Omer Day Two

Monday April 9, 2012
Day Two Geverah Shebehesed "Strength within Love" i.e. boundaries/discipline within love.

Note: Check back to Day One for the basic explanations of what an Omer Calendar is.

First Musing:
I am grateful for the Omer Calendar for:
The Dailyness of it.
The earthiness of it.
The mysticalness of it.

Looking Down into the Roots.
Before I look up into the lofty realms of Kabbalistic lore....yes, before I look up I look down into the roots of the tree. I see the tangled brush from last fall that still needs to be cleaned up..the empty pots wait for flowers..the ground is dry.. I need to water this tree daily.
Yes, I look down at the roots. I look inwardly at my family roots which are tangled and yet distinct. I recall my Jewish ancestors from northern Romania and recall how insistent those sparks were and how they called out to me across time and space. My great grandfather was a seltzer water peddler in northern Romania...i have some photos of him, but have sensed him more when I drew him. I copied those mystical drawings and added them to my very own peddler's cart that I use for schlepping my art and archives around. Whatever the case may be.Last week I used that cart with his picture on it as I took my drawings of care giving to a conference I went to in a very nice rather fancy hotel in the western suburbs.
As I pushed my cart into the nice hotel with my vulnerable, emotional wares to show I thought of him and was suddenly moved.
* * * * * * ** ** * * * * * * * *
I look down at the ground, at the simple wire fence, the cement sidewalk, the majesty of the tree rises up..if I look hard enough, if I look past all this perhaps I will really see what is there, what was here before. This tree has been here a long time. Before we were here the native Ojibway people were here...their roots go down deep in this very land right here where I live..near Minnehaha Falls.

Today I took my brother to the dentist. Right away I notice a native American man sitting nearby..his long thin black braids, the side angle of his head, his visage..I wanted to talk to him, but what to say.
Uh..."What tribe are you?'
"Ojibway" he said.
SILENCE.
I guess he wanted to talk too.
So is that your lunchbox? he asked..referring to a semi ornate box with a rounded lid on the table.
No I said..as I turned it around. ? It is a treasure chest!! I wonder what's inside.
There were 3 Sports Illustrated magazines.
My brother said..Maybe the swimsuit issue??
we laugh.
Our Ojibway acquaintance says in his even strong voice:
The greatest treasure is our relationship to the Creator.
silence.
I feel lifted up by his words.
Somehow we get to talking about Minnehaha Falls.He tells us that he proposed to his wife down there.
"So did you get married there too?" I ask.
No..he says..we got married in prison.
silence.
We show him the paintings we did yesterday....he gazes at them a long time...
His wife comes out, ice pack pressed to her cheek.
My brother goes to his appointment.

It's sunny and bright out on Minnehaha avenue. Cars rush by. The trees are a luminous acrid green. It is cool and windy. beyond all this is the ancient rhythm of those who lived here before all of this.
Living here means going back in time.
Once you make it all the way down Minnehaha avenue and make it to the falls one can imagine how it all once was....almost.
sacred ground...
We sat around eating our ice cream on and near that sacred ground yesterday..dad covered in coats...eating his blueberry ice cream slowly..

I rush home briefly..say hello to Dad and thank him for the gift of how he taught me to listen to people..anyone I met and to somehow glean their story from them...
I thank him for this gift and he smiles..
as long as I have looked down at my roots to my Jewish side of the family I cannot neglect my Texas roots on my Dad's side. the whole "mishposcha" made me what I am.
My many Texas relatives..my grandfather who was a Baptist preacher..my ancestor who fought in the Civil War and was wounded at Missionary Ridge..the whole mishpocha..
all of it.
This is the gift of roots. I water them and then gaze up up up into the branches of the mystical Tree of Life..or just up into the tangled mystery of the Cedar Tree outside my back door...contemplating what anchors me and what my roots are.