Fire

(I wrote this in honor of Tisha b'Av. I sort of had this flash of emotion as I was putting my shoes on before going to shul to hear Eicha. I wanted to write this down afterwards before I lost it. The sad thing is, intense feeling like this will probably have all melted away by the time I wake up tomorrow, and then it will be just like any other Tisha b'Av - a lot more empty than it should be. I don't know why I suddenly felt so strongly tonight, but I'm glad I did, in a weird way. Seeing everyone in shul sitting on the floor helped, too. Also, I hope this isn't too intense for anyone. It was sort of intense for me, but I needed to write it and I felt it was powerful enough to post. At least, it was powerful for me. I can't say it will be for anyone else. But if it helps anyone at all, even in the tiniest way, relate to what today is all about, then I guess that's a good thing.)

Fire
~ a stream-of-consciousness story~

I am a tiny, insignificant speck. All around me is darkness. Swirling, swirling. Echoing screams of the past rush by, but they're not really there. But I feel the heat. I feel the fire. I feel it.

The fire.

It quivers. It sparks. It erupts in brutal flames. The flames - intensity in its purest form. Red. Orange. Yellow. Orange. Red. They all dance together - a rambunctious dance, a provocative dance, a dance of profanity as they desecrate everything holy. I feel anger - indignant anger - well up as the flames roll and laugh, cackle and crackle and lick at the very foundation of life and light and good things. This is the fire of Darkness. This is the smog and fog and smoke that we choke on. Choke and cough and sputter until our eyes run with sooty tears. These are the unconstrained flames that wriggle and twist - they twist at my soul. And I cry. I cry and cry and cry. Because it hurts! It hurts to be yanked away from the warmth and light and closeness of God! It hurts to be thrown down, to be cast aside, to be pushed away! It stings to be exiled, to yearn for that love which you know you'll have to try so much harder to feel. And I want to be comforted, I need to be comforted - but there is no comfort. Is it possible to be comforted for this plight? Is it possible?

And I know that this - this which I feel - is only an echo of what was once felt. Only a tiny, infinitesimal echo - because how can I really know? How can I really understand? Me, who has never known such holiness, who has never been so close to God, who has never heard the singing of the Levi'im and who has never understood what it was like to see someone bring a korban? Me, of the Diaspora. Me, who has lived my entire life in exile, never knowing what it was like not to be in exile.

So I bury my face and shiver at the thought that the pain I feel now is happiness compared to the pain felt then. This scares me. An eerie coldness grips my soul and envelops my entire being, because here I am, a 21st century American Jewish girl, and I think I understand pain and sadness and anguish. And it terrifies me - that my feeble shadow of pain is only that. A shadow. That there was a time when people suffered so intensely. And that time was real. And I can't fathom such a thing. And that's why it scares me. That such a thing could have existed at all.

Purpose

I have recently been thinking about, and become bothered by, the concept of fulfilling one's purpose. Or rather, the idea that people so often say that when someone dies, it means that person has fulfilled his/her purpose.

What about little babies or kids who die for whatever reason? Can their purpose have been so small that they needed so short a time to do it? What about people who live long lives - did they only fulfill their purpose at the end or was their whole life one big purpose? Why did they die after so much time? Why not earlier? Were they granted extra time just for kicks? Why not other people, then? Should we shy away from fulfilling any purposes so that we'll live longer?

What about purpose vs. potential. Purpose sounds like we live to accomplish something for the world. Potential seems more selfish. We're working on ourselves to develop who we are and what we're capable of. Do we use this potential to then fulfill our purpose? Can we fulfill our purpose without developing our full potential? Does a person have only one purpose in life? There are SO many people - are there that many purposes that need to be fulfilled? What about little kids who never had the chance to find out their potential? Does everyone have a potential? Do baby's who die or who are stillborn have potential?

I realize that none of you can answer these questions. Nobody can. We can speculate, yes, but we can never really know. It's just been bothering me.

Stream of Consciousness

It's weird, this frustrated feeling, like you're inferior, like you're not good enough. Like everything you ever wanted to do - you can't. Everything you try, everything you enjoy, you try to do it, and it just never works out. But you want to so badly. You want to be good enough, you want to be more than just good enough. You want people to see, to see your spirit striving toward accomplishment. You want them to really see, to really believe in you. To grab you and help you reach your potential. But instead, you feel overlooked. Others take the limelight. Others attract more notice than you. And so you fall into the shadows. Forgotten. Unimportant. A polite comment, perhaps, when you're suddenly remembered. And you try so hard. And maybe, just maybe, you can do it. Maybe you can, after all. But no one will ever know, because no one gives you the chance. No one lets you take that first step toward the goal you've always wanted. They shut the door in your face. They turn to someone else. You aren't what they want. And you--you aren't assertive enough, aren't brave enough, to do anything about it. So you just sigh and move on. Try again, maybe. Another time, another place, only to be turned away once more. And will anyone ever notice? Will anyone ever give you that chance? Your pent up desires, they feel trapped, claustrophobic inside of you, unable to be let out. But what can you do? Nothing, that's what. Because there is nothing to do. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again, right? When you fall off the horse, get back on? Is that it? Is that what you have to do? But what if your horse won't let you back on? What if there are no more chances? What do you do if you have to live with the fact that you tried, you really did, but no one ever gave you that chance, that one chance, to prove yourself. To do what you really wanted. And so you never got to do it. Opportunities gone, in an instant, and you never got to do it.