“I think everyone should be able to pick a word that moves them, and occupy it” (Eileen Myles, in the afterword to this anthology)

My word came to me late, in a language I don’t know. I can’t write it, and I do a poor job saying it: רוּחַ. Ruach, that is, spirit, unless it means wind, or unless it means breath, or unless it means something else.

I’d like to be that רוּחַ heard before it’s felt, almost never seen, energized & untroubled by obstacles. Even those windbreaks I’ve seen (straight, high in their fields) are flat & small in the full force of a vast & powerful רוּחַ.

I’d like to be that רוּחַ that swells & enlivens each living being. Enriching the blood imperceptively, autonomically, feeding each cell from head to tail, then disappearing, returning seconds later all life long.

I’d like to be that bold רוּחַ I once was, alive in the spirit. G-d moves within me, I’m certain, though it’s been a while since I occupied the spirit, since I prayed with that presence, since I prayed for that presence, since I prayed. The spirit calls often & in ways unimaginable. Let all who hear it come, let those who are thirsty come drink the רוּחַ like water, drink it without pride.

This varied earliest holy רוּחַ … the word came to me long after I’d felt it, long after I’d embodied it, long after it had blessed me. The idea, the promise, the gift of רוּחַ has always been here. Bringing natural beauty nearer, filling my chest, nourishing the smallest most intimate parts of me, blessing & keeping me.