6
For ignorance, my G-d, I cannot pray: I never have observed
that is its bliss; too many have made me and others pay the toll of truths they were resolved to miss. Ignorance
is not happiness, but pain; it is not victory, but fleeing fear; surely whoever severs soul from brain drives exile's
wedge into the highest sphere. I pray instead for greater light to see more of your grace, beyond where griefs contend, to
bear inaction with serenity and only act, and only speak, to mend: O take this little wisp that veils my sight, that
in the moment I may see to do aright.
7
The world reflects itself in every soul, a far disturbance
agitates the near, within the body of the cosmic whole oast, future and remote are now and here. so those who live
at ease are prey to fear, the quiet feel the stirrings of a rage that racks the antipodes; a distant tear can leach
the heart of happiness away. Yet if there's no retreat from the world's fray, there's no one without power to repair: some
portion of the world's good, every day, is mine to aid or hinder, slay or spare; the orb of empire and the healing wand while
conscience keeps its seat, are in your hand.
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Maxfield Parrish (1870-1966) "Contemplation" |
8
If it were possible to summon aid from others, I would
do it in a flash: so many appear competent and staid whereas I am driven, shaken, gauche. But the result has proved,
time and again, that these do not own all the strength they show, but hold it from the corporate sovereign which
quickly can recall all that they owe at the first sign of alien loyalty. To stand upon a freely-chosen ground is
given to few; and how my liberty is founded, and to what conditions bound I know. So my apportioned strength is all, unless
G-d aid, where with to stand or fall.
9
In my mind's eye I saw a perfect sphere that seemed all
made of love and pure delight over which as I watched, a loathsome blight appeared to spread with color sick and drear. then
over the horizon, in sun's stead, arose the frowning face of domination, whose shadow touched pity, and it fell dead, while
hope and wisdom fled in consternation. Yet brighter in that shadow showed the gleam of truth and loyal memory, scarcely
guessed by those who in the first unbroken dream remained unknowing and forever blest. A little good may from great
evil grow; to cherish this, the only balm we know.
10
So many wires leading to every quarter, so many calls
tempting me out to try from my allotted thimble to supply Infinite wants; and then at every border, at every gate,
a sentinel or porter who has not heard that he must let me by, and at the goal, often as not, the dry smirk of a
clerk who never placed the order.
So are my strength, substance and soul dispersed in
outward flow, which I must wish reversed, for gifts are multipled through friends alone. May I at least find wisdom
to stand firm, accept the limits set me as a form which yet may speak of all that is undone.
Note: These sonnets were written in the fall of 1995,
a few months after I had taken on myself the discipline of writing a sonnet every day, except on the Sabbath, for a year.
This soon became a way of sorting out thoughts on various matters, and of keeping spiritual accounts. A topic would surface
and work itself out over several days, and then another topic would arise. In the fall a number of sonnets were devoted
to the embattled position of Israel; then my Muse turned to the struggle of the individual toward moral clarity and right
action. With a sense of the relation between these two struggles, I have combined some of the sonnets on each topic into this
cycle.
© by Esther Cameron
2004
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