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Like him, I scattered coins
on the temple floor.
Like him, I found my tree.
I took the bread from his hand,
but would not drink from his vine.
No cock crowed for me,
no sobs tore my heart to pieces
in the arms of a risen lover.

He knelt,
the old man,
cutting the vine
with his knife
until it bled,
clear and wet,
running like water,
giving it fruit.

He drained its blood
with his gnarled fingers
to give it strength and sweetness,
cutting away the tangle,
leaving a bent and cripple knot,
breathing life
into the fruit.

After the fruit,
I could not see her
for the flesh between.
No matter how I stretched my mind
I could not know more
than what I saw,
twisting truth to fit
the twisting of my mind.
I could not see beyond
the vines
that held my heart.

In the temple,among the goats and money changers,
his voice thin with youth,
he whispered the words of God.
He pulled at aged sleeves,
padding into quiet chambers
with insistent questions.
Forgotten by blood,
he wandered in his Father’s house.
Until they came nd took him
to a home,
not home.

She played until the darkness came;

and friends and sunshine slipped away.

At first, she wandered through the grey

dusk, up and down a lonely hill,

all alone. The night was still,

she whispered through the tattered trees

at darkness stitched with silver lace.

“God? God in heaven, are you there?

But no one answered, except a breeze

that ran cool fingers through her hair

and kissed her gently on the face.

I looked for the God of sunshine

and found Him in the dark,

His embrace brought pain

until my searching became desire

as I fought for my life against his twisting.

I held him to me

to stop the tearing fingers,

probing, crippling,

the crushing arms.

My ribs, my hesrt, cracking with His power,

carving my heart hollow,

turning bones in sockets,

tearing muscle like paper;

until my strength failing,

the blessing came.

The child filled  her up,

winding its fingers round her heart.

She could feel it moving

in her center,

a seedling,

sending roots through her flesh.

It was laughing at the edges of her mind,

growing,

creating light in the dark of her.

The milk was stirring in her breasts.

Sometimes, shaking her with sickness,

it brought tears without reason.

She wondered about the blessing,

had wished and prayed for it,

opened herself to the seed,

growing to bursting in her belly.

The basic principles of literary hermeneutic are

1. The text of the Bible is the focus of study.
2. The sources or time  or place of composition is  not of any interest.
3. There is little interest in the historicity of a story, book, or passage.
4. It accepts in the interest of simplicity the traditional authorship of the passage.
5. It assumes that every word, phrase, and episode belongs.

Prayer Upon Awakening

I offer thanks to You,
living and eternal King,
for You have mercifully restored my soul within me;
Your faithfulness is great.

http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/283764/jewish/Prayers-Upon-Awakening.htm

A great article by Dwight Pryor!!!!!

http://www.mayimhayim.org/Hebrew%20Perspectives/D.Pryor1.htm