#seventh
**Oliver Sacks passed away today, August 30, 2015
He asked the best questions
and never stopped seeking ever better answers.
Perhaps now, richer, he has them,
but this world is surely a poorer place indeed.**
by N. Lipstadt
~~~
”And now, weak, short of breath, my once-firm muscles melted away by cancer, I find my thoughts, increasingly, not on the supernatural or spiritual, but on what is meant by living a good and worthwhile life — achieving a sense of peace within oneself. I find my thoughts drifting to the Sabbath, the day of rest, the seventh day of the week, and perhaps the seventh day of one’s life as well, when one can feel that one’s work is done, and one may, in good conscience, rest."
Oliver Sacks
I hope you read the entire essay at the URL below.
~~~
humble humble,
mine own own muse~jester
self-mocking, calling me out,
giving oneself the middle finger,
who you?
indeed,
you, the greater fool,
utilizing, thriving on self-contemptuous thoughts,
you are no Oliver Sacks,
what are you doing
messing with his essaying?
go back to being
a standardized human,
spilling the detritus of thine mortal coil,
that employs you as a full time slave,
a scab-working seven day affair,
is that not sufficient?
you,
in your sixth
decaying-decades-day,
forsook the ancient Sabbath long ago,
keeping it for ****** rest,
cheaply tired from the liturgy of
straitjacketing of do's and dont's
of excruciating detail,
that put only distance tween
you and your
essential spiritual oils
Sacks invades directly my eye's clouded storage,
now, two brains cross-wired,
histories,
his story, my story,
all too familiar,
almost indecently similar
here I am,
nearer my god than thee,
on this Sabbath day
of my ancestors,
(a hand-me-down gift to the world's conceptual heritage sites)
working hard,
as an everyday day laborer,
looking for work on street corners,
busy busy searching my conscience,
angel wrestling,
sacked
by questions -
***when is
one’s work done,
and when,
when may one,
in good conscience,
rest?***
this poetry writing, is it not work too?
work,
a violation of the Sabbath commandment,^
even if it is of no great matter,
for by now,
this lifelong dialogue internal
this contradictory poetic dialectic
which has yet to justify the emotive words
final or finished,
is a seven days of the week affair,
undeserving of a day of rest
~~~
as I essay out this Sabbath working poem,
in a place of beauteous, natural calm,
it's so easy to agree with the
passing schooners,
all whispering,
via genteel southern breezes,
later, not sooner,
no need to decide, let it ride,
answers will come,
perhaps, all on their own,
perhaps, all on that day
when you're within
hailing distance,
in a flailing,
failing-voice-recognition way,
of the shores of the
Isle of Surcease
the answers will come
contemporaneously,
when you have leave to
exorcise from your calendar,
Siri's spouting, inexorable,
pop-up perpetual reminder
that today's first thing
on your
to do list is:
**"live a life of
good and worthwhile"**
for then,
you will have all the answers
for the Oliver questions
that need perpetual asking
Finis
~~~
^ "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your male servant, or your female servant, or your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates."
~~~
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/08/16/opinion/sunday/oliver-sacks-sabbath.html
~~~
Aug. 15, 2015
Shelter Island
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
the world casts a sad,
gloomy shadow in its own
sweet and deep slumber
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
acknowledged
the violets in the window box are pungent
sitting on this old wooden floor
ankle over ankle
eyes closed
grounded
connected
intertwined with consciousness
i press my tongue to the back of my mouth
create a vibration
nung nung nung
the amethyst vacillation
it pulses from the root of my skullcap
i am united
with everything around me
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 10:35 AM UTC
this year has been a cavalcade of everything I've done
but at the end of every day you've always been my sun
the light I rise to even when my body barely moves
the aromatic summertime that permeates my room
your seventh ring is forming now, we'll see it this July
the two and three two thousand ten turned water into wine
I drink without a second thought from hands that may be small
for they surrender whole in heart, your everything, your all
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC
On the Sabbath God Sabbath
The command to rest a shadow
A cessation of earthly works
Today, as Everyday, is Sabbath
A return to Eden: Adam restored
For the Sabbath was made for Adam
And the Son of Adam the Gardener
Sabbath is the work in Eden
So we too on Sabbath, Sabbath
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 1:42 AM UTC