All these years,
I have been wandering.
Thirsting and hungering,
I have forgotten how loss and bitterness taste.
The walk has been winding.
And the path, consuming.
In this place, there are only memories and miles.
The uncertainty of coming and going.
And yet, the haze is lifting.
And clarity spilling over me like the rains in one long pour.
Except this time. The heavens are not breaking. But me.
Laughing, crying and falling here in the sand.
The cup of my heart running over.
They call this time, Mar, the “bitter” month.
And yet. all the world’s nations are called, Mar, “a drop of water from the bucket.”
How could these opposites be?
Because the meeting of purpose and pain has always been the secret of Jewish redemption.
And the distance between desert and water is a road best travelled within us.
