To the sea. To the deep. Too deep for sight let it sink.
Let this be conduit, let this be lightening, let ballast lost uplift the Ship. No, let the Ship be uplifted as boughs uplift when the first foliage falls, brown withered coracles to float on the black water; that they straighten, these arms of wood which would form the shape of the keel, and let the Ship no longer be bowed by weight unneeded. Let the stones be assembled. Let them be numbered, though they are numberless, and one after one spiral out of my eyes' reach. Let them be submerged, allow them passage ever lower but let them not be forgotten nor permit me forgetfulness of them, for they were part of me and leave their hollowed imprints yet upon the skins: mine, ours and the sea's. Allow the prow to rise yet be pared of pride, for the straits ahead are perilous and all voyages uncertain. Provide strength to the hand that holds the rudder fast, provide speed when it is needed, even after sunset, at night, bind the stern but not sternly.
As salt be you valued, not as gold.
L'Shanah Tovah Tikatevu
