You’re the wandering soul in my heart.
I see you in the woods,
In the chattering channels of water,
I see your reflection, your ruffled eyebrow’s eyes,
In my long days of daydreams.
Where you wander so do I
With your robes of shades of white,
Running through the streets,
Making sacred the plain, everyday
Life into the vowels of God’s
Universal Ahs and Ohs.
I long to be with you, in spirit,
Strongly driving the mundane into the ground
So like a jackhammer, cleaving
A rail of humanity, from one side
Of those mountains so hard to cross, past
Plains so vast, horizons never end there.
You silenced the silence of New Yorkers,
Making them smile and laugh,
Living without a roof amidst the
Brick and mortar sided sidewalks with
‘No Vacancy’ signs posted on the walls.
Living your God to the folks
Trodden, hidden under the canopy of towers,
Within the subways hidden hum you sang
A song of subway’s Ummm.
The music of Woodstock waft in your hair when
You crossed the waters,
Found the lands beyond the ocean’s part.
Never torn down by walls,
You walked with all the varieties of
Olive skinned, dark carob and
Indian Summer people in the sun.
I walk with you to the Wailing Wall where
You wrote your prayers.
I cried with you at Rachel’s Tomb
For everyone’s children lost.
Your tears ran like rivulets
From your eyes so deep.

Waking, all have things we have
To do, to make, to remember, to do
Filled the air with a kind of warmth
That lifts us up, sending us off
To pick up the chaos
And make something of it
How do we do this with so much in
The way? Our love, our fears, our
Stigmas, our pain, our trying to forget.
Those who succeed, those who do not
All on, upon, in our way.

In this dream there are so many laughing,
Happy people, waving to each other,
Chatting as they fly to G-d
These people have always laughed,
Always had friends, always bonded
To each other.

The quiet ones have always been
Mysterious, out-of-tune with the chatter
Of the Radio of life,
With the crowd, but when met
Alone, one-on-one, one finds
They are also with G-d,
Also happy souls who sing quietly
Still with G-d, All the same.

We know not the Tzaddik who live
Within our cities, our villages, our Shtetls.
We know not the Tzaddiks who hold
Up the world with the slightest strings in flight,
It would be vain to say we do

Tzaddiks doing things
That appear to do so little
Speaking to animals,
Listening to trees,
Fabricating new existences with G-d
We hardly notice
That they contribute.

In my dream, G-d embraces All.
He knows what we have all done
And he cries sometimes as he holds us
For he loves all his children.

Love for all mankind, Lisa Tremback