1. |
Liberated For 20 Minutes
03:21
|
|||
Liberated for 20 minutes
Dancing with the feet of my awareness
Leaving footprints for the next time
Liberated for twenty minutes
Just like that on Thursday afternoon
I face the front
And she turns backwards
We’re taking a trip into my life
Travels in troubling times
Does she go slow or is she speeding
As she moves through the bars of time
A light comes across all that has happened
All that was experienced up till now
Instantly knowing all the truth
Witnessing all the memories
She swears I am utterly free
Time roads are made from air
Memories cut like hair
Leaving me open and different
Leaving me open and free
|
||||
2. |
Strange Hope
02:57
|
|||
Strange Hope
Strange strange hope
Don’t ever leave the building
Strange strange hope
You know how they say
Don’t ever lay a healthy head in sick bed
But some of us do try for themselves
To see if it’s true, if it’s dangerous
There I was in troubles and extremes
Thankfully sister fate came for me
Taking me to safety very far
And still I feel focused and bizzare
|
||||
3. |
||||
There’s a Storm in my Hand
Dressed at our best we are ready for the dance of the battle for the self
Love that we’re devoted love that we are total still believing still breathing
You and I two petals the last ones on the flower
The love and love not ones
Now the plug was pulled out
Here we are still fighting still believing still believing
|
||||
4. |
B D A and E
03:53
|
|||
B D A and E
I’ve never been so uncomfortable
Somehow I do not care at all
I left it near the disco’s door
Disarrayed and alone and going to fall
As if Jesus has just passed by
And I am drunk or way too high
Can’t believe it after all this time
Suddenly all I can say is goodbye
Your wits’ end is cuddling mine
Upsidedown at sixes and sevens
So many songs did I write for you
This one I’m writing for myself
B D A and E
Simple enough to satisfy me
I’ve never been so vulnerable
Somehow I do not mind it all
I’m not mourning anything
No regret and I know I would do it again
|
||||
5. |
||||
I Heard a Guru Talk Today on YouTube
I heard a guru talk today on YouTube
He said that Karma keeps us to our bodies, like glue
But more intensive structures may go wrong
Unnatural deaths and accidents and all kinds of tragedies
How can you be so alive and gone
How can you be so gone and alive
What were you thinking
Why wasn’t I there
to catch you in the air
|
||||
6. |
Washing The Devil (Off)
03:22
|
|||
Washing the Devil (Off)
These dark eyes no longer hold my soul
These sharp teeth no longer bite my heart
These long fingers no more touch my body my stomach my neck my hair
I’m not there
I’m not there
Don’t ask me how I know
I just know
I just know
This was your very last blow
I just know
All the people you hide inside
Are free again from side to side
I just know
I just know
This was your
Very last blow
|
||||
7. |
You Want To Talk
03:33
|
|||
You Want to Talk
You want to talk to someone and say
Everything you don’t tell no one, even yourself
Behind the dam of silence parts of you stayed
a toughy mute survivor, a mono-play
You’ve been like this for ages but these days
An itch started evolving in your head
A new desire for a little break
To help you free yourself from these deep aches
Say that you don’t know…
|
||||
8. |
Song For Filip
03:20
|
|||
A Song for Filip
Two women came from earth to find you
They went through many men and looked to recognize you
They recognized you by your speed
They recognised you by your voice
They came to bring you back to earth
Drag you down
A woman on each wing of yours
Drag you down
Oh no!
Its no way to go.
You said
I will follow you
I will follow you down
|
||||
9. |
A Brave Slave (Poem)
03:40
|
|||
A Brave Slave
I never saw it possible to kill people inside me,
But a wish to do it lingered, unpaid,
Until this summer, when I came true.
Apparently, I’ve massacred for the last six months;
From the top of the pyramid,
spreading down,
all wiped out.
They say the first is the hardest, it was not,
And it did not get easier with time.
They say every beginning is hard—
it was hard all the way.
It got easier only when I was cracked,
Clarity befell when I was done.
In winter, Kismet opened her arms,
adopting me to her spirit.
It was doomed, she’d come for my heart—
The rest of me united in her bosom,
shifting into an army.
The soldiers of Kismet arrived in droves
Floating towards the moment they waited for since I was two
becoming a mighty tough militia
training to kill the kidnappers
training to free my hostage heart.
But first, the walls had to fall.
By spring, Kismet commanded to circle the walls for six days, once in each day
And seven rounds on the seventh day.
On the seventh day,
The ram’s horns were blowing
And the soldiers were roaring a great roar,
The walls fell down and the massacre began.
Each month when the Moon God
Weds his bride
I remember what was done to me,
Only for a little while.
I raise a glass to Kismet
And eyes to the sky.
The astonishing magic life imparts,
when the wish is solid and strong.
True change embarks like a spark,
diminishing dirty old wrongs.
“Don’t make the same mistake twice” might work for some,
We others, life enjoys us in zigzagging styles.
Nevertheless, even in these wild roads,
a chance to do the right thing is given.
|
||||
10. |
||||
My Two-Tree Forest
On one side of the bed sleeps my husband,
On the other side sleep I—
In a fetal position facing a pile of books,
which is burning on the bedside dresser.
Attar and Zoroaster and Rumi,
King Solomon and Khalil Gibran—
All my teachers, my family,
Hailing from Israel, or Lebanon, or Iran.
I was feeling torn between them all,
I was praying for a goddess to come and save me from my story.
Uncomfortable with my non-Jewish tendencies,
Ashamed of my not-necessarily-Israeli views.
Although my life kept proving I was fine,
My scorched tree was still burning.
We sleep and my roots start weaving
my extra-long rabbinic roots with the unbelievers’ Yekke ones from mom,
Wrapping themselves with my husband’s Gentile roots, embracing, tightening.
From the heart they go to Rumi, and from Solomon back to the heart.
From the heart to my husband, and back again through to Attar. Until morning
they plait, making a net to catch my attention one day.
My neighbour the forest-fire expert says trees talk to each other through the roots.
These night-talks might have prevented my total destruction by fire.
I was raising two trees in my heart, the family tree
and the other—the strange one. Two sides of life in this forest—one seen, one not.
I was wondering if I am being intentionally bizarre while nurturing my unseen
strange tree—as some sort of an answer to my lovely family one.
And it is not exactly that closure came…but I was unexpectedly set free by Truth.
Suddenly, in the middle of life, and there is no better way of saying it.
Truth pushed me out of my story, and I just ... let go.
What real love and its children couldn’t take care of, the long search for Karma did!
Fate collapsed on me and exploded me into pieces of peace.
‘…The eternal silence never broken,
the oppression supporting my breasts from within
will remain my good friends…’
I wrote when I was sixteen…
It has been a long way…
Even great love can’t glue back missing parts,
These parts must be found, and sometimes it takes many years.
Nowadays, there is a two-tree forest here,
Where these dominating scaffoldings were based when I was a teen.
Two sides of life
On the two sides of a bed,
In a family of one and one other.
And the distance between them—enormous,
Though next to each other they stand.
All I knew was that I am torn, I didn’t know the trees are not one—
Until the lightning of Truth struck.
Birds were flying in my forest from tree to tree all these years.
They would nest and sing and call each other, trying to catch my ears.
I confused it with the howl of my longing Soul.
My husband shared me with poets under the roof of my mind,
Secret masters and prophets lived with us on the side.
My spirit was dancing in prayer, to understand, to see
Through the love and the children,
Through the love behind the love, behind me.
I could not prove the burning tree is there, but I felt the fire.
With each tree I was trying so hard to acknowledge the other,
To recognise my-self.
Swinging back and forth between two worlds,
I have taken the swing down now, I am planting a rose in it.
For living and leaving again and again—
I just want to continue, but have no plans.
For searching and loving, yet raising a family—
All under the same name, yes! And oh,
I have had another name for many years now, just to let you know.
|
||||
11. |
||||
We Slip Like Toy Dolls in a Claw Machine
Cheating body! You Unfaithful companion!
‘Why’ is a monster with a thousand tails,
And we are NOT doing that.
I trusted you, you cursed traitor!
The old lady on the plane once warned me,
The Body’s betrayal is as sure as death.
Turn a blind eye,
No questions,
Every Body runs away to cheat with Time.
The (only) son of Madame life and Herr Death,
Time was always a bit naughty
when it comes to love.
Undoubtedly because he was a rape-babe,
Time partners with everyone living,
But he especially likes the fully-bloomed.
His clock-arms chopsticks grab his victims,
But they all drop down in the last second,
Like toy dolls in a claw machine.
They slip away from time but they only have one place to run to.
And his dad is just waiting there, all patience
Under the pile.
|
||||
12. |
||||
The Battle for the Self (Folie à deux)
That’s us; a flower with two petals
resurrected across from each other,
the last two.
We’re the love and love-not ones –
We don’t know which is who…
and No one is picking us off.,
I walked towards you, double-sided mirror
Bearing offerings and gemstones, I came bringing balance
And you, well, you brought everything but.
Sets of scales like these are rare and unpredictable
A madness for two is no madness for one.
Some share a love and some, a delusional disorder.
Who am we?
Me and you? Pardon, me and who?
Who pretends to not be a you-and-a-me.
Me me me and you you too
Identities, animas, we’ve been them all.
At night we do our lotus bend-fold
surrendering into the moon’s reflection,
of safety and of innocence.
Together,
To find ourselves on the other side
Where the back door is never locked.
The days and the nights went by connected
Too connected; you knew from the first day, I found out on the last!
“I know my persona” you trivially tricked me ‘On’
All I can say now as we say our goodbyes
Is I know your persona too.
Suddenly seeing, made me feel so ugly, but I couldn’t look away anymore!
Disgusting and uncomforting as a chunk of puke
My nastiest landed on your necklace
A landing to mark a beginning to an end.
Who gets the absolute worse out of me (unfortunately the best as well).
Embarrassing, yet a bit funny, I don’t know what to feel or think
and sadly, it’s not possible not to.
It will never be explained, it will never be resolved,
What was, was, and no one knows what it was, only that; it is No More.
Just like the verses for two - merged into verses for one;
I can sing for you, but I could use a song myself.
The grand finale of our play, The End, over, so what.
The last violent battle-for-the-Self,
I don’t think I ever felt so quite absurd in my whole life
So clumsy, so graceless.
I want to say you made me, but I am not.
For the dreadful last scene, I was abducted
by a life force I can’t explain
I was dropped on a magical castle’s porch
straight to the combat stage.
To this day I can not tell, which petal was I, but it matters no more, the flower is dry.
No winners or losers in our fight -
We wrestled as a way to separate.
Unplugging 3 thousand years of love in a madness for two
Bitter as hell yet sweet as the Desert Date
|
||||
13. |
||||
The Healing Trauma
(Words unspoken turn back on you. Their letters uncurl, align, and group into darts. The arrowheads poke you inside and show the body how autoimmune is done…)
Rubbing some thyme on the tomatoes I am about to roast
I think of all the bad blood test results I could have prevented
Had I only said all those wrong words
Had all of us—ex-and-not-ex pill poppers, chemistry chewers, endocrine experts—
Had we all spoken out, instead of hanging ourselves inside ourselves, chocking on these scarves of words.
Where are they?
(Words withdrawn hurt in a variety of pains; for each word unspoken you get a tear. The tears make rivers and their waters bow and fall…)
A word unspoken stabs as she falls into the river,
separating from what she could have been.
This feels like inner acupuncture executed by a mad immature practitioner.
You spasm in an arresting fear, again.
Loud dead words are dropping
bursting like seed bombs, sprinkling little sharp metals.
Dead words, not ever said, not written, not once read.
Between your ears the tears run an impressive deafening river
Like the Niagara River flowing hard, preparing to fall.
From sound to meaning!
Born to sound, words find sense; sound is their oxygen.
They voice their meanings within you, bumping into your decline.
Leaking in your guts. Exhausting your being.
Failing. The water falls down hard from the ears and the throat, hurting and torturing like an angry sea serpent spirit,
Tsunami waves of unarticulated words break your torso front to back.
Spindrift stinging the organs.
Pressing in reverse to the walls of your body, it is absurd.
Meanwhile I, washing the dishes in my lovely kitchen, fancy a big cough of all the wrong words draining into the old sink.
I force a little throat clearing, but nothing happens. After all, it is
the heart that is seeking attention… that old elephant in the room.
(Awareness:
You might find yourself waking up all bruised on the wild riverbank. Your body will shine under a diligent morning sun and you will instantly realize—it has happened again. You’ll slowly turn onto your back for a stretch, enjoying the earth, the moment, the only moment you got. You don’t need lots of experience to feel another buffalo herd approaching. Unmoving you’ll mumble: ‘go on then’...)
When you get to be a child with this, then an adult like this, your tolerance level towards your offenders is just remarkable.
Emerging new ripples of fear do not surprise you. You know what is coming and it is never good, but there’s always a moment of hope at the end of each sequence.
Mentally, it is like washing dishes. You just deal with it.
Emotionally, it is survival, you just endure until it is over.
Bodily, well, she is often a victim of her own innocence.
In the Spiritual zone, it does not exist. No impact whatsoever, the zone is not influenced and is not influencing.
And finally, always way slower than the rest, in comes the brain, sluggishly crawling.
Like a small-town sheriff facing a local murder for the very first time, Brainy is
‘taking control’ over the situation,
‘explaining’ and ‘advising’ to anyone who will listen. And no one does.
The tomatoes are roasting and smelling so garlicky good, and a summer wind
feels the graceful branches of my triple-trunk silver birch tree.
‘Perfect for a tree house’ we used to say.
8. A Song for Filip
Two women came from earth to find you
They went through many men and looked to recognize you
They recognized you by your speed
They recognised you by your voice
They came to bring you back to earth
Drag you down
A woman on each wing of yours
Drag you down
Oh no!
Its no way to go.
You said
I will follow you
I will follow you down
9. A Brave Slave
I never saw it possible to kill people inside me,
But a wish to do it lingered, unpaid,
Until this summer, when I came true.
Apparently, I’ve massacred for the last six months;
From the top of the pyramid,
spreading down,
all wiped out.
They say the first is the hardest, it was not,
And it did not get easier with time.
They say every beginning is hard—
it was hard all the way.
It got easier only when I was cracked,
Clarity befell when I was done.
In winter, Kismet opened her arms,
adopting me to her spirit.
It was doomed, she’d come for my heart—
The rest of me united in her bosom,
shifting into an army.
The soldiers of Kismet arrived in droves
Floating towards the moment they waited for since I was two
becoming a mighty tough militia
training to kill the kidnappers
training to free my hostage heart.
But first, the walls had to fall.
By spring, Kismet commanded to circle the walls for six days, once in each day
And seven rounds on the seventh day.
On the seventh day,
The ram’s horns were blowing
And the soldiers were roaring a great roar,
The walls fell down and the massacre began.
Each month when the Moon God
Weds his bride
I remember what was done to me,
Only for a little while.
I raise a glass to Kismet
And eyes to the sky.
The astonishing magic life imparts,
when the wish is solid and strong.
True change embarks like a spark,
diminishing dirty old wrongs.
“Don’t make the same mistake twice” might work for some,
We others, life enjoys us in zigzagging styles.
Nevertheless, even in these wild roads,
a chance to do the right thing is given.
10. My Two-Tree Forest
On one side of the bed sleeps my husband,
On the other side sleep I—
In a fetal position facing a pile of books,
which is burning on the bedside dresser.
Attar and Zoroaster and Rumi,
King Solomon and Khalil Gibran—
All my teachers, my family,
Hailing from Israel, or Lebanon, or Iran.
I was feeling torn between them all,
I was praying for a goddess to come and save me from my story.
Uncomfortable with my non-Jewish tendencies,
Ashamed of my not-necessarily-Israeli views.
Although my life kept proving I was fine,
My scorched tree was still burning.
We sleep and my roots start weaving
my extra-long rabbinic roots with the unbelievers’ Yekke ones from mom,
Wrapping themselves with my husband’s Gentile roots, embracing, tightening.
From the heart they go to Rumi, and from Solomon back to the heart.
From the heart to my husband, and back again through to Attar. Until morning
they plait, making a net to catch my attention one day.
My neighbour the forest-fire expert says trees talk to each other through the roots.
These night-talks might have prevented my total destruction by fire.
I was raising two trees in my heart, the family tree
and the other—the strange one. Two sides of life in this forest—one seen, one not.
I was wondering if I am being intentionally bizarre while nourishing my unseen
strange tree—as some sort of an answer to my lovely family one.
And it is not exactly that closure came…but I was unexpectedly set free by Truth.
Suddenly, in the middle of life, and there is no better way of saying it.
Truth pushed me out of my story, and I just ... let go.
What real love and its children couldn’t take care of, the long search for Karma did!
Fate collapsed on me and exploded me into pieces of peace.
‘…The eternal silence never broken,
the oppression supporting my breasts from within
will remain my good friends…’
I wrote when I was sixteen…
It has been a long way…
Even great love can’t glue back missing parts,
These parts must be found, and sometimes it takes many years.
Nowadays, there is a two-tree forest here,
Where these dominating scaffoldings were based when I was a teen.
Two sides of life
On the two sides of a bed,
In a family of one and one other.
And the distance between them—enormous,
Though next to each other they stand.
All I knew was that I am torn, I didn’t know the trees are not one—
Until the lightning of Truth struck.
Birds were flying in my forest from tree to tree all these years.
They would nest and sing and call each other, trying to catch my ears.
I confused it with the howl of my longing Soul.
My husband shared me with poets under the roof of my mind,
Secret masters and prophets lived with us on the side.
My spirit was dancing in prayer, to understand, to see
Through the love and the children,
Through the love behind the love, behind me.
I could not prove the burning tree is there, but I felt the fire.
With each tree I was trying so hard to acknowledge the other,
To recognise my-self.
Swinging back and forth between two worlds,
I have taken the swing down now, I am planting a rose in it.
For living and leaving again and again—
I just want to continue, but have no plans.
For searching and loving, yet raising a family—
All under the same name, yes! And oh,
I have had another name for many years now, just to let you know.
11. We Slip Like Toy Dolls in a Claw Machine
Cheating body! You Unfaithful companion!
‘Why’ is a monster with a thousand tails,
And we are NOT doing that.
I trusted you, you cursed traitor!
The old lady on the plane once warned me,
The Body’s betrayal is as sure as death.
Turn a blind eye,
No questions,
Every Body runs away to cheat with Time.
The (only) son of Madame life and Herr Death,
Time was always a bit naughty
when it comes to love.
Undoubtedly because he was a rape-babe,
Time partners with everyone living,
But he especially likes the fully-bloomed.
His clock-arms chopsticks grab his victims,
But they all drop down in the last second,
Like toy dolls in a claw machine.
They slip away from time but they only have one place to run to.
And his dad is just waiting there, all patience
Under the pile.
12. The Battle for the Self (Folie à deux)
That’s us; a flower with two petals
resurrected across from each other,
the last two.
We’re the love and love-not ones –
We don’t know which is who…
and No one is picking us off.,
I walked towards you, double-sided mirror
Bearing offerings and gemstones, I came bringing balance
And you, well, you brought everything but.
Sets of scales like these are rare and unpredictable
A madness for two is no madness for one.
Some share a love and some, a delusional disorder.
Who am we?
Me and you? Pardon, me and who?
Who pretends to not be a you-and-a-me.
Me me me and you you too
Identities, animas, we’ve been them all.
At night we do our lotus bend-fold
surrendering into the moon’s reflection,
of safety and of innocence.
Together,
To find ourselves on the other side
Where the back door is never locked.
The days and the nights went by connected
Too connected; you knew from the first day, I found out on the last!
“I know my persona” you trivially tricked me ‘On’
All I can say now as we say our goodbyes
Is I know your persona too.
Suddenly seeing, made me feel so ugly, but I couldn’t look away anymore!
Disgusting and uncomforting as a chunk of puke
My nastiest landed on your necklace
A landing to mark a beginning to an end.
Who gets the absolute worse out of me (unfortunately the best as well).
Embarrassing, yet a bit funny, I don’t know what to feel or think
and sadly, it’s not possible not to.
It will never be explained, it will never be resolved,
What was, was, and no one knows what it was, only that; it is No More.
Just like the verses for two - merged into verses for one;
I can sing for you, but I could use a song myself.
The grand finale of our play, The End, over, so what.
The last violent battle-for-the-Self,
I don’t think I ever felt so quite absurd in my whole life
So clumsy, so graceless.
I want to say you made me, but I am not.
For the dreadful last scene, I was abducted
by a life force I can’t explain
I was dropped on a magical castle’s porch
straight to the combat stage.
To this day I can not tell, which petal was I, but it matters no more, the flower is dry.
No winners or losers in our fight -
We wrestled as a way to separate.
Unplugging 3 thousand years of love in a madness for two
Bitter as hell yet sweet as the Desert Date
13. The Healing Trauma
(Words unspoken turn back on you. Their letters uncurl, align, and group into darts. The arrowheads poke you inside and show the body how autoimmune is done…)
Rubbing some thyme on the tomatoes I am about to roast
I think of all the bad blood test results I could have prevented
Had I only said all those wrong words
Had all of us—ex-and-not-ex pill poppers, chemistry chewers, endocrine experts—
Had we all spoken out, instead of hanging ourselves inside ourselves, chocking on these scarves of words.
Where are they?
(Words withdrawn hurt in a variety of pains; for each word unspoken you get a tear. The tears make rivers and their waters bow and fall…)
A word unspoken stabs as she falls into the river,
separating from what she could have been.
This feels like inner acupuncture executed by a mad immature practitioner.
You spasm in an arresting fear, again.
Loud dead words are dropping
bursting like seed bombs, sprinkling little sharp metals.
Dead words, not ever said, not written, not once read.
Between your ears the tears run an impressive deafening river
Like the Niagara River flowing hard, preparing to fall.
From sound to meaning!
Born to sound, words find sense; sound is their oxygen.
They voice their meanings within you, bumping into your decline.
Leaking in your guts. Exhausting your being.
Failing. The water falls down hard from the ears and the throat, hurting and torturing like an angry sea serpent spirit,
Tsunami waves of unarticulated words break your torso front to back.
Spindrift stinging the organs.
Pressing in reverse to the walls of your body, it is absurd.
Meanwhile I, washing the dishes in my lovely kitchen, fancy a big cough of all the wrong words draining into the old sink.
I force a little throat clearing, but nothing happens. After all, it is
the heart that is seeking attention… that old elephant in the room.
(Awareness:
You might find yourself waking up all bruised on the wild riverbank. Your body will shine under a diligent morning sun and you will instantly realize—it has happened again. You’ll slowly turn onto your back for a stretch, enjoying the earth, the moment, the only moment you got. You don’t need lots of experience to feel another buffalo herd approaching. Unmoving you’ll mumble: ‘go on then’...)
When you get to be a child with this, then an adult like this, your tolerance level towards your offenders is just remarkable.
Emerging new ripples of fear do not surprise you. You know what is coming and it is never good, but there’s always a moment of hope at the end of each sequence.
Mentally, it is like washing dishes. You just deal with it.
Emotionally, it is survival, you just endure until it is over.
Bodily, well, she is often a victim of her own innocence.
In the Spiritual zone, it does not exist. No impact whatsoever, the zone is not influenced and is not influencing.
And finally, always way slower than the rest, in comes the brain, sluggishly crawling.
Like a small-town sheriff facing a local murder for the very first time, Brainy is
‘taking control’ over the situation,
‘explaining’ and ‘advising’ to anyone who will listen. And no one does.
The tomatoes are roasting and smelling so garlicky good, and a summer wind
feels the graceful branches of my triple-trunk silver birch tree.
‘Perfect for a tree house’ we used to say.
|
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