JOY's PROSE: 2013

G*D LOVES YOU

PSALMS OF MY SOUL
Tiferet sh b'Yesod

Kabbalistic Sephirat HaOmer - day 38, 5 weeks and 3 days

G*D LOVES YOU and ME

Compassion in Bonding

- Joy Krauthammer

Reading in the B'nai Horin newsletter, WHEN GOD IS YOUR THERAPIST, I immediately related to the quotes about "moving from our states or maps of pain to states of maps of joy". Hmm, wonder why. Yet it is true, for me, Joy, because for many years, simplistically, I've been conscious of turning "lemonade into lemons", as others have said publicly about me. Not only lemonade, but transcendence and transformation in a return to joy in Joy.

I'm glad that Rabbi Stan Levy included the NY Times article, "When G*d Is Your Therapist" because I'd never analyzed my life that way, but realize that for me, that concept has certainly been true. I'll share with you:

After my husband, z"l, died over 7 years ago (time does heal), although with friends still a little bit around (they'd done their loyal devoted compassionate, caring and supportive duty at home and hospitals for years when husband was sick, paralyzed, dying and on life-support…) I felt very ALONE. Not lonely, but alone. To prove to myself that I was 'not alone', I made a list of all my friends who were present with me and taped it to the wall adjacent to where I work at home so that I could always see the names and remind myself. I felt ALONE! For healing grief support, I had a short-term bereavement therapist, beloved local rabbis, and after a few months of constant crying --a local church minister-led grief group (where I was the only person and she kept reminding me that there "is light at the end of the tunnel"), and also a Jewish 'spiritual guide' who blessedly listened in silence to me and my silence or my tears.

One day, knowing how I felt in deep pain from loss and so ALONE, my Jerusalem Chareidi Rebbe Yosef Ben Shlomo Hakohen, z"l, said to me, "G*d loves you." From that moment, and I wrote the words also on my wall, I never felt alone because I knew that G*d loved me. How simplistic! And I was "a child of the Universe"; I remembered this from the Desiderata, the scroll from 'sixties college days which to this day, still hangs on wall over my bed! Google it. (One myth says a Jewish person wrote it.)

In July 1994 at Elat Chayyim, for the first time-- I had spontaneously proclaimed out loud to Rabbi Marcia Prager that "I love G*d". Until the spring of 2006, I'd never heard that G*d loves me. I share with you that when I feel it appropriate, I have in empathy shared this compassionate statement of love with grieving others.

The 'Therapist' article author, T. M. Luhrmann states, that "tragedy, and prayers that apparently go unanswered, can actually strengthen believers' sense of a bond with G*d."

I also never asked G*d for an explanation as to why I, too, the caregiver and wife, had to suffer along with the patient. I had G*d to call out to, scream out to in my garden, cry out to loudly at night when I tried to go to sleep. And G*d listened. I had the Indwelling Presence of Shekhina hold me in Her arms and envelope me so I could finally fall asleep each night. And as I came to understand, a little bit at a later time, revealed were concealed blesSings; answers to the difficult 'why' questions which I hadn't asked, but had felt the pain.

I "hang out with G*d" a lot in my garden, as I did then, during the difficult years filled with medical trauma and pain. I greet G*d, and converse; That's my vocal "therapeutic dimension". I mamash do love singing in prayer to Hashem. Artistically I photograph G*d daily in my garden, and drum with G*d, and I guess that, too, is therapeutic. G*d loves me. How "theologically simple-minded" is that?

This week during the Counting of the Omer as we refine ourselves and head toward Shavuot and the 50th Gate, we are in the Sephirah week of Yesod. Yesod is not only a foundation, a giving and receiving, nurturing, and a connection--a bonding and devotion with people, but also an eternal bonding with the Compassionate One.

May you be blessed to know that G*d loves you.

BlesSings for health, wholeness, peace, revealed miracles, creativity, discovery, wonder, blooming gardens, majestic sunrises, sighting birds, love and joy,

JOY

Krauthammer

"Serve G*d With Joy"

FULL MOON

Psalms of My Soul

Sephirat HaOmer day 31

Tiferet sh b'Hod

Beauty and Harmony in Humility, Awe and Splendor
http://sephirathaomer.blogspot.com/2011/07/full-moon-day-31-tiferet-sh-bhod.html

FULL MOON

- Joy Krauthammer

In my hillside home, sitting at my computer, a light catches my eye and I glance toward the right. Through the kitchen window, wonderfully surprised, clearly I see the large, full bright orange moon. I am in awe of its beauty and balance as it hangs alone in the sky. I look over my shoulder, and my heart feels full as I gaze upon the moon, like a magnet, and my fingers continue to type. Even as I watch it, the orange moon is quickly rising, and turning a brighter lighter shade.

How many photos can I shoot of this round orange object in the night sky that shows up on all my film as a round shape in the dark sky?

Almost 20 years ago a friend married another friend. Purposefully for a shidduch / marriage, I had introduced them. I took a photo of the newly weds kissing at night following the afternoon wedding (where I was honorary Chuppah holder). Consciously I moved my body low so that the full moon would be visible closely over their heads.

Years later I saw the framed photo on their bedroom dresser and commented on it. My friend questioned me, "But what is that circle over our heads?" I laughed when I recalled how I had adjusted my body low to catch that very high moving scene. I admired my artistry.

Tonight, once again, I must bend my body low to continue to see the Splendor through the window, as I type with the rising moon, and I am in awe, in Hod.

Baruch Hashem for the glory that is the gift to us in the very visible full moon. My iPhoto library has a zillion shots of moons, hmm, or is that a cheese ball?

Super Full Moon

~ ~ ~

LAKE SWIM AT SUNSET

Sunset
© Joy Krauthammer

Prompted by reading poem "Blackwater Pond" by Mary Oliver.

LAST NIGHT'S GLORY

Lake Swim at Sunset

- Joy Krauthammer

Between zones of August late afternoon and early evening, entering the pool, I stop-- stop and stand alone in the water as I drink up, I breathe in the sacred space. My hands drop into the inviting pool swirling handfuls of delight. Water to swim in, immerse myself in calm-- but FIRST I PRAY. This is my salvation, my healing. THANK YOU G*D for this glory.

From stillness, ripples in water magically manifest as my body makes minute movements. More radiating ripples expand outwards in abstract complex crossing evolving patterns. A honeycomb gone wild.

Sun meets water. Subdued rainbows of color begin just beyond each ripple. Quiet serene ecstasy for me.

Not ready to dive into the pool. EH Cold.

Ahh, I DID IT. Slight breeze on my shoulder gives a chill. A few strokes I make to adjust my body and confirm temperature. It's good. I lap across pool and back heading westerly. I am in a pond, a lake, surrounded by a forest of trees. Bits of tree leaves, needles, seeds adorn the surface. I love swimming in this lake. I am a child swimming in a lake, mushy underfoot as sunlight pales toward the horizon, disappearing. I feel at ease and deeply enjoy being far away in this lake with setting sun. Surface water patterns are artistic as if wood carving tools have scooped out top sections of water.

With every stoke I swim, never see nor reach the edge of the lake, yet travel toward the lush green forest of distant old tall palm and pine trees. As the sky loses light, trees turn darker, less defined, and yet strangely, I feel comforted. In the lake I love the dusk. I want to remain here forever.

Voila, transformed from grey clouds, orange formations are born, filling the spheres. Orange penetrates in concentrated intensity. Sunset colors reflect in the lake. How strange to see the reflections of color and trees in lake when the sun is so far away. How can that be?

I want to savor the sky's palette before it begins to fade. Colored broad bands of diverse widths have my rapt attention and I'm in awe. Do they even care that I am here and witness? How many minutes will they display their aliveness? Soaking in the show, I remain still, standing in the shallow end of lake.

Quickly I decide to leave my lake and forest to photograph the miracle. With damp hands I grab my camera, always ready-- open and from every angle, shoot the powerful and moving scene from the shore.

Outside the enclosed lake and in front of the house I'll see a different array of colored clouds. Swiftly, I push open the big blue heavy wooden gate to escape beyond, where hopefully the sky is less obscured. In wet suit with camera in hand in darkening sky, I have captured G*d's gift as the sun sets. I am satisfied. I am grateful.

~ ~ ~

Fig Tree and Hummingbird

Hummingbird on Fig Tree

On this morning of Jan. 17th, it is the 20th anniversary of the terrible Northridge Earthquake.

There is a terrible fire taking homes, 1,700 acres, and the sunrise color is strangely red from the fire.

Today is my husband's, z'l, yahrzeit, Jan. 17, 17 Tevet. He died 8 years ago.

It is a morning filled with darkness.

I heard the Hummingbird and looked up to the top of the Fig tree,

this week of Tu B'Shvat,

and saw the tiny bird, and it made me smile.

Another Hummingbird joined the first for a fleeting moment.

There was light.

Fig Tree at Mount Sinai

FIG TREE AT SINAI

My 32 year old divine magnificent Mission Fig tree at sunrise,

two days before cutting down the entire top of right trunk.

This devoted fig tree must have been at Revelation.

Understand, feel its holy Essence, its power, loving soul and Source.

I am trying to save beloved tree from uprooting,

thus I decided I must take down its whole entire top which will be heavy in the summer.

Today I stood at its base and I was strong.

Its body and beauty was felled.

I am giving tomorrow on Shabbat at shul to chevre, a tree that was at Sinai.

Now again to honor Tu B'Shvat, Fig tree gives its present to the future.

Dozens of beautiful foot-long, straight and thick barren branches to Lev Eisha women to plant, nurture and grow Fig trees.

I breathe deeply in great sadness and shock of horror at removal of limbs.

I had to choose longer healthier life for fig tree.

- Joy Krauthammer, 2/1/13 Parshat Yitro

enjoy my devotion of

FIGs: Photos and Poems

http://joys-poems.blogspot.com/2013/02/fig-tree-at-sinai.html

http://joys-poems.blogspot.com/2013/12/fig-tree-gives-again.html

Manna From Heaven

http://joys-poems.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-poems-from-joy-krauthammer.html

http://joys-prose.blogspot.com/2013/02/fig-tree-at-mount-sinai.html

http://joys-joyousjoy.blogspot.com/2012/08/gds-fig-tree-parshat-ki-tavo-moses.html

http://joys-garden.blogspot.com

http://joys-poems.blogspot.com/2013/08/haiku-fig-etiquette.html

~ ~ ~

FIG TREE HARVEST

FIG TREE HARVEST

- Joy Krauthammer

9.11.2019

Forty years ago when my daughter was in pre-school, I planted Mama fig tree from a small twig, a scion from a friend's grandfather's tree in Italy. This is the same type of foot-long, finger width, end of tree branch, straight (not curved) barren twig filled with potential that I cut down every January and give away by the hundreds every Tu B'Shevat, especially at 7 species 'Seder' rituals.

Being very miserably allergic (I suffer) to the thick, milky-white latex sap dripping from each plucked fig onto my fingers or feet, I hire someone each week of season to harvest for me, although I love the pleasure of picking, which I try to do every day, or else figs spoil and fall to the ground, making a juicy purple squishy big mess that needs serious cleaning. Flashy iridescent green large Japanese beetles love to suck on the figs and fly fast past my face. I harvest 40 figs each time, touching each fruit to make sure they are not too soft, nor too hard, but just right and ripe, needing containers, baskets to collect them, and try not to spill them. Sharing them, I may re-place figs into collected empty egg cartons. (Some people think they are rotten eggs.) I must try to remember to wear gloves but then I miss the sensual pleasure from touching figs. Their fascinating shiny moist insides are a great contrast to their dry dull skin.

My trees are on steep slopes which makes it dangerous for me to climb and harvest, especially with slippery fallen figs. I leave 80% of the tree for G*d's flying and climbing creatures. I hope that the dangerous West Nile virus carrying Aedes mosquitos don't eat me while I harvest in the Garden of Joy but yesterday I got a bite. I try to prepare and cover myself in long pants, long sleeved shirt and big hat, but I lazily wear open sandals, and not socks. Sometimes I add rubberbands to bottom of pants.

When I bring dozens of luscious figs to an event, like last night's creative craft gathering, no one knows how the pretty figs, displayed whole or sliced, came into being. Now you do. I bring extras already bagged for those friends that I know especially appreciate eating the organic yummy figs. Makes me happy to drive fresh figs to friends, or fire house, colleagues, clergy, doctors, shop keepers, and give them all away.

(Some neighborhood kids sell their figs at a lemonade-like stand. Some people sell their fig scions from $10 - $20 each.)

Season is now near the end. Usually the figs remaining on tree in September do not ripen, and the countless large yellow leaves begin slowly to fall to the ground. In 4 months I'll hire someone to climb into and prune the trees, and after examining every branch, again I'll give away only the perfectly formed barren fig branches (waiting and rooting in water-filled vases) to others to have the pleasure of being 'fig mamas' as I've had for last 4 decades.

I love seeing all the photos you send to me of your growing fig trees, legacy of my 40 year young Mama fig.

FIG ~ תאנה T’einah One of the 7 Species Shivat Haminin

One of the fruits brought back by the spies to prove that the Land bore fruit.