I am not off the derech.
But I am off the grid.
Here there are no cups for anointing
Or even a burning bush for the seeing.
But a great opening like the river of psalms.
Words smashing against the rocks of tradition
And images arising as current that carries my soul steadily downstream.
Where? I can’t begin to say.
But of all the paths that were chosen for me.
I take refuge in the one that moves freely.
Flowing into the sea of life by the gift of my own choosing.
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