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what is it, precisely, this life, comedy or tragedy? | |
we knowingly face death, imminent, less-imminent, it’s there. waiting. we know. | |
and if we think there’s a way out (oh, we don’t want to die, i mean i don’t.) we are wrong. we will die. | |
tears well up at the thought of the end, the knowledge of it, they can be the tears of heroes who fight livingly for every moment, see majesty in the simple muffin laundry sunset table love love love love. | |
Love. | |
those tears, Holy One, they are not ours alone. | |
Oh God, Your holy, trembling Hand, hovering, quivering over Your Infinite Book of Finite Life, where even the days of the righteous end. | |
Oh, the vast sadness You must feel when a fragment of Your Sacred Heart dies. departs this world. | |
God, we are dying. That’s true. | |
perhaps, if we agree to live, really live while we are alive, then that’s ok. perhaps. (not really, but maybe.) | |
Your Tears are our tears, Source of All. We cry together. Images of God and God. Holy Tears. | |
It’s so very, very sad when we die. and it’s also so very beautiful to live. Those are Holy Tears, too. Happy Sad Holy Tears. | |
Thank You. |
“Holy Tears: A Not-Ḳaddish, by Rabbi Menachem Creditor” is shared through the Open Siddur Project with a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International copyleft license.
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