From His perspective,
everything begins to shift into place;
yet, all appears as chaos to our eyes.
We are granted only a fraction
of understanding of His master plan;
our comprehension, is like viewing
the back of a tapestry, obscure,
until all is revealed.
© 2023 all rights reserved
note t0 reader: poem by Tzvi Fievel
image by Craiyon A.I. image generator
We are determined –
all of us who look to a brighter day –
to see things our way,
instead of submitting
to the King of the World,
Who will give us direction,
capture our attention,
and bring us to our destiny.
We, who strive to create a life,
based on a mix of love and strife,
wanting to change those around us,
by pointing the finger at others,
and blaming the institutions of society.
Yet, disregarding the divine blueprint
of our heritage as a people of faith,
tradition, and the words inscribed
on the two Tablets of Stone
given to Moses on Sinai.
We have lost our way,
as the world in turmoil sways
to and fro, in moral chaos,
while the best of us fret,
and regret what we have not yet done,
to correct ourselves, through tikkun hanefesh,
a rectification of the soul,
with so little time left.
Connect the dots
between your values and emotions,
making a string of your deeds,
in alignment with the seeds
of renewal and rebirth,
storing gems in heaven,
for all to see, like the stars
that light up the nighttime sky.
© 2023 all rights reserved
note to reader: poem by a human being
image by Craiyon A.I. image generator
Only a twenty-minute ferry ride
from Nanaimo, British Columbia,
across the bay to Gabriola Island
– my place of refuge for two months,
2,000 miles away from my former home.
There, amidst the solace of my retreat,
from the challenges of a wayward life,
I sheltered, during the winter,
while my soul had time to rest,
in safety, solitude, and quietude.
—– —– —– —–
Outside the perimeter of Gabriola,
the borders of the world could not infringe
upon my sense of time and place,
far away from the confusion of my past,
in expectation of a new life on the horizon.
And, the tides upon the beach,
watched with the silent eyes
of a New Age refugee,
rolled quietly upon the sands of time,
like my thoughts, amidst the ebb and flow
of my memories, some real, others not –
yet, unknown to me at the time,
that my personal past had been usurped
by a dark web of uncertainty,
spun by the weaver of sheker (falsity),
whose spell had now been broken.
© 2023 all rights reserved
Time drifts past this fast-paced world,
being rearranged in front of our very eyes –
no surprise, that the technological innovations
are meant to outlast the nature of humankind,
to the extent that this oblivion,
guided by the technocracy
is meant to supplant the divine plan,
instead of giving heed to the soul’s redemption,
they would rather confine our essence,
by downloading our sense of self
to an android, built to carry an ersatz replica
of the individual, whose “life” is prolonged,
while humans themselves become a relic.
God save us.
poem by a human being
image by A.I. Craiyon Generator
music by Audiomachine
“I will restore My people Israel from captivity.”
– Amos 9:4
Across the generations,
our spirit has been crushed in every nation.
Even now, the Mother of Exiles
is becoming a harlot, like unto Babylon,
leaving us to ponder upon the wisdom of Daniel,
in acknowledgment of our status,
as exiles from the Promised Land.
The dreams of our ancestors,
who looked in hope toward
the distant shoreline of the Goldene Medina,
have been mixed with the alchemy of culture
that threatens to replace the values,
instilled in them by our heritage,
that brought inspiration in the Old Country.
The shift from a common bond,
amongst our own brethren
occurred in front of our very eyes,
as we were disguised from ourselves,
by the lies and factions we upheld,
rather, than honoring our covenantal unity
within the fractured diversity of K’lal Yisrael.
The aftermath
of an overemphasis on gashmiyos,
and a decreasing allegiance to ruchniyos,
coupled with assimilation into the melting pot,
is made visible in the diminishment
of our religious identity,
until the time when our renewal
is at hand.
The waxing and the waning of my life, through seasons past, and in anticipation of future journeys yet unknown, has me wondering, as I rest in limbo, while the world turns, where will my soul yearn for, when mountains crumble and seas roar. Only for Jerusalem, the Holy City that stands in stark relief against a background of world events, that spin around the epicenter; and the moon watches over the shadows of the night shifting across the continents.
These transitions, from a full-fledged pandemic to societal transformation; life in Ukraine as usual, shifted overnight into war, with millions of refugees fleeing their homes; the American status quo, undermined by a Woke Revolution; these are all more than the natural ebb and flow of the tides of civilization can bear. From one new moon to another, it is the uncertain nature of the half-moon, in between, that compels us to wonder, what will cause the whole world to careen, with the aftershocks of the next great cataclysm, whether, natural or man-made.
Saving souls from death,
the angels appear on earth,
to gather us home.
Laziness is a foe,
that takes its toll in due time,
when regret seeps into the mind,
for not having done what is primary.
Like a shadow, always tugging at the sleeve,
reminding of what was neglected.
When will I get a-round to it?
This barren landscape of the mind,
where time renews only those who have hope
in the ways of the ancient past
treaded by the sages of ages that still last
for the sake of the preservation of our heritage;
this bare earth, devoid of nourishment
soil, depleted by the wars that have wasted the land,
and the shores of distant beaches,
where the sands of time drift into the sea;
even the biosphere cries out on behalf of the world,
to renew the manifold aspects of creation –
mankind, the task begins with us,
through the renewal of the soul.
A fusing of mind and marrow
with electronic circuits and code,
offers no hope to the human soul,
only a dystopian merger.
Of A.I. and the divine blueprint of life,
these two are not meant to mix and match,
for only by standing in our own integrity,
can we discover our inner purpose.
Consider that we are already being primed,
to think in tandem with artificial thoughts,
generated by chatbots that aid the task
of thinking for ourselves.
It is a slippery slope toward a dystopian future,
wherein we begin to meld into something less human,
alienating ourselves from our essential being,
and causing a rift between our souls and G-d.
note to the reader:
this poem was written by a human, not a ChatBot;
although, the following image was generated by Craiyon A.I. Generator:
Breathing Inspiration 