It's Shabbat. I hear the birds chirping through the door. I think they have Shabbat down. It's a daily meditation for them. They gather in communities, in nature. They don't get caught up in facebook, looking for a job, wondering what their purpose is on this planet. I am definitely not a bird. But I do have this amazing tool that brings me to a daily Shabbat, even if for a few minutes. It's my gratitude list. It is the antidote to resentment. It is one of the elixirs to a good life. It is a practiced reminder, because I am often forgetful of the truth, of the goodness that surrounds me, everyday.
This week was a very enriching, busy, full week. I went on a job interview and was offered another when the first interview was over. The miracle that I experienced was actually feeling that I had much to offer to whichever organization was interested in bringing me aboard. A year and a half a go I couldn't muster enough courage to write a cover letter, thought I had nothing to offer that was marketable and surpassed many jobs feeling highly under-qualified.
Truly, there has been an internal shift. This week I felt that I had insight, kindness, compassion hope and a myriad of skills that I could offer. I felt elated getting the chance to learn about the different kinds of opportunities that lay ahead and reminded myself that the universe has a plan already. I am just waiting for it to unfold.
I have also been blessed by a kinder, gentler Boot Camp program, or so I thought, until the day following the work out... It has been absolutely transformative and it is just the second week. It feels like I am actually inhabiting my body. I must, my neurons have been firing "You are in Pain" messages.
It's been fabulous to wake up before sunrise and get a chance to greet the day alongside a Great Blue Heron, a waddling skunk and a small community of zestful women.
Last night we started a Shabbat get together for a few friends. Thirty two people showed up and sang songs that ranged from Broadway to 1960's Israeli TV commercials. Some played Apples to Apples, the Jewish version, and some bounced on the trampoline until a child twisted her back the wrong way when someone bounced on her. The ambulance arrived shortly. It was definitely a most memorable coming together.
One of our non-Jewish friends asked what Shabbat is about. What a blessing it was to hear him and respond. We tend to forget, in a busy, multi-tasked life how to even consider the question. That's why we called our community together: To play and laugh, be silly and get close. To bounce and sing, feel connected and included. It is a contradiction to Jews who may feel even more isolated than usual these days.
My intention is to bring people together often. So we remember our blessings of the week as we take a break for 24 hours from work, from changing the world. We must refuel for another week of Tikkun Olam, the repairing of the world. So if you're in the neighborhood on the third Friday of the month, come by. The only requirement is the desire to connect, play and rest. That's Jewish enough. Dayenu.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Internal Catalyst Cartwheels
On my way to boot camp this morning,I watched the waning creamsicle moon sink at sunrise. The clouds dressed in magenta fire halted my breath. I felt lucky to be alive and kicking as I skipped across the pavement. It's a Monday. I had a hard time falling asleep last night. Who, after sleeping only 5 hours, skips at 7 am on a Monday?
Maybe it's the person who decided in the middle of the night to look at her own interpersonal wars. Maybe it's the inner child who saw two peregrine falcons catching thermal winds this morning, just because. Maybe it's the woman who decided to notice and hug closely any life-affirming, joyous images, happenings and interactions as a contradiction to the desecration to human life and dignity that spirals like a tornado around the globe.
I realized in the wee hours between night and dawn that I have contributed to feeling excluded, unwanted, foreign, unaccepted. Adamantly sustaining the need to feel badly, I have searched, found, plucked and gathered thorny bouquets of uninformed stereotypes, scathing words and actions and held them to my breast, all the while crying for all to stop the bloody trails landscaping across my body. I understand that Jews, immigrants and queers like me have had our share of fear, disappointment, ousting and rejection, to say the least. However, I am so familiar with those feelings that they often loom larger than kindness, generosity and graciousness. I hold those daggers so tightly and dearly that I ignore and discount the outstretched hands and heart offerings from imperfect folks.
On this past visit to my partner's Midwestern home, I was feeling isolated, a Jew in a sea of Gentiles. Maybe I was the only dark, curly-haired being for miles. And yes, the clerks thought I said Holiday Bread, when I asked for Challah bread. And yes, my mother-in-love does have four photos of my partner and her ex-husband on the walls and only one of our current family. But, every night my non-Jewish family lit up like a Chanukkiah when the candles cast warmth on their faces. Presents were given indiscriminately of faith, belief or legal relation. And cards offering love, inclusion and heart-felt acceptance were signed by Baptist born-again Christians wholeheartedly to me and to the child I brought into this family.
I do have a choice. I can focus on the things that keep us separate in order to continue the "us" vs. "them" that I condemn in the Middle East or I can take responsibility and shift the finger-pointing paradigm, extend the rest of my fingers out and offer my hand to hold. For today, for the long-term survival of my people, I choose to see acceptance.
Maybe it's the person who decided in the middle of the night to look at her own interpersonal wars. Maybe it's the inner child who saw two peregrine falcons catching thermal winds this morning, just because. Maybe it's the woman who decided to notice and hug closely any life-affirming, joyous images, happenings and interactions as a contradiction to the desecration to human life and dignity that spirals like a tornado around the globe.
I realized in the wee hours between night and dawn that I have contributed to feeling excluded, unwanted, foreign, unaccepted. Adamantly sustaining the need to feel badly, I have searched, found, plucked and gathered thorny bouquets of uninformed stereotypes, scathing words and actions and held them to my breast, all the while crying for all to stop the bloody trails landscaping across my body. I understand that Jews, immigrants and queers like me have had our share of fear, disappointment, ousting and rejection, to say the least. However, I am so familiar with those feelings that they often loom larger than kindness, generosity and graciousness. I hold those daggers so tightly and dearly that I ignore and discount the outstretched hands and heart offerings from imperfect folks.
On this past visit to my partner's Midwestern home, I was feeling isolated, a Jew in a sea of Gentiles. Maybe I was the only dark, curly-haired being for miles. And yes, the clerks thought I said Holiday Bread, when I asked for Challah bread. And yes, my mother-in-love does have four photos of my partner and her ex-husband on the walls and only one of our current family. But, every night my non-Jewish family lit up like a Chanukkiah when the candles cast warmth on their faces. Presents were given indiscriminately of faith, belief or legal relation. And cards offering love, inclusion and heart-felt acceptance were signed by Baptist born-again Christians wholeheartedly to me and to the child I brought into this family.
I do have a choice. I can focus on the things that keep us separate in order to continue the "us" vs. "them" that I condemn in the Middle East or I can take responsibility and shift the finger-pointing paradigm, extend the rest of my fingers out and offer my hand to hold. For today, for the long-term survival of my people, I choose to see acceptance.
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