A Bright Spot in Your Inbox by Oren Jay Sofer

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Spring, war, and poetry

A poem for these strange, tender, difficult days—and an invitation to keep tending the heart.

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Dear friends, 

 

It’s been a while since I’ve written. Life with small children plus work has a way of filling most of the space—and then some.


As the season turns, the days carry a weight that keeps asking me to pause and reach out. We are living through so much upheaval—political, environmental, technological. The ground feels unstable in ways that are hard to hold. And yet here we are, going about life, showing up for one another.


Instead of a Dharma reflection this month, I’d like to share a new poem—an attempt to capture the texture of it all. For those who would like to connect more, I’ve included some events and programs below.


Let us keep tending the heart, doing our best to be humane in the face of so much that is inhumane.


With warmth, 

Oren


Before They Wake

I. 

Spring comes —

warm fragrance and light

ripple across the earth,

tender pink and white

opening


It is the first spring 

our daughter can walk.

She grips my finger

her blue cap tilted

each step a small surprise. 


Her bright mouth

forms my name.


II.

Before they wake, I sit

I breathe,

a train rolls through the dark

and enters the open window


each morning

before dawn

birdsong still arrives 


Last night, somewhere else

the sky split open again—

rockets screeching

a home unmade into stone and dust

a family

running toward nothing

they can name. 


III.

Morning after morning

the hills lift their green belly to the sun

ashes lift in the wind


I wake to my daughter breathing beside me

to coffee, dishes, and headlines

to the ground shifting


I make breakfast.

There are eggs, butter, oats

the table feels so solid.

My children make each other laugh.

                       

I walk upstairs and sit at my desk.

Engines cross another darkness

Families bend over broken names

the beautiful mouths 

of those they love.


IV.

My son’s wide, hazel eyes

gaze up at me

waiting


His hair is so soft 

against my lips.

 

I hold one thread

of a cloth so vast

I will never see the end.

Every child, everywhere,

whose name I will never know

is here.

 

Rain arrives

touching everything.


I bend down

to feel the earth.


––––

Upcoming Classes & Retreats


Ongoing Programs


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