Off the Grid


I want to go off the grid.

My mouth and fingers away from the eyes of a button marked click like, love, unlike.

A thumbs up.

An emoji that cannot equate the feelings in the heart created by Our King.

I want to go off the grid.

Away from the scrolls and scowls of the minds of men.

A million eyes stare back at me–

And I at them . . .

Go to a place—a space–

Where I am more than the Clichés and quotes, I post or link.

A place where I am me.




Where my words are not shuffled and played like an accordion.

Where I am not judging selfies or scholars, or blue collars.

Where politics cease to exist.

Where religion is mute.

And the horns of the greatest are no more than a toot compared to HaShem and His shofar rebuke.

I want to hideaway.

Go off the grid.

We are all just broken men.

I must go off the grid.

Where a paintbrush sings in my hand.

Not to be applauded by man but by Him who gave me the gift.

Where I learn from the bread, I don’t eat.

The water I don’t drink.

To lower my camel and water the sheep.

To rise up as Gimel and still be small.

Like a dish with a chip–

Like soap dried suds–

Like waves of grain and sands of shores.

Like Dalet to an open door.

I must leave the grid and hold up my arms.

Like Moshe and rocks’

Oh, send me friends like Aharon and Chur.

Friends that bend an ear and whisper a prayer from a heart filled with doves.

I must fling–

Off of the screen!

When the cup overflows, and it’s not due to holes.

A sieve in a heart.

A snuff of dark or gilded thread to uncover the dead.

Casting a pole into the water.

Catching fish without dollars–

or signs,

or a title,

or a tale.

The sound of the birds and the trees that clap their hands.

The rocks cry out, and the mountains sing,

but I can’t even hear the buzz of a bee while sitting here looking at you from the face of a button–

A television.

A computer screen.

I need to go off the grid and write for my soul.

Touch the grass barefoot- the freshly fallen snow.

Drink the honey and eat the comb.

Samson leaves a Lion dead on the side of the road, and the old prophet requests to dine—stay and eat, he says, but I think I’ll pass.

On the side of the road lies the dead next to a donkeys ass

And a lion guards the way.

No, I’ll not eat with you today.

I must go off the grid.

“He went and found his body thrown on the road with the donkey and the lion standing beside the body; the lion had not eaten the body nor torn the donkey. So the prophet took up the body of the man of God and laid it on the donkey and brought it back, and he came to the city of the old prophet to mourn and to bury him. He laid his body in his own grave, and they mourned over him, saying, “Alas, my brother!” After he had buried him, he spoke to his sons, saying, “When I die, bury me in the grave in which the man of God is buried; lay my bones beside his bones. “For the thing shall surely come to pass which he cried by the word of the LORD against the altar in Bethel and against all the houses of the high places which are in the cities of Samaria.” 1st Kings 13:28-32 NASB.

Photo by me 🙂

%d bloggers like this: