God, when the mountain seems to stretch
Higher and higher, the peak recede
Farther and farther into the distance,
May I enter the inner chambers
Of my gut and excavate one more ounce
Of netzach – endurance.
Is it made of muscle,
Bone, flesh, sweat? Is it made
Of rest? Of stopping to take in
The view and appreciate
How far I’ve come?
How to access this endurance
Within endurance, that seems
Impossible: strength when you’re at
The edge. From where will my help come?
Call it out to the void,
Let it echo in the canyon.
Either he is listening
Or she is not
But, God, find me here
In the middle of my journey
Gripping the rocks,
Looking up, looking down,
Following some voice
That says go.
Image by D’vorah Horn from her set of Omer Practice Cards (2016).
