All these years,
I have been wandering.
Thirsting and hungering,
I have forgotten how loss and bitterness taste.
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The walk has been winding.
And the path, consuming.
In this place, there are only memories and miles.
The uncertainty of coming and going.
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And yet, the haze is lifting.
And clarity spilling over me like the rains in one long pour.
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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