About The Author and Artist

Beth "Batyah" Ginzberg is the owner, CEO and founder of "Ginzberg Creative Arts and Writing, Inc." She is a descendant of the Davidic Line of the Mashiach and is an Israelite Hebrew Priestess. Her father was a Levi Hebrew Priest. Ginzberg is an information scientist and an artist and writer. She writes her poetry in honor and memory of her father Emanuel Ginsburg and in honor of and love for her mother Jarie Vavra Granton.


Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Reflections Without Mirrors

Bragging about having money, bragging about having no money, living without a need for money, yetzir harah non-existent, not a need for it. No buying, no spending, no earning, reading Torah for free. Learning Torah from everyday experiences, lessons free too. Lessons becoming part of everyday life, a perpetual student=a perpetual teacher, doing perpetual mitzvot. Ferris wheel continues to turn but never getting off, catching popcorn like fish in a pond from hands that need to throw it. The rich needs the poor more than the poor need the rich.

Learning how to become a fortified wall of bronze, eating fortified cereal spoonfuls with milk. Milk and honey motherland becomes an endless warm bottle feeding in warm rocking arms and sitting on laps without legs.

Assuredly, he said, as he assured me, he then smiled and the world repaired itself, the debate and distrusting ended and the globe became a harvested fruit of firm hard-shelled squash. Not eating eggplant, never had an ancestor who grew it, no protein. Looking for coconuts off palm trees with cow's milk inside.

O Lord, O Lord, not liking the nameless name Lord, finding better names and identifying with the identifiable.

Carbs are addicting, marijuana not illegal, future medical progress, people healing without guilt and without ethics. Needing ethics at all times, not in the present, preferring the past and old gravestones, the healing process of mourning and past tenses. Not tense anymore, going with the flow, but going backwards, not forwards. Finding a forward green light in an old antique book. Cleaning a dust cover, but not worrying about an allergy--dust accumulates and he dusts it off.

Comforting her in a bereavement but she reads the wrong books. Limiting library cards to a limit of the number of books, wanting to read only Her words: d'varim, and that is all. Putting a stop to future present tenses, living in the past because past events were pleasant. Memory is good, and good is God. Hoping to stay alive to be like her. Mentors in able-bodied men, keen brains, purposeful people. He devoured my wounds and I healed.

 

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