat across the sky, while my daddy holds me, it sounds just like goodbye. Split the air that’s sat there, then it said goodbye, mixed a lot of color, what a joy filled ride. You have always told me, truth is when you leave, G-D it sounds like rapture, my heart cannot beat. When I feel those tears start, rational and true, sound of salt that’s dripping, that is love not new. In your thoughts my daddy you have sounded out my years, made my current value, fought off all my fears. G-D has held me nearer, close that I don’t see, all the points of danger that bring harm to me. What comes from my senses is all that I hear, and it sounds like psalms sung, love within my ears”.

Son I held you breathing, curls against my chest, and the sound of life song, gave my soul some rest. When I laid you backwards and I said goodnight, your breathing got much louder, your love within goodbye. There are open pockets, within the air I fly, each time the plane goes downward, I’ll know exactly why. When it comes to living, reminders of just why, G-D will say he loves me, a reminder for when I die. Just a little further son, I say goodbye, my love is more than memory, its faith upon goodbye!

The yarmulke, looks centered now, weaving through the crowd. Goodbye tearing its way into the roots of my soul. I don’t know if I can ever remember a hello! – 12.22.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Even Faith (Leviticus)

Even faith unto Sinai, there by letter you decide, in your sounds and by your sighs, you made harmony. Unto ancient unto skies, parallel by rule and life, law intended deep inside, this tranquility.

There are roots that come up bare from the underworld, they do source themselves in law, and site their words unfurled. There are dangers often sought, that speak upon soft poems, like a syren with strange spell, their voices in soft moan. Have you drawn upon yourself, interrupted strange dreams, fallen into doctrinal wells, those where devils preen? Even faith the tides of life, taken from harsh black or white, these are all we try to find, in our fallen dreams, rules of law that one must find, no one sees them in the light, of their destiny. Has this world known not of right, has this shadow ruled this night, has this underworld found such that we should cry….? Bring us to tranquility!

Even faith unto Sinai, there by letter you decide, in your sounds and by your sighs, you made harmony. Unto ancient unto skies, parallel by rule and life, law intended deep inside, this tranquility.

For all who look, an over world, that strange path of pretty swirls, that work, that most would say hard, for eternity. Even faith the rules of life, those that bind us to a sign, into warmth a place of light, no mediocrity. You say do not carve yourself, pray before who claims himself, this is law unto oneself, can creation see, what you’ve made relief. All we are in matter formed, from your love before we’re born, oh your law unto this faith we breathe, by my G-D to me. Bring us to tranquility!

Even faith unto Sinai, there by letter you decide, in your sounds and by your sighs, you made harmony. Unto ancient unto skies, parallel by rule and life, law intended deep inside, this tranquility.

So it is, I turn to sky, every morning, every night, place myself before your light and breathe. Master of divinity, all the signs decreed. Over, under now you speak, oh Orion, from your keep, G-D of mystery, loose in me, now you root it all belief, touch those things I cannot see, even faith eternity. Balanced judgment, equal life, kind of spirit there are times, you invade and make these right in me. Even faith…..Bring us to tranquility!

Even faith unto Sinai, there by letter you decide, in your sounds and by your sighs, you made harmony. Unto ancient unto skies, parallel by rule and life, law intended deep inside, this tranquility.

So, even faith cannot be real, for in truth it lies and kills, has it become what’s not real, sidelined. Only law can instill time, bring about what is inside, bring the G-D that is mankind beneath. Waiting there in over world, tidings Torah for this world, watching stories, lives unfurl, even faith that’s lived by law, can bring…..tranquility!

Even faith unto Sinai, there by letter you decide, in your sounds and by your sighs, you made harmony. Unto ancient unto skies, parallel by rule and life, law intended deep inside, this tranquility. – 11.29.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Part II [It’s What We Do]


At one hundred one plus ten more strong, Alexander Imich, received a song, weighted in sapphire weighted in strife, he wore tefillin, he wore life, it’s what we do. Scars like lightning, sunset on skin, Sharon Debunek, abused within, she thought about cutting a little bit more, but laws of her body, made her want more, so she smiles, and writes, it’s what we do. Alchemic waters, interest in law, balance of matter, destiny calls. Code on my forehead, blood in my skin, if there’s a reason, instinct within, logic in wanting, my love begins, it’s what we do.

In motion held sightless, hands above light, Alicia Alonso, spun in beauty into the night, she danced above promise, she twirled into flight, intuition of sight, it’s what we do. He rhymes in his madness, his mind split by a bullet wound, and when the right song plays, Lex Cordova, dances naked under his favorite moon. He researches heaven, and believes in seconds of life extended when he prays, it’s what we do. Simple beginning, to likely end, equal love for indignity of sin, a faith for every curtain of horror that’s been ripped from your soul. A search is over, a spark spoken, my love begins, it’s what we do.

Mathematical wings, by savant thunder, gaged and judged before nine, in keys of major majesty, Derek Paravicini takes the musical dais, and reaches a deeper place inside, it’s what we do. Deluded in richness guilt ridden by the touch of her father’s skin, Jenna Payne, rides between the cross and bulimic wrath, and in a sudden inspiration she sees a rock to climb. She ascends to touch the magic, the balance of grace and land, she rises to gaze the wonder, her body takes a stand, it’s what we do. For a lifetime the answer surrounds us, it reaches to touch us, to become us, to play us, to be what we do. My love begins, it’s what we do.

 

I wondered how it would end, the question first posed, “What do we do? I didn’t really lose any sleep over it, but being somewhat neurotic, and a little obsessive, I knew this week could not end without posting an answer. I read a story today on Chabad.org how 111 year old Alexander Imich was visited by a young Rabbi and he wore tefillin for the first time since his b’nai mitzvah in Poland over 100 years ago. Alexander like so many of the subjects in my short piece above, held the answer to my question first posed in “What do we do”. It is instinctual to live, to begin, to breathe, and to live according to a better law, it is logical to love, not want to love, but to love, and with that my love begins, it’s what I do. – דָּנִיֵּאל – 05.06.2014

 


Tesla and the Ego (A Treatise)

Sometime ago, I set out on a personal journey not to fail. When one attempts such a feat and especially at a young age, there is no juxtaposition to anything reality driven, but if I might suggest there is ego. A strange and deceptive thing self-worth is, driven by most for pure sport, and pleasure. A definition of self-involvement brought forth for the masses from a dark age when Freud ruled the realm of the ego, and Tesla discovered the mystical foundation that leads to G_D.

I like to observe the late eighteen hundreds through a black and white looking glass. Victorian widows in their wide dark hats and the discovery of the human spirit, raw and untamed humbled by the Statue of the Republic at the Chicago World’s fair. Electricity and motivation were in the air and the unwashed Charles Dickens’ masses were looking for a populist savior to save their humble existence from a slum life of coal pits, morphine addiction and a stale Jesus. The plow in agrarian society cried out for an iron horse, and each and every descendant of Adam and Eve destined for some factory sludge looked to the sky for the messiah of social justice. Their request was to be the genesis of the ego for the masses. What travels into the apocalypse they were to birth.

I write at the speed of sound now. Digitized music spilling decibels of sound around me, transmitting keystrokes through the airwaves of secure servers to the cloud in one’s and two’s of code that boomerangs backwards in nanoseconds for reproof and rewrite. The laws of the ego are unchanged but still something seems different in an age not unlike the turn of the nineteenth century in which a cry is at hand. A tormented populous looks to the sky, shackled by voracity, and seeks the individuality of salvation from the boredom that saturates their jaded egos. The answer if one is to exist might be born on the ruins of history, and it might find its place in the magic that Tesla held at bay.

Tesla said, “Our virtues and our failings are inseparable, like force and matter. When they separate, man is no more.” Now what in the hell does that mean. I spent more than a few moments considering the magic behind the words and how they related to ego and the personal journey not to fail, which is born in man. The ego like the soul I believe is held equally by compassion and judgment. If our virtues and our failings are inseparable like force and matter, then something has to intervene at certain times in history that upsets the equilibrium, and makes us not man. To reiterate, as tesla said “When they separate man is no more.” I have to wonder, what would split the soul, what would make dark charm insatiable, and uncontrolled? What would bring man to nothing? To what plain would we retreat to build Babel?

Tesla watched while horse drawn buggies turned to gasoline powered engines. He observed the black and white of a world grown from the fall of babel to the rise of great monolithic steel towers, and own its subjugation of the soul. He had this to say, “My brain is only a receiver, in the Universe there is a core from which we obtain knowledge, strength and inspiration. I have not penetrated into the secrets of this core, but I know that it exists.” The foundation of the soul and its equilibrium was of no secret to Tesla and the magic that he acted upon. In electrical current, he found the only resources he needed to tap into the divine. Not included was his ego, and his personal journey not to fail, brought him to an unspeakable place where no names are needed for in that place all virtues and failings are one, and the ego has been replaced with wonder.

I am older now, and I stand at the edge of a great day, reaching ever farther for a personal journey not to fail. That which surrounds me in discovery provides me enough stimuli to make me man no more. That which would befriend me is called ego.  That which is, only ask that I accept it, as it exists. I do believe, it is that foundation of wonder that I choose which leads me to G_D. – דָּנִיֵּאל