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Stacey Robinson
80 followers -
Stumbling around, searching for meaning, wrestling with God and looking for a perfect cup of coffee...
Stumbling around, searching for meaning, wrestling with God and looking for a perfect cup of coffee...

80 followers
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The Silver Cup
It is a hard thing, to forgive - Forgiveness lies in the narrow place, in the space between breath, in the quiet and still, overflowing from a tarnished silver cup.

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Chanukah Matzo (yes, I said matzo)
The Christmas push is on. Red and green and bits of tinsel are being crammed into an aisle or two in many stores. An almost infinite variety of Christmas wrapping paper is quickly pushing out its more secular cousins. The generic metallic golds and blue-wit...

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A Long Line of Dreamers
For Joseph, who dreamed of himself I come from a long line of dreamers. They dreamed of the desert, that golden swath of dust stretching unto forever They dreamed of mountains casting long shadows over growing grain and battered hearts. They dreamed of ange...

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For Dina, who did not speak: a poem for parashat Vayishlach
He says he loves me, and his gaze quickens my blood. Hush , he said. His hands moved, rough and calloused against my perfume-dusted body and my flesh rises to his touch, and he loves me, he says. Wait, I want to say; but he says hush as he enters me, takes ...

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For Esau - for parashat Vayishlach
Thief! Liar and thief! Despite all you stole, I loved you still. I would have given anything if you’d asked. Instead your shadow smothered my birthright, my heat. Thief! You stole the light of heaven, the love of our mother, even our father's faulty eyes. Y...

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A Kaleidoscope of Angels: for parashat Vayeitzei
Put the stone under your head and rest; sleep deep, and don't be disturbed by the kaleidoscope of angels on their merry ride of up and down, between heaven and earth and there and back again. They may be lost, those angels, or at least Stuck, intractable in...

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Thanksgiving 2017 - The Blessing of Vulnerability and the Miracle of Thanks
A decade or two ago,
newly sober, still mostly feral, I was in awe of what we called the
"fellowship." Drinking had always been such a salve, a slippery balm
that maintained an invisible but solid wall between me and the humans. Every
drink, every drug, eve...

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The Next to Last Day
This is the next to last day, not the last. The next to last still has potential, a kiss of possibility that can linger. It is the embers of a fire dulled and ashy, that can still bite and burn. It's firefly sparks popping that make you jump and say "oh!" T...

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Before
Before it begins Before the shuffling quiets And the first breath is drawn In anticipation of the first blessing, the first moment of praise Before the first note In a cascade of notes that tumbles and falls and rises higher Fuller, richer, deeper Before th...

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Return Me
My soul wanders, weightless, on a carpet of light while I sleep, tangled in sweat-damp sheets. Watch me, God, from your sheltering peace. Return me, God, so that I may rise, Oh that I may rise! and bow to you - bend to you, Ready.
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