the light that lengthens

This morning when I woke I saw six daffodils had bloomed in front of my house, three yellow and three white. I planted those bulbs 8 years ago when Naim was a baby and Trump had just been elected. Another moment when I needed hope. How do they do it? Year after year?

They looked so spry and delighted to be on earth, which was a helpful counterpart to my heart state. I am so so sad. I am devastated that Israel broke the ceasefire and the fighting has resumed. There is famine in Sudan. Our own government is disappearing people and democracy is disintegrating. This week, I am disgusted by greed and cruelty. 

And I am delighted by the natural world. 
A playful pod of dolphins greeted the astronauts as they splashed down from space.

Today it is officially the first day of spring and I am grateful.
When I stop to consider the implications, I am actually overjoyed that it is Spring. Infuse me with your vitamin D. Please Earth, I am begging you, pepper my days with flowers and bright green everywhere. Break through the cement, remind me that the urge to grow is stronger than rock. 

Many of us are accustomed to saying blessings over challah and wine, and even all food and water, from which we derive life and pleasure. But we are less practiced at reciting blessings over the natural world. 

A thousand years ago, Maimonides wrote, “Over winds that blow with force, and over lightening and over thunder…and over light that appears in the air like stars falling or running from place to place, or over stars that appear with a tail, over each of these we say, “Blessed is the one who strength and power fills creation.” 

There is a blessing for the light that lengthens, the fruit trees that bloom and the joy they inspire. Blessings call our attention to latent and life giving gratitude. 

In commenting on this week’s parsha, Vayakhel, the Sefas Emes describes all of creation as an act of profound generosity. The Holy One just keeps giving and giving, (light, land, animals, trees, people, rest). In that spirit, he sees the mishkan as the Israelites generous offering. They too just kept giving and giving (silver, gold, bronze, purple, crimson, gemstones, yarn, dolphin skins). Generosity is at the core of the natural world and our spiritual lives. 

If creation was God’s generous act, and the mishkan was the ancient Israelites’ response, the question is, What is our generous act? What can we create with wild abandon and unceasing creativity?

Yesterday on NPR I listened to an interview with the poet Amy Gerstler. (Poetry is saving me these days!) Her forthcoming book includes this poem, Anticipating Spring. 

Mosses, pollens and grasses tune up. 
Can you listen without needing to speak? 
That fox wants to tell you something. 
Drunk on crumbs of the dead, roots sing. 
Blossoms ache to flash their panties, a la can-can girls. 
Scholars mumble. Pages crumble. 
Wild parrots scream between rainstorms. 
Slow-growing saplings groan. 
Don't pray aloud, just wish from inside your hideout of silence. 
Ah, goddess, please touch me.