The Red Thread

The red thread of Christmas lights
decorates the small, silent towns,
brightens church after church,
a reminder that God was on Earth.
The flames of the Menorahs in windowsills, remind us
of the miracle of oil that stayed the long, winter nights.
The quiet of the holidays permeates the air.
Houses are grinning from ear to ear, or
no one’s home, visiting those who’re dear.
God is within, without the illuminations that shine!

I’m a lone Jew heading home.
My menorah needs one more candle lit for another night,
the flames, reddish yellow, to remind me of the miracle of light.
You’re in the fire from the burning bush to the countless stars
that number the lacy veil of the universe.
God is the beacon that shines within, without the dark.

The winds begin to flow around the cold,
stone graveyards whose ghosts still reach out to Her,
waiting to rise in the great awakening that’s still waiting.
Gravestones of saints kneel, in prayer. to raise the dead.
Plaques of those who have gone before, who
still waits for the Messiah at heaven’s door.
God is within, without the silence of the crypt.

A new baby is born and his cord is a red thread torn
from the eternal womb of all mothers.
May every baby be blessed with Her grace!
May all be the firstborn given to Her throughout all time!
May their waters never rise too high;
May their lives be unencumbered by the chains of strife!
May they dance under the evening’s stars
with no heaviness of broken hearts!
God is in within the light, and without the night.

From Winter Solstice to Winter Solstice,
from the last candle of Chanukah to Chanukah,
from this Christmas to next Christmas Eve,
from whatever form of God one wants to believe,
may She light our path to her!
God is within and without our walk to Her.

The strand of red thread carries on,
from mother to babe, from babe to man,
from man to mother, we all dance in the circles
of the image of Her.
God is within and without the dance of life.