"Hands Across The Sky"

We speak with our hands

beseech with our hands

reach out with out hands

receive with our hands

keep with our hands

When we sleep

impurity rests

on our hands

and in prayer

our hands

breach heaven

"It seems to me, once in your life, before you die, you ought to see a country where they don't speak any English and they don't even want to."

My day from 6:30 AM-9:30 AM

Sometimes I think of Our Town and the message of the precious beauty of each day of life. Sometimes I feel it. This morning I woke up. Thank G-d. My throat hurt, out of no-where. I took some Airborne and something called No Time For Colds. It seems to be working.

I had a nice shmooze with my friend who drives me in at seven. I don't remember the details but I always enjoy the tone. We arrived at seven thirty, at the same moment as a colleague whose wife is recuperating from major surgery. It's a privilege to see someone so even keeled and strong. Said colleague noticed something in a piece I published, a personal revelation that I didn't realize was there. I was sure I hadn't written what he said I wrote, right up until he showed me the words in print.

Teaching is rich with decisions and ramifications. A few of the boys I take davening attendance for were late. One of them asked to speak to me after davening to tell me that he's not ready for the test that he was supposed to take on Wednesday. I told him that if he'd be more invested in class he'd be more ready for the test, but the acoustics may have been bad, that or there was some other reason why he had trouble hearing me.

I lent my spare pair of tefilin to my friend and driver so he didn't have to turn back to get his. After Shacharit ended I wrote a poem inspired by the Monday/Thursday tachanun and stayed after to show it to a colleague as we removed our tefillin. - An announcement was made at that time that everyone had to evacuate the Shul except one class which was to stay. So we finished with the poem fast and my colleague went to the teacher's room and I went to my classroom to be there early and ready when the students came in. I'd written variant versions and wanted this sensitive colleague to help me choose, but the jury is still out. Two kids during first period needed Torah Guidance at some point so we set that up for later in the day.

The main lesson for the first period class was a comparison of the two versions of the aseret hadibrot in the Torah. the Ibn Ezra has a very modern sounding view and we talked it out. That takes us to 9:40.

It's now 6:20 and I'm still at work. I met with nine kids for Torah guidance, taught four periods, and submitted two completed recommendations. Each of those activities is fibered and full, but I don't have the energy or time to write It all out - not that anyone's asking me to. I'm pushing on with my duties - lessons to prepare, review sheets to write, and and and.

Miles to go before I sleep, and hopefully at a decent hour there will be miles to sleep before I go, and start all over again.

Written During Chaim Dovid Concert

"How awesome this place

No less than the house of G-d

And I did not know"

How do you let go?

Please G-d teach me to let go

I ask, want, to know

Nafsheinu chiktah

What exactly does that mean?

Some form of waiting

An endless, timeless waiting

Souls simply waiting for G-d

Thanksgiving Ride 2009

I got a window seat with ease. It felt too lucky. Then I realized Lady Liberty was on the other side, which was jammed with cameras attached to hands. Still, I was able to get in there and snap this.

I was just playing with the color because when I took the shot my camera was set on "manual," code for turning everything pink. Two hours later it would take my fifteen year old nephew thirty seconds to figure it out and fix it. Still, I like the black and white look, very Letters of Iwo Jima.

And the spirit of G-d hovered on the waters.

Crossing Delancey

This photo was at the bottom of a drawer of memories in my childhood dresser. Somewhere - "peace and quiet and open air" - there's an article from a Queens paper that accompanied this photo, and so much more.

Also Known As The Hebrew Academy of North Queens (The Other HANQ) (click photo to enlarge)

I've written before, and if G-d gives me strength, I'll write again about Phil Chernofsky, the best teacher I ever had. I visited my parents this weekend and went through some old stuff. I wondered where this pencil had gone. It was there all along. Still sharp. Mr. C. made one for each of us. It reads MRHHA (Max and Rose Heller Hebrew Academy), Kitah Vav (Grade Six) 5734 (1974)

Shavua Tov

I get insulted all the time when people's lips are moving but they don't realize they're talking. Someone once asked me why I blog and I said to vent and she said , "When I want to vent I email a friend." Was the implication that I don't have friends? I do.

It's the first year that I didn't do an anniversary post. Let me just now thank those who read and tell you that it means a lot to me that my words mean a lot to you. And those friends and family members who don't read, I think we'd all benefit from your reading. One man one vote.

How was your Shabbos? Mine was nice, thank G-d - visited D and M. I saw a nice Sforno cited that explains that the words that say that we will be many/great follow the words saying we'll be like dust because the process is such that we must be denigrated (galut) before we are redeemed (geulah). (via Stone Chumash).

I must go home again

Or for the first time

I must return to myself

Or find for the first time

Who I am writing this

on chayei sarah - toldot - vayeitzei, as shabbos floats in

I was trying to remember an elusive Chayei Sarah vort last week and it came up in conversation this Shabbos. What does it mean that Yitzchak's prayers were answered before Rivkah's before he was a tzadik ben tzadik (righteous man, the son of a righteous man)?

Perhaps (rather than the oft inferred idea that someone born into a righteous family is automatically holier than someone who gets there independent of their family) the lesson here is that to be a tzadik ben tazadik comes with its own heavy set of challenges. The torch is not easily passed forward, einah yerushah lach - Torah does not come as an automatic inheritance. It was to Yitzchak's merit that despite, rather than because of, being the son of perhaps the most righteous man who ever lived, he was a man of complete virtue and dedication himself. I once heard that the son of a prominent man said that "it's not easy being the son of the moral conscience of the world." Ouch. This comes to mind, though there is no question that Yitzchak Avinu would never have spoken that way.

A friend of mine noticed that forms of the word for approach (the root is comprised of the letters gimel and shin) repeatedly appear in the story in Toldot of Yaakov being blessed by Yitzchak. He understood this based on the idea that the word for connection, gesh, is related to the word for bridge - gesher, which makes sense if you think about it. The idea is this word for approach is used in the Torah to indicate a connection made between two entities that you wouldn't expect to be connected. This is similar to a bridge that connects two pieces of land that seem impossibly separated by water. The land of Goshen is named with the same root, as it unexpectedly tied to Jews to Egypt. Similarly, when Yehudah approached Yosef a form of this word is used because these two men represent two seemingly opposite ideals that somehow did and will again connect.

What was Rivkah so upset about? She would have twins and one would be good and the other not so much. Rav Schwadron used to like to offer the explanation that she initially didn't know that she was having twins. She thought there was one child growing inside her who was equally passionate about light and darkness. (A friend of mine once heard Rav Schwadron say this live and the way he put it was that "she thought she was giving birth to a Mizrachinik [sic]" - ).

This reminds me (minus the parenthesis) of the idea of Eliyahu leaving the people speechless by asking (Melachim 1, 18:21) how long they planned to skip on two branches, vacillate between two options, explaining that they should decide who is the true G-d and follow him. All this is not simple and inconsistency and vacillation is perhaps, to some extent, a part of life. More on this another time. maybe.

Here's what I wrote last year, just before Shabbos. Just like now, and I'm sticking to this VaYeitzei vort. And here's an, as usual, brilliantly out of the box thought on VaYeitzei, from Rav Chaim Schmuelewitz.

Shabbat Shalom. May we be blessed with small, personal peace that spreads and becomes universal.

It Is Art

The wonderful art teacher in my school has a good sense of my artistic sensibility and recommended I look into this artist, Jon Thompson. Good call. I like.

Hodu LaHashem Ki Tov '09

Something went awry in blogger. The words turned overlapping and giant. So I just tried to post the last post and it worked. Another thing to be seriously thankful for.

As I write the Indigo Girls are singing The Power Of Two. I can do this, just let it play as if it were just a song. FUV is playing concert sets all day. They just finished that song and the crowd's going wild. After each song one of them says "thanks" and the other says "thanks y'all."

I haven't seen the paper yet today (been baking the apple pie of the previous post). I watched Hopscotch. I remember babysitting for my cousins when my Aunt Leah and Uncle Sid went to see that movie when it came out. I'm surprised I never heard anyone compare it to Midnight Run.

I like reading a newspaper with comics on Thanksgiving Day because the cartoonists get serious and sentimental. In this post I cite some of the touching comics from the past.

The pie spilled over in the over and filled the apartment up with smoke. I have to go deal. Wishing everyone that everyday should be a happy day of thanks. Here's a link to all eight posts where I've ever mentioned Thanksgiving (according to the blogger search).

Thankgsgiving 09

Everyday is Thanksgiving

In G-d's world

In my mind

Every day is Thanksgiving

If we thank Him

all the time

Every day is Thanksgiving

Here's a Thanksgiving post from last year, the sentiment about wanting to catch up on work rings true. Around the same time I posted this pseudo-Thanksgiving post. One of the most wonderful, refined, serious students I've ever taught told me that she went with her family to see Prairie Home Companion in NY. Her mom googled the show and chanced upon my blog. Small world (but I wouldn't want to paint it).

Eric once commented that he liked the links to past posts. I wonder what happened to Eric. I hope I didn't offend him in any way. If I did, Eric, I'm sorry and let me know.

As I write an Arlo Guthrie concert is playing on WFUV. The rendition of My Peace he did is very similar to this Youtube version. I've heard Alice's Restaurant many times, but never heard this till now. Beautiful.

Scattered Pictures Of The Smiles We Left Behind

I can't think of a single creative activity that I don't enjoy. I've never honed many of my skills and interests. I have an inclination towards artistic photography.

I stood on a chair with my no frills camera to take this picture. It feels like it just happened, but the boy in the photo is now in his thirties.

His name is Ariel. The crayons were a new gift from my father, his great uncle.

Yes, yes, I remember it well.

But Is It Art?

Due to technical reasons I can't edit this, at least not at the moment. So I'm posting it as is.

It's a picture of me when I was extremely young. Do you recognize me?

I Am 18 Going On 19, In Morasha Kollel

"Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph..."

Where's Waldo?

On the afternoon of Monday July 5, 1993, one week after signing a waiver for the North American Conference On Ethiopian Jewry I boarded a Lufthansa plane. We stopped in Saudi Arabia and Germany on the way. At 10 PM on Tuesday July 7th we landed in Addis Ababa. After acclimating and preparing a bit we began teaching full time on Friday. We taught through Wednesday July 24th when we were removed from our place of residence and deported from the country. Our passports were stamped with Amharic words which meant roughly (according to a plane-mate), "You are never welcome back in our country."

There's a lot more to the story. While the scanner seems to be working I picked one photo from the album to post. I thought I'd introduce it a bit.

I wrote this poem on the plane out:

Goodbye Ferris Mora

A sudden

blast off

carries me

away from

Ethiopia

Its quiet

buzzing

humming

tunes of songs

I'll sing

no more

Forever

I'll remember

your sweet smile

Ethiopia

Forever

I'll remember

I was happy

for a time

U'Bechol Zot Shimchah Lo Shachachnu

We mumble some words again and again

We ask for Gd's kind mercy without shame

We say that "through it all we've remembered Your name"

I wonder when this was true, if not now when?

"Life is bigger; It's bigger than you, and you are not me."

In the winter of 1980 I took off for Israel. In the summer of 1980 I reluctantly returned to America. In the summer of 1983, after three years of college, three years thinking every other second of flying back to Israel to learn Torah full time, I took a one way plane to Israel. I spent the next five years studying in Jerusalem. I started smicha-rabbinic school-there and came back here to finish it, thinking that I had to.

I left many belongings, mostly sefarim - sacred books in a machsan - storage room. I had those who I knew would be happy to help me go through the somewhat annoying process of rescuing some books for me (thanks for getting my Kahati and Aruch HaShulchan Josh Rudoff). Most of the books, and more, have been lost in time.

Once when I visited my old school I saw a framed picture, which I had put in storage, hanging in a dormitory corridor. It was mine, I took it back, though first I checked to make sure that sure enough my name was still there scribbled on the back by the framer. I stayed in a room in the old school that had a closet with my name inscribed inside it.

In '88 I was a dorm counselor. Josh Sindler was a YU college student on my floor. He is a talented photographer. Elliot Rothschild had shared two of my years in yeshiva with me. In my twenties, I was an "older guy" in yeshiva. My chavrutot - learning partnerships - were usually with guys a bit younger than me and I was a bit more advanced in learning. Elliot and I covered a lot of ground together and he was a joy to learn with. Despite his double curriculum and extra full day of study, we met in the YU Bet Medrash and studied regularly at night. One evening Josh caught this picture and gave it to me.

I just found this photo in a pile of papers. I have a fear of scanning that I am trying to overcome. Thankfully this time it just went through (as a colleague replied when I asked him how the Israel night he organized last week went, you could say "it was butter"). Sometimes life is like that, sometimes things go ahead with ease. I was going to just post the picture. Then I felt I had to write something. And that Michael Stipe line about mixed measurements when it comes to sharing comes to mind again.

Rav Hirsch on Havdalah Part I

Rav Hirsch says that, popular perception aside, Havdalah is not a prayer of farewell to Shabbos, but a prayer of greeting for the week. He sees it as a Kiddush for the week!

"Both in the Scripture and in the mitzvot of Jewish living the term kos - cup - always symbolizes a destiny or decree, a "portion" meted out to us by

G-d. Thus, when the Sabbath enters into our midst, we usher it in by reciting the Kiddush over a cup, thus marking the Sabbath as an institution appointed by Divine decree for our sanctification.

In the same manner, when we are about to return to the workday week, we remind ourselves of the meaning of the week to come by reciting the Havdalah over a cup, thus symbolically indicating that the workday week, no less than the Sabbath, is also ordained by G-d Himself, a period set aside for the fulfillment of specific tasks that He has set for us."

The Hirsch Siddur, 1992 edition, pg. 567

Again The Week Ebbs Away

I've been thinking about Rav Hirsch's Toldot critique of Yitzchak and Rivkah for trying to put Yaakov and Eisav in the same box: ""As long as they were little, no attention was given to the latent differences between them. Both were given the same upbringing and education. The basic tenet of education, 'Train each child in accordance with his own way' (Proverbs 22:6), that each child should be educated, both as a man and as a Jew, in accordance with the tendencies latent in him and in accordance with the individuality that will result from these tendencies, was forgotten."

Rabbi Abraham Twerski notes that the second half of the line, "Train each child in accordance with his own way" often goes unquoted. King Solomon concluded, "...then, even when he is old, he will not turn from it." He explains that if you superimpose something on someone else then then will throw it off when they are able to do so. But if you bring out their inner truth that will stay with them forever.

I noticed that the same word is used for Yitchak praying and G-d responding, how Diveinely poetic. Similarly, at the start of Va'Etchanan, Moshe asks to enter Israel with the same word used for G-d's saying no.

Sunset approaches, again and again, recurring reality, loss of light - it's re-emergence, then, again, loss.

How does time move? Clearly by plane, faster than Concord and prettier.

Always I am running to catch her and she is calm, never late, never off track.

Because G-d had to create and He had to stop, so too we.

Burnt offerings are no longer our thing? What kind service works for us today?

Always there is love.

The candles burn, we can fix what is broken.

Purple Mountain Majesties - Click for Lyric Link

Dr. Janusz Korczak/Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira

Every now and again I forget to remember Janusz Korczak's name. I've heard his amazing story on several occasions. He was a true teacher and kind human being. He died a kadosh. You can read about him via Wikipedia here.

My intuitive inclination has me thinking that Janusz Korczak and Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira knew of each other. It sounds like, despite the great religious divide between them, they shared much in their straightforward and real understanding of children. I wonder. I think of them within the same breath.

About two years ago a small book of Korczak's wisdom came out called, Loving Every Child: Wisdom For Parents. One of the Amazon comments includes this insight from the book, which puts us inside a child's mind, "Adults are not very clever. They don't even know how to take advantage of the freedom they have. They're so lucky, they can buy anything they like, they're allowed to do anything they want but despite all this they are always angry about something and any little thing is liable to make them shout." This reminds me of one of my favorite pieces of writing, the dedication of The Little Prince:

oTO LEON WERTH

i
I ask the indulgence of the children

who may read this book

for dedicating it to a grown-up.

I have a serious reason:

he is the best friend I have in the world.

I have another reason:

this grown-up understands everything,

even books about children.

I have a third reason:

he lives in France where he is hungry and cold.

He needs cheering up.

If all these reasons are not enough,

I will dedicate the book to the child

from whom this grown-up grew.

All grown-ups were once children--

although few of them remember it.

And so I correct my dedication:

k
TO LEON WERTH
WHEN HE WAS A LITTLE BOY

The following was culled from Wikipedia. In his work as a teacher, Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira attempted to reverse the trend toward secularization, which swept the Jewish community in Poland between the wars. The vibrant cultural life of the city, as well as the attractions of political movements such as Zionism eroded the number of students wishing to pursue a yeshiva education. These trends, Rabbi Shapira argued, could only be exacerbated by archaic educational methods, harsh discipline and rote learning, such as were often the practice of the day in yeshivot. According to Rabbi Nehemia Polen (a noted expert on Rabbi Shapira’s work) in his most important work, Chovas haTalmidim (“The Students’ Responsibility”), Rabbi Shapira argued that a child must be imbued “with a vision of his own potential greatness” and be enlisted “as an active participant in his own development.” Likewise, teachers “must learn to speak the language of the student, and graphically convey the delights of a life of closeness to God.” Rabbi Shapira argued for positive, psychologically sensitive, joyous educational methods.

I cited Chovat HaTalmidim here and got a nice flow of comments. I also cited pieces that were meaningful to me here and here (where I announced a writing contest, which is still open).


This post has been sitting in the proverbial draft drawer, the actual draft folder, since June 8, 2009 when I wrote it. It's one of those piece that I foresaw as epic, going into it with ambition. There is much more to say. I hope it is meaningful to those who read it. "I've said too much, but not enough."


GMAGB

Like the Stranger that You've Met

Is it a coincidence that there are eleven stars in Starry Night, by Van Gogh? Was he referencing the 11 stars of Joseph's dream? A teacher of mine once said that themes and meanings all come from the subconscious and can not and should not be consciously planned. Similarly, so much of what we say and do in life possesses and conveys unconsciously intended meanings. Our actions have subtexts, our body language speaks volumes, there is so much meaning beyond what we plan.

Here's the Don McLean song with a slide show of Van Gogh's paintings.

We're Each Heading Home

Today was a five class day, plus guidance time and and and. I went to a bris this morning. It worked out well that classes started late due to Rosh Chodesh and the bris was in my neighborhood. A while ago I questioned conversations, writing, "How do you view conversations? Do you value them overall? Do you remember them? Are they more often something you keep track of and remember or more often something you do while you eat or shop or walk or drive?" This question gnaws away at me. I tend to remember every exchange I have with everyone (blind spots aside). People sometimes think I can read their mind, but the only "magic" I perform is listening in the moment in a way that subsequently won't let me let go. This morning a nice colleague gave me a ride and we chatted. And every conversation we've had over the last eight or so years was on hand as we spoke. My colleague most likely asked and answered questions politely and moved on. A friend of mine thinks that I live the way everyone should, in terms of experiencing and recalling. I'm not so sure.

I just submitted a dvar Torah for Toldot or my school's weekly Torah newsletter. I sent in this one which appeared here last year. I like the comments that the post brought in. I just noticed the last one now. Anonymous, sorry and thank you. I was thinking of writing up another one to give in, but time is up for that. Still I can write here. I am fond of the idea of Rav Hirsch who builds on Chazal. Rashi cites the idea that the twin brother went their separate ways after they reached Bar Mitzvah age. Rav Hirsch writes that,

"Our sages never hesitate to point out to us the errors and shortcomings, both great and small, of our ancestors, thereby making the life stories all the more instructive for us...In regard to this passage too, our Sages make a comment which indicates that the sharp contrast between the two grandsons of Abraham may have originated not merely in their natural tendencies but may have been caused also by mistakes in their upbringing. As long as they were little, no attention was given to the latent differences between them. Both were given the same upbringing and education. The basic tenet of education, 'Train each child in accordance with his own way' (Proverbs 22:6), that each child should be educated, both as a man and as a Jew, in accordance with the tendencies latent in him and in accordance with the individuality that will result from these tendencies, was forgotten. The great task of the Jew is simple and straightforward as regards it's basic content, but the modes of its fulfilment are as varied and complex as the differences in individuality and the diversity of life that result from these differences..."

Maariv is now. Then homeward bound...

Virtual Paint

Joy

Sometimes I think all the good songs have already been written. I am happy when I hear a brand new song that brings me enjoyment. This is a new song by Phish called Joy that I just heard on the radio and wanted to share.

Paint

We Could All Use Some Rest

I have Robert Frost on my brain. It's not the first time. About a year ago I posted this photo and thought regarding the road less taken.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

i
Robert Frost

i
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

k

I am amazed by how deceptively simple Frost's work seems, how he is understandably often misquoted and misunderstood. "The only way out is through," is in this poem in a much less straightforward way than you'd expect. The road less traveled is not so clearly the better path (see above cited link). The third line in each stanza of Stopping By Woods, etc. is the rhyme at the end of the first line of the following verse.

l

Frost once said, "Poetry begins in trivial metaphors, pretty metaphors, 'grace' metaphors, and goes on to the profoundest thinking that we have. Poetry provides the one permissible way of saying one thing and meaning another. People say, 'Why don’t you say what you mean?' We never do that, do we, being all of us too much poets. We like to talk in parables and in hints and in indirections — whether from diffidence or some other instinct. " That's from Education By Poetry, available to read in full at this link.

k

"A liberal is a man too broadminded to take his own side in a quarrel, " Frost is purported to have said. There are many good quotes here at Wikiquotes.

;

And now closing words of poetry from yours truly (me):

d;

Good night and

G-d bless

Lest I say more

I confess

We could all

use some rest

We could all use some rest

On Chayei Sarah and Friendship - Just One More Thing

I'm thinking of old friends. Actually, I'm thinking of one old friend. What can compare to weaving in an out in an organic way around Torah, comedy, life?
l
My friend shared some insights about Yitzchak. Yitzchak's major story is the akeidah, which represents his essence, that of being bound. He was bound to his father's ideals and he was bound/held back from recreating the wheel. His midah is gevurah. Eizeh hu gibur? Hakoveish et yitzro.

Yitzchak was the right midah at the right time. If everyone and their son is an Avraham then everyone is too busy inventing to pass forward the what has been built before you. Yitzchak was the needed link in the chain. He re-dug the wells of his father, he preserved his the reservoirs of truth his father hewed.

Dry Paint

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein On Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening

The following article is from Alei Etzion, Iyar 5769. I wish I would have heard the presentation first hand. Oh to be able to hear regular talks on poetry from a venerable talmid chacham! I would love to talk this out with thinkers who are lovers of Torah, poetry, life.

t

There is a nice reading and presentation of this poem, here, on You Tube. I am the happy owner of this beautiful book version of this work. I found it in the children's section of Barnes and Noble but I think it's well suited for adults who appreciate art.

j

This sicha/talk was delivered on Tu Bi-Shvat 5768 (2008). It was translated and adapted by Netanel Hacohen.

“The Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep”

Reading a Poem by Robert Frost
Based on a sicha by Harav Aharon Lichtenstein

What is the proper way to relate to an artistic creation? This question is frequently raised by students of literature, and it concerns yeshiva students as well. Some hold that as readers, we should treat a poem as a self-contained entity. Of course, we know that the poem has a historical background: it stems from the poet’s personality and experience, from the cultural and societal context in which it was written – but all that doesn’t interest us. We focus completely on the poem, the literary creation, as an isolated entity. Conversely, many notable academics have argued that we cannot hope to understand an artistic creation without first becoming familiar with the artist’s biography, psychology, and native culture. There are strong arguments in both directions – and, of course, the correct path is to find a balance between the two extremes. Time constraints dictate that we cannot fully analyze Frost’s poem using the latter method; nevertheless, I shall offer a few words to provide a rough idea of the man, the period and the place that brought about this poem.

Robert Frost lived from 1874 to 1963. I met him in his old age in 1956. He resided in Vermont, New England – a rustic, quiet, peaceful place, far removed from the noise, pollution, stress and excitement produced by the Industrial Revolution. Frost’s poetry reflects this: the distance from the city provides an opportunity to re-examine man’s relation to his original, natural environment. Let us now turn our attention to one of his most celebrated poems.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (1923)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy winds and downy flake.

The woods are lovely dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

The poem is short, its subject unexceptional. However, Frost blatantly holds back significant information – which has an unsettling effect. The title “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” presents the scene. The narrator stops near a forest, on a snowy evening, to watch the “woods fill up with snow.” He seems suspended in the present. From where has he come? Where is he going? The Talmud (Shabbat 5b) distinguishes between two different types of “stops.” Some stop “to shoulder their burden” before continuing on their way; others stop “in order to rest.” The former stop is merely a means to an end; the Talmud doesn’t consider it a real standstill, unlike the latter stop.[1] The same physical pause may take on an entirely different meaning, depending on the intention behind it. Why has this man stopped?

The scene is one of absolute human loneliness. It is bleak; as far as the eye can see, there is but a white expanse of fallen snow. It is “the darkest evening of the year,” midwinter. It is silent; the only sound is the “the sweep / Of easy winds and downy flake.” There are no people, no lights, no sounds, no comfort – just the narrator, alone. Presumably, the place from which he departed was less lonely. Somewhere in the distance lie farmhouses; a village is mentioned. These are not metropolises; they are not exactly crammed with bustling activity. Nevertheless, they have a certain human quality, which further emphasizes his present absolute solitude.

Yet this isolation from human society is immediately violated. “Whose woods these are I think I know.” What does nature know of ownership? The primordial forest is ownerless, free to all! The concept of ownership, with the conflicts and disputes that inevitably follow in its wake, is a product of human society. The poem is an internal monologue, a stream of consciousness. Is the question of ownership the first item that pops into the narrator’s head? Frost indicates that even amidst these lonely surroundings, the narrator isn’t completely removed from human culture and history. He has not wholeheartedly abandoned himself to the magical vision before him. No, he comes from society, and will return to it. Yet “the woods are lovely, dark and deep”; he is enchanted.

Accordingly, Frost’s use of the word “woods” is understandable. The semantics of “the woods” are far removed from those of “the forest.” A forest is a wild place, ancient and endless. Man cannot impose his will on it. Woods are tamer, more manageable. Likewise, the village represents an outpost between the city and the wilderness. The woods and village limn the seam between nature and civilization, where the border between them blurs. The poem’s narrator is truly suspended between the draw of nature, on the one hand, and his connection to the human society in which he was raised, on the other.

The description of the falling snow is vivid. This is Vermont, famous for its ski slopes. The falling snow, the “downy flake,” is dynamic, in perpetual motion. As it falls, it creates a still carpet of immaculate white. The “frozen lake” is its direct opposite, immovable, passive. This duality brings the scene to life. Accordingly, we understand the narrator’s reluctance to leave. He doesn’t want this magical sight to disappear – yet he will aid in its destruction, trampling the beautiful, virgin snow on his way onwards. These are some of the thoughts that trouble him, as he stands there, alone.

The first three stanzas serve as an exposition to the last stanza, which presents a stark contrast to what has come before. Frost outlines two conflicting worlds, two existential systems. In Either/Or, Kierkegaard portrays the clashing views of “ethical man” and “aesthetic man.” Frost expresses this conflict beautifully in his poem. “The woods are lovely, dark and deep” emphasizes the paradoxical beauty of the scene: it is “lovely,” the light “L” sounds playing on our lips, but also “dark and deep,” the alliterative “D” being stronger, dominant. We learn that the narrator’s present situation is but one instant in a busy, bustling life. Yet here he pauses amidst the excitement of his life. His “stopping by woods” reflects the extraordinary magic this natural scene exerts upon his imagination. It is a moment of wonderment. There is something in the woods’ beauty that draws him in, lures him, encouraging him to abandon his anxious self-consciousness. Something within him cries: “Are you insane? Where are you going in such a hurry? What’s the rush? Stay here, marvel at the glowing darkness, at this simple beauty.” Aesthetic man longs to dedicate himself to his senses – not his coarse senses, but rather the aesthetic sense: delicate, beautiful, drawn to all the splendor and majesty of the world.

However, “aesthetic man” represents only one side of Frost. At the conclusion of another poem (“The Lesson for Today,” 1942), he provides his own epitaph:

I would have written of me on my stone:
I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.

The resonant phrase, “a lover’s quarrel with the world,” contains several implications. First, Frost is enchanted, in love with the world. But, on the other hand, lovers quarrel when each pulls in a different direction, and then it is hard to find unity and peace. “A lover’s quarrel”! This phrase reveals to us the variety and multifaceted nature of Frost’s world. “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” includes a sensitive description of man’s wonderment when he confronts natural beauty. Yet beyond nature, there is another world – political, economic, social. Frost had strong opinions regarding the issues that occupied this “other world,” despite having spent most of his years in Vermont’s secluded countryside. When I visited him in 1956, he spouted harsh invective at President Eisenhower. This, too, was an inseparable part of his identity, which must not be overlooked.

This duality, the twin pulls of the aesthetic and the ethical, is reflected in our poem. “But I have promises to keep.” What promises? To whom have they been given? There are two possible ways of understanding the significance of these promises. The very demand that a promise be fulfilled is an ethical assertion, and the narrator’s sense of obligation is incongruent with his “aesthetic” bent. Alternatively, perhaps the promise has been made to “Ethics” or “Morality” itself. Morality demands that we act morally, that we further moral interests; this entails that we leave the woods, the snow, and the glowing darkness. Civilization and its governing morality have placed a yoke upon the narrator’s neck. He must earn a livelihood, provide for others, and contribute to humanity’s great onward march. He must build and create.[2]

Coupled with this moral obligation is a tangible sense of fatigue, expressed in the concluding lines and enhanced by their repetition: “And miles to go before I sleep / And miles to go before I sleep.” The narrator longs to resign himself, to surrender to nature. He wants to remain there, perhaps for an hour or a day, perhaps until the snow melts, perhaps forever. “The day is short and there is much work to be done” (Avot 2:15), or in Latin, “Ars longa, vita brevis.” Creativity is endless, and life is short. Nevertheless, the narrator longs to remain in the snow, by the woods. But he has promises to keep, and miles to go before he sleeps – and this sleep is, of course, death.

I know of few poems that express so forcefully the moral idea that binds us to the beit midrash.[3] The narrator’s life would have been far simpler had he dismissed the lure of nature: “What’s all the fuss? Snow, ice, trees, woods – they are all worthless! We’re here today, gone tomorrow. Let’s get on with it!” Rubbish can be dismissed without a second thought. But in order to have a “lover’s quarrel” with the world, you must first see its value. Frost appreciated the hues and colors of the world. Though the narrator is attracted by the aesthete’s passive contemplation, morality’s voice within him eventually wins.

So, too, is it with us. It is easy to devote yourself to Torah if you are convinced that everything else is nonsense. Nonsense is easy to give up. But one who sees the beauty in God’s creation, who comes to love it, must be strong in order to devote himself to learning Torah. One must not divorce the world, but rather bear in mind one’s “lover’s quarrel with the world.”

1- For the practical ramifications of this distinction, see there.
2- Frost’s poetry often mentions apples – apple picking, sorting apples, etc. Christian tradition identifies the apple as the “fruit” eaten by Adam and Eve. That story represents the origin of all moral obligations, the “knowledge of good and evil”; the apple is a symbol laden with meaning.
3- Although the poem contains no explicit religious references, it can be interpreted in a religious vein. Frost’s religious convictions were ambiguous. He once said, “Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee, and I'll forgive Thy great big joke on me,” referring in the last clause to the hardships and losses that plagued his life. Nevertheless, Frost had a certain religious bent, and it is therefore possible to explain this poem as a spiritual analogy. The wood’s absent owner is God “hiding His face”; morality and aestheticism can be seen as two alternative spiritual paths. This explanation could be developed further, though it cannot be validated without a better understanding of Frost’s beliefs.

Motzei Musings

Knowingly or not people tend to make their lives sound more focused than they really are. "I worked on writing this piece for six hours - " does that include snack breaks, net surfing, bouts of anxiety and self doubt? "I just worked out for an hour and a half - " Does that include the twenty minutes of standing there going, "I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this, I don't want to do this?" "I spent all day cleaning my house." Really? All day?

kolp

WFUV is playing Carolina in My Mind. It's the second day in a row that I heard this song on that station. Coincidence? The other day I was sitting next to a colleague at a meeting and there was a certain sefer resting on the table in front of him. I wondered aloud if it was hashgacha. He said it was a machloket between the Sefer HaChinuch and the Rambam.

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The other day I mentioned to a class, and they found it interesting, how the Sefer HaChinuch came to be written. In his introduction the (anonymous) author explains that he wrote it as a Bar Mitzvah present for his son. The plan was to write something tht would interest the boy and his friends that they could enjoy studying together on Shabbos.l

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Rabi E. Koenigsberg spoke at Shaloshudes at YU today about Mishlei 2:4,5 - "If thou seek her as silver, and search for her as for hidden treasures then shalt thou understand the fear of the L-rd, and find the knowledge of G-d." He cited Rav Shach who in the introduction to a sefer took this line as focusing exclusively on the study of Torah.

l

Rav Shach addressed the double metaphor and said that the first phrase highlights the element of consistency that applies to making a living day in and day out. The second image refers to the excitement inherent in searching for a goldmine. Both of these aspects are needed for success in learning Torah.

j

I wonder if the two phrases for searching match the two sought items which follow; Fear of G-d requires consistent, perhaps uncomplicated work, while true wisdom demands creativity and exuberance.

Shavua Tov Song

Shabbos arrives and leaves like the blink of an eye, again and again.

Time flies. I guess it was about two months ago I walked into a relic of a gem of a private little new and used bookstore. I trust the workers there and asked the woman holding down the fort if she could recommend some poetry. She came through. The following is from one of the works she sold me that day:

Song

;'

beauty is a shell

from the sea

where she rules triumphant

till love has had its way with her

r

scallops and

lions paws

sculptured to the

tune of retreating waves

h

undying accents

repeated till

the ear and the eye lie

down together in the same bed

k

I finally looked at this book, William Carlos Williams: Selected Poems over Shabbos and was not disappointed. Hope your Shabbos was good. Mine was good, thank G-d. Hope to write more about it in time, but for now will push publish.

Guten Erev Shabbos

3:18 - I hope to continue to list the times as I update till Shabbos. I got home not long ago. Errands to go. I'm going to do some clearing and cleaning preparing, rearranging. Mountain Stage is on. Rob Thompson is playing Thelonious Monk. Work, work, work.

3:26 - Sent two emails.

3:35 - Cleared the dining room table. Threw stuff away. Regina Spektor is playing now.

On the way home a friend told me a nice drash on the phone: The small letter in the description of Avraham's crying for Sarah refers to a specific aspect of his process rather than to his mourning as a whole. The Zohar comments critically on one who regrets having done a mitzvah. Often there are could've, would've, and should've's relating to mitzvot. Avraham listened to the word of G-d and one of the after-effects was the loss of his wife. But he did not second guess his commitment to G-d, didn't dwell on that piece.

The other night I heard a nice thought in the name of the Afikei Mayim (from someone who heard it from Rav Aharon Soloveichik, actually someone who prompted Rav Aharon to say it so he could later say he heard it from him):

What does it mean that Sarah at twenty had the beauty of a girl of seven? A pretty twenty year old generally knows she is attractive and is affected by this awareness. The thing about a seven year old is that she's usually not thinking about her looks. At her prime of beauty Sarah was not self conscious about the way she appeared the way most beautiful women are.

3:48 - James Taylor sings he's goin' to Carolina in his mind. I'm going to the laundromat across the street.

3:53 - Answered 3 more emails.

4:13 - Back from laundry and grocery.

Shabbat Shalom

With Apologies to Richard Jones

j

I spent the last half hour

looking for erev Shabbos

I looked in my inbox

and in the bodega

in the laundromat

and in all my pants pockets

l

Now from outside the window

the sun crouches on the sill

and tells me it is no longer

the time for looking

the time of arrival is here

Untitled

Someone hurt my feelings today. Probably yesterday too, but I don't remember. He asked if I still blog. Yes I do. It takes a lot of discipline he said. No, I said I just write all the time anyway, channel some of it here. I asked if he is still into Hirhurim. Yes. He's into all the Torah blogs. Ouch. Said to self. Alone. Inside. And here on the web. For millions.

Chayei Sarah - Posts Past

On existential angst, comments included.

Our Ma'arat HaMachpeilah. No comment.

Keeps The Doctor Away

I'm at work. I taught my six classes of the day. I have two recommendations to do plus lots of other paperwork. Also, I need to breathe. My Pandora station is playing Lonely People by America. I am trying to chill and yet I can't get too relaxed. There are "miles to go before I sleep."

Why do intelligent people mock poetry? Recently I heard two different PHDs speak and cite a poem. They each felt obliged to mock the poem. One handed out a source sheet including an Amichai prose poem. He said that he didn't get why it was a poem. "Ich veis...when I was a kid I was taught that poems rhyme..." Sigh. The other presenter discussed a poem by Robert Frost and joked that he gave it out because he had the urge to share a poem and didn't think people wanted to hear his rendition of I Had A Little Teapot.

Today a student gave me an apple. I don't think that's ever happened to me before. Many years ago a school I worked in gave every teacher a pencil for Chanukah. The pencil said "Thanks!" on it and included a picture of an apple. At the end of the year I once received the gift of a crystal apple. But today I received a real apple.

This student (we'll call her Sara) eats a giant apple every day. It's a honeycrisp. And today she brought one for me. I am a fan of fruit but don't eat as much of it as I should. Part of that might be because the plain old stuff I know about doesn't appeal to me. This was one amazing apple!

It's a few minutes to minchah. I'm thinking about apples. There was an apple that was jealous of the stars. When it was ripe it fell to the ground and split in half. And inside it there was a star!

The Answer

By Richard Jones

Tonight, looking for the answer,

I must have killed an hour

flipping through philosophy and poetry books,

every few minutes opening and reading a different title.

I anxiously searched all the places I keep books-

looking in the kitchen, the boys' rooms,

checking the laundry room and workshop,

before going outside finally to the curb

to search through books tossed

in the backseat of the car.

Snow fell straight down in windless silence.

The keys in my left hand jingled like very small bells.

I stopped and tried to remember

what I'd come into the night looking for.

VeHaIkar Lo Lefached Klal

Niels Bohr wrote, "How wonderful that we have met with a paradox. Now we have some hope of making progress." Paradoxes are a major part of who I am and how I see the world. Bohr wrote, "The opposite of a trivial truth is false; the opposite of a great truth is also true." Yes. Great truths have to be balanced. Sigh. Paradoxes keep me awake at night.

The Spoon

By Richard Jones

Some days I think I need nothing
more in life than a spoon.
With a spoon I can eat oatmeal
Or take the medicine doctors prescribe
I can swat a fly sleeping on the sill
or pound the table to get attention.
I can point accusingly at God
or stab the empty air repeatedly.
Looking into the spoon’s mirror,
I can study my face in its shiny bowl,
or cover one eye to make half the world
disappear. With a spoon
I can dig a tunnel to freedom
spoonful by spoonful of dirt,
or waste life catching moonlight
and flinging it into the blackest night.

On Veterans Day

New Jersey servicemembers from Four wars talk about Veterans Day
By Tomas Dinges/The Star-Ledger
November 11, 2009, 5:00AM
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Today is Veterans Day, a celebration first commemorating the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, when an armistice brought an end to World War I. In 1954, Congress mandated the holiday honor all veterans. Veterans Day, a federal holiday, celebrates the servicemembers who survived their experiences in war. We spoke with four veterans from four wars about its significance, as well as their identification as a veteran of an American foreign war.

For rest of story click here.

Tangled Rainbow

Have A Good Day

I have to wake up early every day but today I beat the alarm by about an hour and a half. One of my students was talking yesterday about how she straightens her hair every morning. She shrugged off the question about having to rise early to do this ironing by saying that she's an early riser anyway. She responded to the question about the negative effects of this constant hair straightening by saying that's why traditional Jewish women cover their hair.

In a class yesterday something came up about names and the students said it was like "that poem" they studied in ninth grade Hebrew class. "That poem" is Zelda's "Lekol Ish Yesh Shem," the one poem by this singular poet ubiquitously taught by day school Hebrew teachers.

One of the students proudly remembered - her way of making her name - that she was the one who noticed how the lines get shorter at the end of the poem. In fact, they count down from four words to three to two, ending at one.

That poem struck me the first time I read it and hasn't let up. The idea of our singularity haunts me. There seem to be so many "me"s and yet we are one, or are we?

If I don't stop writing now I will definitely be late for my ride out, which is next door.

Wet Paint

RIP - Mary Travers

Tomorrow's her birthday and there will be a memorial for her. Here's one example of her haunting sincerity.

Monte (Peace In Our Time)

– David Kirby

Once I got a postcard from Joyce Carol Oates,
whose novel Unholy Loves I had reviewed favorably,
and on it (the card) she wrote,
"I think you must be a fellow Canadian,"
and I figured, well! That's me, all right:
the Mounties, Wayne Gretzky, Margaret Atwood. . . .
It wasn't until years later
when I found the card again
while cleaning up some old files
that I saw she had written
not "Canadian" but "Conradian"
(in fact, I had mentioned a Conrad essay
she'd published elsewhere),
and I thought of the poster I'd seen for a Monet show,
only the artist's name was spelled "Monte."
I could see this Monte in his plaid jacket
and his open collar and his medallion
nestled in his chest hairs just so,
calling for a corned beef sandwich,
"very lean, please," and a Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray Tonic
so he'd have the energy to finish, say,
Caesar's Palace: The Façade at Sunset.
Names mean too much;
for example, if you called a general "Genital,"
as in, "Your car's ready, Genital--urrk!"
he'd kill you in a fit of rage,
and his bodyguards, confused by the gunfire
and the screaming, would fill the air with bullets
and take him right out of the picture.
Bingo, no more war.

Hot Off The Press: David Kirby On Poetry, To Me A Wow (Click For Link)

"When I’m asked by fellow air passengers what I do for a living and reply, “I write poems,” the reaction is often a startled smile, as though they’re thinking Homer! Dante! Milton! (At least that’s what I’m thinking they’re thinking.) And then comes the lean-in, the furrowed brow, the voice thick with compassion as my new friend says, “But there isn’t any money in that, is there?”
i
There are some pretty snappy comebacks to this one, but what I usually offer is Somerset Maugham’s “Poetry is like a sixth sense without which you cannot make a complete use of the other five.” Actually, Maugham says “money,” not “poetry,” but that’s the point. Money and poetry both act as catalysts, and they bring together objects and experiences that wouldn’t have anything to do with one another otherwise. Wealth takes many forms, and sometimes it shows up as stanzas."

Q

After a performance I find myself thinking about the culture of stand up. There are several movies on the subject. The least well known of these is Nora Ephron's directorial debut, This Is My Life, reviewed positively by Roger Ebert in this link. Can you name other films of comedians and their world?

Are You A Good Dream Or A Bad Dream?

I am never sure why I am here. It's approaching the five year anniversary of this blog and if you want personal details of my life you either need to go back to older posts or be really good, as some of you are, at reading the unwritten.
~
I'm just back from a gig, winding down from the inimitable flavor of doing stand up. I was one of several comedians on the line-up at Gesher Shalom/The JCC of Fort Lee (Mr. Richard Feder was not there). It was a great pleasure to work with the very funny, super mentchlich, and squeaky clean Eddie Clark. He was hilarious and ended with a great Louis Armstrong impersonation to boot. Wonderful.
~
I am grateful to Milton Davis for fetching and returning me and to his whole mishpacha for their kindness and appreciation. I thank Jaime Weiss for asking me to perform (based on the advice of my agent, Alana). There were old friends and colleagues and students' parents and grandparents. It was great to see my dear friend and fellow social work survivor Annette Prager. Also, great to see my colleague and super math tutor, Mike Seymour. Many more good, nice people. A nice night all around.
~
And now, for sure to dream, perchance to sleep.

I have it on good inside word that Big Bird, Cookie Monster, Bert & Ernie, and Oscar will be followed tomorrow by Elmo on Google.
~

Good night and G-d bless

The rest is commentary

Slowly, like a dream

It Gets Late Early These Days

A major, if not the number one issue, for many Jews is Rabbinic Authority. My students raise the question directly and implicitly on a daily basis. One bright, sensitive student told me that she wanted to talk about this subject. I prepared by thinking and learning about the subject and having two books on hand, and a third on order, on the topic before we met yesterday.

We talked out the ideas for about forty minutes. At some point, organically and spontaneously I tied in something that I've been thinking about a lot lately. I raised the issue of organization. "I'm terrible at that", the student shared. I went on to explain that being orderly in the day to day details is a challenge for many (hello) and it often seems like there are bigger fish to fry. Yet, the technical minutia of life can be at the core of the bigger issues. If we work on schedules, boundaries, daily to dos, we may very likely find that these details are the glue that hold our life together. We can, perhaps, see headway regarding the big issues when we make headway in the department of the seemingly small area of logistics, the hinges that hold our lives together.

Similarly, the glue of the spiritual lives are the details of the Torah. Much of the Torah (what beautiful fruit to take on Sukkot, how to properly observe Shabbat, the details of preparing a kosher animal) is cryptic and explained by the oral tradition. I believe that we have it backwards. The rabbinic laws and interpretations are not superimposed on the Torah. They are the essence of the Torah. The details of, for example, Shabbos don't hinder the essence of the day but hold it together.

As I write Shabbos approaches so my focus must go there. Soon we will sing, "Shamor vezachor bedibur echad." It is not only Shabbos, but all mitzvot have this dual aspect. There's the metaphorical and the amorphous, the zachor. There's also the tangible nitty gritty of shamor.

Very soon it is Shabbos and I really need to close this post. I pray for myself and all of us for balance. May we be so blessed.

I write this while standing on one leg, wondering

Is impromptu poetry any way to greet a queen?

I must hurry up and slow down

There are flames to extinguish and flames to ignite

As wise Yogi said, "It gets late early these days."

Vayeirah - Posts Past

Stars and Dust Forever: versions one, two, various thoughts, the Vayeirah symphony, on laughter.

GNAGB

I am grateful for chanced to be kind, and grateful for those moments when I come through. I am grateful for family. I am grateful for friends. I am grateful for the opportunity to share my written words. I am grateful for the gift of sleep which I hope to open in moments.

Question. How do you view conversations? Do you value them overall? Do you remember them? Are they more often something you keep track of and remember or more often something you do while you eat or shop or walk or drive? Any other thoughts on conversations would be appreciated.

Good night to my friends
I thank G-d for each of you
Good night and G-d bless

Their Titles Are Masterful - IMHO

We tend to treat others the way we'd like to be treated. This can be a flawed approach. We all have our own inclinations, each as different from the other's as DNA.

Since my first parsha column in the Jewish Week I've been curious to read who else is writing. I feel it's kind of a club and I like to know who's in it.

One of the other writers is someone I've known for over twenty years, one of a small group of dear friends of a dear friend of mine. Another parsha author is also a friend of my friend, which prompted my friend to comment that the criterion to write that Jewish Week piece is to be his friend.

Another recent columnist is a brilliant very young man who directed me in a short movie he wrote. Another J.W. parsha author is an old friend and college mate who, once upon a time, I wrote alongside in the same Y.U. literary journal, and competed against in a speech contest.

They post the parsha essay early in the week. This week's is up. It's about the irony of Yitzchak's name as he didn't seem to be a man about laughter. It's an interesting piece and an interesting addition to the club, written by a man who has been written about by the Jewish Week in the past but - to the best of my research - has never before written for the paper.

Part of the gig of blogging is being self conscious. According to my statistics I get around a hundred hits a day. I push and pull around this. Do I want more readers? One of this things that increases "readership" is name dropping. Most often I allude to names but don't mention them, though now and then I do.

Though the post time for this says 11:59 PM, it's actually being written and posted much later than that - during a sleep intermission. To my mind, the very early A.M. hours belong more to the previous day than to the morning soon to dawn.

If you google anytime this Wednesday, November 4 (my nephew's birthday!), you will find their logo has Big Bird's feet in it. This is in honor of Sesame Street's birthday (which is on November 9). Feels like yesterday that I was arguing with a classmate over about the name of the brand new show. He insisted that it was pronounced see same street. Yes, yes, I remember it well.

In the eighties, when I spent a chunk of years learning in Israel, I wrote these lines, with which I'll close for now. I'd write it differently today, though I won't write now.

It's late at night, it's time for bed

The thoughts run wild inside my head

Perhaps one day these thoughts will thrive

If I'm not working nine to five.