Thank you Tracy Chapman for reminding me of myself. A wise woman once told me that you always essentially come back to yourself. I wanted to write about how candles can bring people together. It’s pretty simple. There’s this block of material meant to be burnt down. There’s a means of setting it aflame, like with a match or lighter; things tent to heat up when you’re falling in love and you try to abstain from lighting candles. I wonder if I’ve been lighting so many candles lately, and if it is as trite as that old saying that I was never a fan of, probably due to its negative energy: “the flame died” or whatever.
I’m supposed to be thinking of my grandfather, and actually it works perfectly. I interviewed him once about love and have always remembered his romanticized view of his love affair with my grandmother, “We met in the dark room in our photography class in college. Who knew what would develop?”
I was recently asked to light my grandfather’s Yarz-ite candle and I’m so distant from ritualistic Judaism that I don’t even care to look up how its spelled and have anyone think I’m some sort of super Jew. I guess I resented the pressure of lighting a candle that is in honor of his death, the morning of New Year’s Day, the day he died. Have I become some relic collector of this family? Or maybe its the writing thing, and how I used to be able to stand up there and speak on a loved ones death at a funeral, and then so many happened in such quick succession, and I got softer-hearted, or maybe I stopped trying to make sense out of life.
So growing up- I think realizing the neuroticism of Judaism will help me in the long run, but I want to keep suppressing it for as long as possible; this way the guilt will be a sweeter ride ;)… anyway… SO GROWING UP MY RABBI would be asked a question, and in his answer he’d go talking about so many things, and he’d somehow tie it all together, and people always complimented him for this, or atleast acknowledged the long round about turns. Rabbi Shofar called me a machine gun because I spoke so quickly, but he was there the day I was… oh my god… I think I’m having a self-hating Jew moment. I love it. Being honest. I fit the stereotype in a lot of ways, and its better to just admit to it; I didn’t ever embrace it and think it was “the shit,” but it was just apart of me. At one point I gave pause and realized that I am the way I am because of some kind of… “something” Judaism gave me, and I never really knew how to follow that thought up. I guess now is an appropriate time for a Christianized-American, Catholic-wannabe like myself to thank God? And really mean it, and smile as she does cause she feels hatred toward God just like everyone else, even if she’s uncomfortable with the idea of “God” or discussing it because its such a tired topic. It however, makes sense. So preach. Praise the Lord. Get down… I still believe in rock and roll, and I can still teach you how to dance real slow. Something happened to me the day the music died too ya know, even if I wasn’t there, and it feels even more real to say that while I’m thinking about the 60’s and my grandfather and his children who were hippy babies, and their childrens’ children who were all a product of something truly amazing that happened in the 90’s, and I think that’s my cue to exit. Peace. Namaste. Shalom and departures.
so the whole macha/damsel complex… i meant to say something about it… oh well…