Tuesday, March 13, 2012
With Gratitude
I want to thank everyone for your kind wishes at the death of my 20+ year old cat. Malik, king of cats, the Malachite kitty, lives on in my heart. He's been a living presence in my life and my dreams for half of my life. He will be missed.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Imagine
Bo: Exodus 10:1-3
The Hardening of Pharaoh's Heart
(written 1/28/12)
"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one..." -- John Lennon
It's supposed to be hard.
Really. I'm sorry.
Sometimes it seems like we are going to make it through by the third plague, be able to let that last hurdle be the hardest -- not the one we know still lies ahead, just over there, the one we dread facing but know we must. That's when we truly turn to God, dream to God, call to God, pray to God, rely on God to help us over the fence or across the sea or into the great unknown that holds for us the fear of alone and unworthy; but also the promise of free and brave, holy and beautiful, complex and sweet and actually free.
Imagine.
We always try the easier way first. We're human. Slowly, we learn.
As we learn we believe, we doubt, we waver, we grow stronger, we dream.
Inside and out loud.
Sometimes we lament, "God, why so HARD? Why make slavery even MORE difficult to leave? Why do this to us?"
The answer? Today, for me, because freedom is layered and awkward, with phases and stages, and we MUST learn to keep going, brave or not, to imagine, to dream, to merge the dreamer and the do-er, bite back against fear, agony at our backs, we must remember what slavery does to the soul, the collective soul, the past and present and future soul, and we must remember our dreams, our light, our task.
To be a light, a nation of priests and priestesses, to lead through our fear, assert our knowing that there IS something more.
God moves us into action against all Pharaohs and we must find our way into the wholeness of the dream, and the real of freedom.
The Hardening of Pharaoh's Heart
(written 1/28/12)
"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one..." -- John Lennon
It's supposed to be hard.
Really. I'm sorry.
Sometimes it seems like we are going to make it through by the third plague, be able to let that last hurdle be the hardest -- not the one we know still lies ahead, just over there, the one we dread facing but know we must. That's when we truly turn to God, dream to God, call to God, pray to God, rely on God to help us over the fence or across the sea or into the great unknown that holds for us the fear of alone and unworthy; but also the promise of free and brave, holy and beautiful, complex and sweet and actually free.
Imagine.
We always try the easier way first. We're human. Slowly, we learn.
As we learn we believe, we doubt, we waver, we grow stronger, we dream.
Inside and out loud.
Sometimes we lament, "God, why so HARD? Why make slavery even MORE difficult to leave? Why do this to us?"
The answer? Today, for me, because freedom is layered and awkward, with phases and stages, and we MUST learn to keep going, brave or not, to imagine, to dream, to merge the dreamer and the do-er, bite back against fear, agony at our backs, we must remember what slavery does to the soul, the collective soul, the past and present and future soul, and we must remember our dreams, our light, our task.
To be a light, a nation of priests and priestesses, to lead through our fear, assert our knowing that there IS something more.
God moves us into action against all Pharaohs and we must find our way into the wholeness of the dream, and the real of freedom.
HaMakom
Exodus 3:1-6; 11-14
(written 1/14/12)
This is the place.
Look down. Look at your feet, then look up. Let's do it again, slowly, look down, look up -- notice we are nodding?
When we awaken, we look down, we look up, we say yes.
Then come the questions -- which are always two-fold -- Who, me? and then, Why ME?
What for? comes later, and the answer, believe it or not, harkens back to the haunting trope of childhood -- for parents and children both: "Because I said so." Or, trust me now. You'll understand later.
We spend the rest our our lives listening and unfolding, saying yes and trust me, trusting and understanding, no matter the doubts, no matter the "Who, Me's?" no matter the whys.
We spend the rest of our lives unfolding. Looking down at HaMakom, the place, taking off our shoes, then looking up to God to see and nod and say yes, no matter how hard this task. This place is sacred. We are sacred, we are unfolding, one into one into one. We and God, God and me and you, you and me and us and God, together, we are all unfolding.
(written 1/14/12)
This is the place.
Look down. Look at your feet, then look up. Let's do it again, slowly, look down, look up -- notice we are nodding?
When we awaken, we look down, we look up, we say yes.
Then come the questions -- which are always two-fold -- Who, me? and then, Why ME?
What for? comes later, and the answer, believe it or not, harkens back to the haunting trope of childhood -- for parents and children both: "Because I said so." Or, trust me now. You'll understand later.
We spend the rest our our lives listening and unfolding, saying yes and trust me, trusting and understanding, no matter the doubts, no matter the "Who, Me's?" no matter the whys.
We spend the rest of our lives unfolding. Looking down at HaMakom, the place, taking off our shoes, then looking up to God to see and nod and say yes, no matter how hard this task. This place is sacred. We are sacred, we are unfolding, one into one into one. We and God, God and me and you, you and me and us and God, together, we are all unfolding.
Jacob Wrestling
Genesis 32:23-33
Here is how we learn our true name. We screw up. We do what we do, right and wrong, we flee, we rationalize, we move on, we build, we reflect, we repent, we ready ourselves for retribution, for responsibility, for shame and redemption.
The struggle between good and evil is active; within us all. And just when we get to that spot where we know what the work is, down comes the angel -- that gracious angel, who will beat us up and not "let us win" but test our strength and we will be changed in both body and soul as we learn there is so much more.
We have come so far and we are so grateful, but it is not done yet. It's not done yet.
That can feel overwhelming -- God, why aren't we done yet?
We long for the promised land, for the sweetness of completeness, and yet I go on with the struggle, we all go on with the struggle.
The kicker: Honesty.
We are blessed and beautiful, soulful and luminous, petty and materialistic, overworked and underpaid.
We want fruit -- the fruits of our labor all the time. But we also want to stop laboring. We want rest and abundance. We wrestle with our human soulful desires to wrestle and go on, wrestle and go on.
The task is to find the glory of God in both places -- the self we must leave, the self we flip into that we struggle to rise above, and the transcendent self who knows that all of this struggle is the path to God, the blessing and gift of life, and all of us are able.
The Man Watching, Ranier Maria Rilke
Here is how we learn our true name. We screw up. We do what we do, right and wrong, we flee, we rationalize, we move on, we build, we reflect, we repent, we ready ourselves for retribution, for responsibility, for shame and redemption.
The struggle between good and evil is active; within us all. And just when we get to that spot where we know what the work is, down comes the angel -- that gracious angel, who will beat us up and not "let us win" but test our strength and we will be changed in both body and soul as we learn there is so much more.
We have come so far and we are so grateful, but it is not done yet. It's not done yet.
That can feel overwhelming -- God, why aren't we done yet?
We long for the promised land, for the sweetness of completeness, and yet I go on with the struggle, we all go on with the struggle.
The kicker: Honesty.
We are blessed and beautiful, soulful and luminous, petty and materialistic, overworked and underpaid.
We want fruit -- the fruits of our labor all the time. But we also want to stop laboring. We want rest and abundance. We wrestle with our human soulful desires to wrestle and go on, wrestle and go on.
The task is to find the glory of God in both places -- the self we must leave, the self we flip into that we struggle to rise above, and the transcendent self who knows that all of this struggle is the path to God, the blessing and gift of life, and all of us are able.
The Man Watching, Ranier Maria Rilke
Saturday, November 19, 2011
In-Folding
Chayei Sarah
Genesis 23: 7-9 and 25: 7-11
A Cave and a Well
Grief and knowing.
The in-folding of the other into self, the retreat from the world, the nakedness of loss, the infolding of the rock around you to shield you while you grieve. The knowing that you, too, will return here to be folded in, to return to to the source... but not yet. The emergence back into life, into the living world where the other is so much a part of you that it is like she is still here, but she is not, and yet she is.
When we grieve, we mourn that which is lost, but it isn't lost, it is transformed, re-birthed in death, brought to the in-dwelling rather than the external manifestation of body.
Can you believe we will all do this?
Not only were we born, but we, too, will die, will return to the source, and those we have loved, those we have touched, those have loved us will all transform pieces of us into their own folding-in of us into them, the external to the internal, a sheltered cave of hard peace, nakedness, darkness and uncomfortable comfort.
The reassurance of presence invoked, of spirit transcendent, brought forth and remembered, we are all glimmering pieces of memory, shedding light on darkness, in life and in death, in the unfolding and the in-folding, fragments of eternity in our back pockets, in a shiny space of breath in our chests, in a smile and a love we will treasure and hold forever, until we too are folded in to the unfolding yet to come.
Genesis 23: 7-9 and 25: 7-11
A Cave and a Well
Grief and knowing.
The in-folding of the other into self, the retreat from the world, the nakedness of loss, the infolding of the rock around you to shield you while you grieve. The knowing that you, too, will return here to be folded in, to return to to the source... but not yet. The emergence back into life, into the living world where the other is so much a part of you that it is like she is still here, but she is not, and yet she is.
When we grieve, we mourn that which is lost, but it isn't lost, it is transformed, re-birthed in death, brought to the in-dwelling rather than the external manifestation of body.
Can you believe we will all do this?
Not only were we born, but we, too, will die, will return to the source, and those we have loved, those we have touched, those have loved us will all transform pieces of us into their own folding-in of us into them, the external to the internal, a sheltered cave of hard peace, nakedness, darkness and uncomfortable comfort.
The reassurance of presence invoked, of spirit transcendent, brought forth and remembered, we are all glimmering pieces of memory, shedding light on darkness, in life and in death, in the unfolding and the in-folding, fragments of eternity in our back pockets, in a shiny space of breath in our chests, in a smile and a love we will treasure and hold forever, until we too are folded in to the unfolding yet to come.
Avram: Promises and Questions
Genesis 15: 1-8
Service: 11/5/11
Leich l'cha
In the moment when we are called forth, to stand in a place we have never seen before, there is both doubt and trust, fear and certainty, unknowing and knowing.
When you feel both simultaneously, that's how you know.
When the vision is really there, alongside the unreality of how, choose faith, like Avram, like Moses, like all of us who have moments of vision, like our great great great greats who left their Egypts in their own time, their own place, only to pass the baton to us, to whomever was there to see in dreams and visions.
In the stars, the night sky, the unknowing of knowing, this where we become holy, where we speak and listen to those who have come before and will come after.
This sky. That sky. Tomorrow's sky. It's all our one eternal sky and we will burn as brightly as we can, with faith and wonder, love and hope, knowing even through the clouds that we can hear, we can listen, we can see and be seen, pick up and pass on, and so we are God-ed and co-created, and we possess the holiest of eternities before we become one. From two-ness becomes oneness. That's how you know.
Service: 11/5/11
Leich l'cha
In the moment when we are called forth, to stand in a place we have never seen before, there is both doubt and trust, fear and certainty, unknowing and knowing.
When you feel both simultaneously, that's how you know.
When the vision is really there, alongside the unreality of how, choose faith, like Avram, like Moses, like all of us who have moments of vision, like our great great great greats who left their Egypts in their own time, their own place, only to pass the baton to us, to whomever was there to see in dreams and visions.
In the stars, the night sky, the unknowing of knowing, this where we become holy, where we speak and listen to those who have come before and will come after.
This sky. That sky. Tomorrow's sky. It's all our one eternal sky and we will burn as brightly as we can, with faith and wonder, love and hope, knowing even through the clouds that we can hear, we can listen, we can see and be seen, pick up and pass on, and so we are God-ed and co-created, and we possess the holiest of eternities before we become one. From two-ness becomes oneness. That's how you know.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Rosh Hashanah 5772
We all want to be seen. I think.
I mean, maybe not when we’re at our worst.
But really, when we are most see-able is usually when we are at our point of despair – not the peak, the valley.
Our children see everything. See and be seen. Up and down. Best and worst. Depression and joy. Scarcity and abundance.
When we cry out in desperation, we are heard and seen. When we cry out in joy, we are heard and seen -- we are seen once we begin seeking.
Sometimes we forget. We spin, we stand in place, we whir our wheels, grind our teeth on nothing, we get stuck. We make wrong moves. We fear.
We fear that the creator of all dreams and possibilities has
deserted us. Most often, we forget to seek, to look and listen. We forget how
incredibly hard and sacred it is to walk this God-path of being and becoming, of remembering.
We forget that it is a blessing to feel our way through this life, through our version of living Torah in this time.
We forget how it feels to be seen, events already in motion, knowing we must play our role, knowing we are part of the sacred future unfolding, and we don’t know when we are, where we are, only that we are and we must be, and that is hard.
We forget that it is a blessing to feel our way through this life, through our version of living Torah in this time.
We forget how it feels to be seen, events already in motion, knowing we must play our role, knowing we are part of the sacred future unfolding, and we don’t know when we are, where we are, only that we are and we must be, and that is hard.
Sometimes we run away. We sleep. We find escape.
Sometimes we feel cast out of the sacred circle.
We cry. We rant and rave, question life or death right now. Right now.
Then an angel, sometimes, ok often, a stranger, appears and calls us, knows us, by name.
We are seen. And we return…
To ourselves, to the walk forward that resonates back, envelops us and welcomes us into the breathing, living unfolding of which we are a part.
And we are reminded. We don’t have to do this alone. We are
not supposed to carry others when they don’t need to be carried – we let them
walk and we have faith that they will walk faithfully, honorably. We cannot
walk for them. We pray they will be true to God and let them go.
We all have our own voices. Our children, our friends and
loved ones call and see and live in their own way. They have their own
abilities to see and be seen. The letting them be who they are, to be that
which they are called to be, that’s the hard part. Trusting that God sees them
too takes a lot of faith.
And so we continue in this way, gathering and letting go. Despair and joy, hope and fear. We continue and the rest unfolds around us.
May our continuing in this year feel blessed and seen. May we shelter and let go, call out and bear witness to ourselves and those around us as we see the unfolding in all that we are.
May even the hardest moments be sweet.
May we all see and be seen for another year.
And so we continue in this way, gathering and letting go. Despair and joy, hope and fear. We continue and the rest unfolds around us.
May our continuing in this year feel blessed and seen. May we shelter and let go, call out and bear witness to ourselves and those around us as we see the unfolding in all that we are.
May even the hardest moments be sweet.
May we all see and be seen for another year.
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