Life is Growth

By Dnoll

"Life is growth. Since stagnation is the antithesis of growth, it is also the antithesis of life. We can exist without growth, but such an existence lacks true life."

Rabbi Abraham J. Twerski

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Raining Frogs, Mini Earth, and the Downhill Sesh

By Dnoll
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And the storm raged on here in the Holy Land recently, lasting for about 3 days and flattening anything that was mildly at rust or untended; trees, buildings, signs, and cliff faces collapsed or just plain disappeared. Flash flood warnings in the Negev desert were in high effect and we all buttoned up our houses with whatever we had on tap. The fires that had just swept through the north were still smoldering and the ash of the ruin of many people’s entire lives hadn’t even begun to settle. All of this, and yet... we were happy—the rain was finally coming. The crispy ground covering the Holy Land has been parched for years from a severe draught. The Kinneret (Sea of Galilee), where much of our water comes from, has been going down, down, down, and is in its 7th year of decent; it is now 85 cm. above the ‘black line,’ the line that we dread. The black line is below the lowest ‘red line,’ which we passed a while ago. Sinking below the black line means that we will not only no longer be a...
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Standing on a tiny beach, situated on a tiny island off the coast of Oz, I saw a two meter shark suddenly appear in 30 centimeters of water only a meter away from me. A handful of children had been playing in the crystal blue water only moments before. Thankfully, the children had all departed just before the gaping jaws broke the surface and thrashed around, hunting for something unseen in the shallow waters. I jumped a little and hesitated before yelling “shark!” to the other bathers on the beach. The shark left as fast as it had appeared off around the edge of the little sandy cove we had chosen to spend our afternoon in. It was the first shark we had seen, and on our last day adventuring through the wilds of Queensland, Australia. While driving a campervan up the coast from Brisbane to Daintree, we wondered why nobody was ever in the water. We assumed it was because of sharks, right up until we saw signs warning of dangerous, life-threatening jelly fish . Then it made total sens...
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Choosing Your Lot

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  Purim, Oct. 7, and Our Next Generation  -   I grew up in a world where I could be anything I wanted, back in Southern California, in the 70s and 80s. I had the freedom to explore what life might offer, and my parents encouraged me to play and to learn. I needed a foundation and chores, mind you, but a musical instrument was essential to grow up in the human world. I was encouraged to dress for success, too. My parents tried anything they could to give me the tools they thought I would need in life. I liked art, they noticed, so my parents introduced me to a commercial artist to learn the ropes. After a year of piano lessons with Mr. Stytska playing “On Top of Spaghetti,” I quit. From a lack of social graces, I was forced to dance with a broom at cotillion (etiquette classes for middle-school aged children), so I quit. I had my own plans, you see, which needed forming ASAP if I was to prove my worthiness to my own ego first, then others around me, and only then to...
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Am Israel Khai / עם ישראל חי

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Conical Time

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The dirt at my feet swirled as I drove my favorite matchbox-car through it. My lap was open with my legs encompassing the hole I’d dug. I was living, and couldn’t stop. I had to do a number two, but shifted my heel to plug the eruption from ever occurring… ever. My lap and the hole I’d dug begged my attention with every moment occurring, and I drove and dug and drove again as my life unfolded. I was living, and the world around me sped forward, but never even registered into the realm I inhabited. I had stopped, and I was living. My friends went to accost pedophiles in the park, and I went along. We were in high school, young and tender beings. We wanted to live, we wanted something to happen. My Italian friend’s little brother did the deed, plunging into deep cover, sitting wantonly on a bench. We were all developed, being California surfers, so it was easy to see how perverts could bridge between ‘adult’ and a mere child. I watched as the mark put his arm around the kid, whispering s...
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From Pickles to Bubble Gum

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  I fell for it again today, the inevitable trap set for unwary teachers at the high school where I’m ever so slowly becoming an educator, and along the way developing some great relationships with the next generation of young Israeli leaders. This year had been a tough one, having met with my students for only a short period of time before we left for the holidays, and subsequently unable to return. By the end of Sukkot, we had all wrapped up a wonderful holiday season with family and friends, eaten and drunken far too much, and were ready for one more day of rest before the start of the real teaching season began, Sunday morning, October 8. Then, school was cancelled. It was far too dangerous, you see, to send kids out into our world. It was far too horrible to even comprehend what had happened. Each of us went into reaction mode, protecting our families, our neighborhoods, ourselves and each other, listening for the latest news, preparing for the worst, both mentally and physica...
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Unknown within Known in Uh... ~

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In every moment there is a question. Within every question there is a moment when each of us asks about the relevancy of each moment, and the awareness of existence. My computer screen is dirty because I haven’t learned how to clean it, and … likewise, my most current painting is bleeding beneath gesso from another artist’s work. It sits there on my easel now as I write about my birth parsha, Noakh. My school work sits lazily waiting for attention, and my drawing table languishes in mostly ill-attempt. The world around me is beautiful, but dormant, however wanting… And, all this is before the eruption about to occur. It’s an unknown, this eruption from the earth. We all know what follows: flamboyantly spouting doom and rebirth as we tremble and drown within the womb of our new lies, told and then reclaimed with the ignorance of stealth, revelry in the reality of rebirth… and into moments anew – ish. (image: The Last Column)
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BoZa - Book of Zombie Apocalypse

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Chapter One: Black and White  —  Startling me every time, the alarm goes off and I think I must be dreaming. The thought of sleep rolls around in my head for a few breaths, then reality bites and I open my eyes with irritation searing at the morning darkness that permeates my tiny room. Clang-a-lang, clang-a-lang, clang-a-lang, the alarm keeps blaring, waking me from repetitious dreams that grant me peace and control to my worldview-asleep. Grumbling and moaning, I get up just like every other day, peeling back the sheet as if coiling back the seal to expose yet another can of fish to daylight. Breakfast is served. It is monotonous, monotone, just like the slippers I slide my bunion toes and greying-feet into.  Shuffling down the narrow hall, I can see the light staring through the door as the hollow orb of sun begins its slogging path across a vapid sky for the day. The light is also grey, even as I push back a spring-loaded screen-door and lower myself off the porch-ste...
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We don’t exist in one time, we exist in all the times. Branching occurs naturally and we ride them all, encompassing each moment. We must only become aware of the path to arrive at perfection.  
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