We’re on the path to eternity via Her cosmic train.
Perfecting ourselves, or not, on a road that is filled with the loss of love, and darkened by the depths of pain.
A way of steep hills and signs that are dangerous;
Open windows can be hazardous.
Objects are closer than they appear.
There is no life guard on the premises.
Warnings that life can be treacherous
as we dance in the shadows of our ancestors.
Standing still is our secret nemesis.
Can’t calculate how quick, but were flowing fast,
the Uncertainty Principle, so true on so many levels, tells us that nothing’s cast.
We exist amidst the neural paths of God's Shekinah.
We've hit turbulence on our rocky ride to God
as angels sing with flighty nonchalance.
Four faced guardians are at our side, like conjoined jets flashing with their reddish lights.
Suns have Blue Flower moons that open up, and shines a bluish white.
Moons who eclipse into the dark, worlds that orbit on a tilt, all fly on by, spinning in a net of stellar stars.
We catch a glimpse of You.
Your holy light blinds us in the night. Man cannot see God, it is said.
Your behind an asteroid field,
filled with fragments of the firmament as our cars click clack past nebulae nurseries creating stars.
We’re on the path to You,
the same our ancestors took.
We try to catch Her cosmic train with a shepherd's hook.
Her engine has become a thumping, pulsating heart of love, as we grab our chests, measuring beat for beat! Do we rise to do our best?
Or do we cut further into a wayward groove?
We hope to find You somewhere, out there,
but the cosmic train is gone, suddenly, and we end up in Nowhere, Kansas fantastically.
In Nebraska, there's an emptiness in the whoosh of windmills spinning on an oblique plain.
Meadowlarks on barbed wire fences sing a short, sweet refrain.
Dry river beds softly speak of Your water in a breath of wind off Wyoming’s parse breadth.
Pounding, pounding beats the train.
We're closer to You with every smack of track.
Your colors are an iridescent crystal crack
off a star’s solar flare.
The Universe is filled with stellar music, each planet gives off a song to share.
They spin as if in between invisible magnets,
moving back and forth.
North to South, South to North.
Quantum mechanics tell us
the ethereal is not trivial,
while God is in every particle,
in every syllable, chiseled in black upon Her light.
We try to comprehend
Her universal truth, the loving kindness of our God,
or not, and just pretend
to go up Her path.
Some say the Torah’s a secret code book, the aura of the Torah’s look, is forever changing as our world keeps revolving, keeps evolving.
Each year, giving us a new perspective on all, that for us, is steadily subjective.
The fence around the Torah;
enter the Talmudic scholar’s house of holy thought,
a huddled blanket, a Tallit Gadol, of our Rabbis’ cosmic caught visions of holy space.
Move around in their words, take a chance, and
step into their place.
Follow in the footsteps of
those who have sought before,
to view a purpose behind most every door, though man will never fully understand. All that’s God is not for man.
A few men, in the darkest of caves, have seen a holy book of light,
not unlike a computer shining In the night, which portends
all that was us, what we have come to be, and when all of This will end.
The Sabbath strengthens
the flow of this flying train
as it barrels through the cosmos, through asteroid rain.
Our prayers, like gasoline,
acts as an oil, a film of Vaseline, to run faster
and faster, because we have no time left to lose.
We've swam in the pool of our last Caribbean cruise,
and our story will be told in layers of compressed mud, discovered,
by some ancestors
we never got to know.
And the cosmic train goes thud, thud
in our ears as we grow closer, nearer.
Suddenly, we are the engineer,
seeing Her in our rearview mirror.
Lori Dube interviews newly local artist Maya Rose Weiss about her handmade, wearable art.
Country singer Buckstein will headline a benefit show at the Mercury Café, Denver, on Saturday, Feb. 15, 2020.