Grassy Sidewalk

2 nights ago I dreamed that a block in Brooklyn, one that seemed to be near 8th Ave and 16th St. (no - today I realized it was Windsor) had tall grass growing all over, especially from the cracks in the sidewalk and along the curb. This seemed to be the work of a local Rabbi who I saw in the dream, black hat and long white beard.

That morning I picked up one of my books from college, Oblique Prayers, a collection of poetry by the British poet Denise Levertov. I opened it to a poem called "Passage." This it is.


The spirit that walked upon the face of the waters
walks the meadow of long grass;
green shines to silver where the spirit passes.

Wind from the compass points, sun at meridian,
these are forms the spirit enters,
breath, ruach, light that is witness and by which we witness.

The grasses numberless, bowing and rising, silently
cry hosanna as the spirit
moves them and moves burnishing

over and again upon mountain pastures
a day of spring, a needle's eye
space and time are passing through like a swathe of silk.


Draw whatever conclusions you want; I like to think of the grasses in my dream as a symbol of organic and uncontrived continual renewal in Brooklyn that bears the innocence of an open heart, and true hope. There are so many good people here doing wonderful things, bringing all the freshness and light of their minds to witness and sustain this community, weaving supple grasses together, making a strong bridge. Salu, Brooklyn, Salu, pentateuch of Boroughs.