Deep within Yesod
There is Sod:
A Secret:
The Deep Mystery.
We are connected
Below the surface of the land
To which we want to belong.
The Onondaga Nation,
Traditionally of the land that is now New York,
Teach that one can claim belonging to a land
When one has made wise decisions,
Embedded in stewardship,
That protect those to come
For the next seven generations.
It’s a nice thought.
A noble venture.
It is something that can warm our hearts,
And delude our minds,
As we sit in homes
That the people, immediately outside my doors,
Your doors,
Our doors,
Cannot afford so much as a closet within.
It’s easy to feel “woke”,
Even during dreams of dinner out,
As we ache for the next vacation,
As we accept our Covid shot.
After all,
We are doing good for our loved ones,
Our community,
Our country.
It’s curious,
How the answer to
“Who is my neighbor?” seems to shift
In accordance to the comfort of
A moveable conscience.
Is my neighbor the man smelling of urine at the Mall;
The woman pushing her shopping cart along Main
As feces runs down the length of her pants?
Is it a woman in India?
A man in Nigeria?
The children in Brazil?
As my original union steward was wont to say,
“So, what is it that you are willing to give up?”
Our decisions matter.
Our decisions hold consequences.
Not punishments;
Consequences.
Every single decision matters.
While Keter,
And Tiferet,
And Yesod,
And Malchut,
Remain unaligned
Within me,
Maybe, also, within you,
Our foundation will remain cracking.
