We are at Lake Michigan, the Rabbi and I, he sitting, his right hand moving, watching the fog roll backwards. “I can see ten miles out dad, how about you, he says”? “I can barely see my hand in front of my face”, I say. I’m standing. “You should sit dad”, he says softly, his face radiant from some hidden sun, “from where I sit you can see at least ten miles out, and it’s beautiful”.
Ten miles from Avalon his face breaks a grin, the space before paradise favors his whims, and therefore the rabbi the son of my soul, looks over water his favors foretold, and his love it takes me forever. What is a man unless he breaks a spell, and follows a path where he’s lost in a well, a deep dark cavern where he meets his hell, and wanders like lost forever. That could be me, or that could be you however in miles it seems G-D brought me through, and gave me a son a priest that is true, and ten miles he stares on forever.
Upon a tall bluff he looks out at the sea, my son of the tribe, the last branch of the tree, and although a priest he is stronger than sin, a warrior that fights all that’s never. The ten miles of latitude that make up the shore, that point on toward harbors, where prayers aren’t ignored, at least for this man, the child of my core, the one that G-D beckons come hither. I pray on in sorrow, in-depth or in need, but my son takes hunger and makes it his creed, and looks out ten miles from above troubled seas, and sees a light of forever.
Ten miles is a lifetime to watch for a sign, but some folks are willing, I’ve seen it in Ryan, to take on forever and never be blind, to whatever the seasons would tell them. No bench is perfect, and no beach to white, no altar’s ready unless you’ve really tried, to find yourself willing to conquer your pride, the one that keeps you from breathing. For my Rabbi tells me, there’s more just beyond, he smiles in the mystery he signals the sun, and looks ten miles further, and ten miles beyond to forever. It’s only ten miles forever. – 9.12.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל