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    These  resentments  will  be  the  death  of  me   I  never  learned  how  to  cope   They  eat  me  up  like  an  infection   And  I  never  seem  to  escape  their  toxicity.     Wounds  of  old   Seem  not  to  let  go…   The  little  boy  is  frozen  in  time   Staring  at  the  authority  figures   Traumatized  by  unfairness  and  injustices   Capriciousness  and  meanness   Of  those  mythical  figures  long  lost   Of  childhood.     Now  triggers  get  easier  to  ignite   These  festering  wounds   And  the  notion  of  serenity  or  happiness  seem  further  than  ever     The  resentments   impair  all  relationships   Especially  with  the  divine   Whose  silence  is  deafening   And  the  sense  of  aloneness  is  acutely  felt   As  a  desolation  descends  like  a  grey  curtain.   In  the  depressive  mornings  of  ritualized  activity.       These  times  are  so  different  from  those  of  tears   When  I  feel  I  have  the  audacity  to  confront  the  divine   As  if  only  then,  in  the  breaking  of  the  heart,   Do  I  have  audience  with  ultimate  meaning.   Only  in  the  tears  may  I  confront  the  challenge   That  is  our  generation’s  failure   Its  lack  of  courage  and  my  own   To  rage  against  the  darkness.     This  sorrow  has  its  own  juissance   For  in  the  debate  the  inner  confrontation  there  is  a  kind  of  joy   That  for  these  few  moments  life  does  have  meaning   That  I  am  part  of  some  cosmic  debate  with  the  divine   That  my  voice  adds  meaning   My  past,  my  hurt,  my  haunting   Adds  force  to  the  side  of  humanity  


Its suffering,  its  tortures  and  its  victims.     It  is  very  much  like  the  sorrow  at  the  heart  of  lovemaking   When  I  was  young   At  the  moment  of  love   Its  passion   I  would  cry  inexplicably   At  the  very  tragedy  of  love   Its  very  core   This  heart  of  sorrow   The  passing  fleeting  moment  of  deepest  connection   Between  two  humans   Now  a  feint  memory     Maybe  first-­‐borns  carry  the  weight   Of  such  trials   Being  the  bearers  of  their  parents  hope  and  prayers   Such  a  burden  too  much  for  the  little  ones   They  internalize  the  very  pressures   That  are  relaxed  for  those  siblings  to  follow   They  alone  carry  the  weight  of  their  parent’s  projections   Defeats  and  frustrations   They  alone  feel  the  need  to  fix  impossibly   Their  parent’s  failures   An  impossible  burden  carried  alone.     But  these  resentments,  petty  and  otherwise   Are  different   For  they  allow  no  self  gloating  or  righteousness   They  allow  for  no  audacity   They  eat  away  slowly   And  I  seem  to  nourish  them  and  hold  on  to  them   Like  some  furry  animal  I  like  to  stroke  since  childhood.   Take  it  away  and  I  get  nervous   Almost  panicky.     The  familiar  is  preferable  to  the  free.     Today  is  exceptional   on  my  beloved  lake   The  water  beckons  in  rhythm   The  air  caresses  my  neck  like  a  loving  date   As  I  lean  on  the  boat’s  deck   Listening  to  the  soft  wake,     And  the  current  lifting  the  wave  with  its  surf-­‐white  crest   Here  the  resentments  drift  away   Here  the  horizon  is  filled  with  triangular  sails  


The white  puff-­‐like  clouds  herald   The  benign  mood  of  the  lake.   Here  I  accept  my  life  as  it  is   Here  the  worries  disappear   The  resentments  wash  away   And  there  is  a  peace  and  calm.     I  am  at  once  so  blessed  with  this  life   And  yet  so  burdened.     The  loving  eyes  of  my  grandchildren  are  like  penicillin  for  my  soul   And  where  other  failures  and  betrayals  haunt  my  nights   Where  my  mistakes  are  etched  in  my  children’s  souls   These  times  I  see  more  clearly   The  mystery  of  transmission   And  spiritual  physics  of  genetics   Personality  traits  transmitted  with  Father  Mendel’s  blessings.   These  angels  light  my  life  like  the  wake  and  surf   The  white  puff  clouds  each  one   In  innocence  and  purity   Their  loving  eyes   Say  it  all.     I  commit  to  coming  here  again  soon   It  is  a  place  of  healing   And  I  need  its  balm   Nature  when  benign   Is  like  the  divine   So  I  must  drink  its  waters   When  available   Quickly.        

These resentments  
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