And no wonder. As soon as we see who we really are (beings filled with astonishing light made in the image of God) we may have to change our schedule, change what we eat, how we pray, how we live. We may have to face our inner power, and what a responsibility. We may get strange glances, lectures on humility, ostracized, scorned.
So there is fear. Fear and blindness. After all, if the climb to God is so challenging then we certainly have sunk deep into the ego-pit. Rumi says…still you cover your eyes with mud.
Well then, what do we do? We bargain, try to hold onto the perks, make promises. And this is the danger. We can be doing good honest work as our father has asked. But no matter, as long as we hesitate before God our path will keep splitting. We not only become weak; we lose aim.
I know a path. It branches off from a fire road behind the reservoir. It looks crazy steep and it is. In the summer when there’s dust you need good shoes. In seven years I’ve only seen two other hikers but lots of messages in the earth; hearts, peace signs.
One day while sitting on a tree trunk I saw someone hiking up. I waited.
“You know,” he said upon his approach, “that ridge up higher is real nice, not too far.”
I smiled.
“You can see all across the valley.”
I smiled again. Then I watched as he started picking weeds by the path.
“The path is important,” he said. “We have to keep it clean.”
"How true," I said.
“You met the other guy? He’s always taking care. We can’t ignore it. We have to mark it. You two are the only ones I see here. We have to take care of the path.”
He stared hard.
“We’re all in this together,” he said and then, eyes like sparks, he moved on.
A week later I decided to climb higher. The path split into at least ten deer trails. Finally, when I found the way, I lay on a sunny hill still not at the ridge. Nearby was a madrone with four thick limbs. Great tree. Maybe even the four headed shin. I laughed at myself, leaned against one limb (or head) and went silver in the sun. A part of me is frightened to say what happened next. There are good reasons not to. Perhaps I’d make myself into something I’m not. Perhaps I wouldn’t give myself the power I deserve. Perhaps people would disagree or think I’m crazy. To admit a revelation could mean you never had one. But not to admit means the big nothing hands down. So I admit it all. That should take care of it. And I admit other’s revelations or non-revelations as well. When I opened my eyes I saw the word GOD etched into the tree. Who would do a thing like that? I didn’t understand.
Let’s look at Jacob. First, as Rashi says, he is a righteous man. Then, he immediately comes to or lights upon a familiar place. In scriptures this word also means to reach and/or to pray. So, he brings his prayers to a place, to malchut, or to the earthly and he brings the upper world…the Zeir Anpin… to his very form. In two words we see him. His form preserves his content. He is a prophet, human poetry.
Why would such a great man be frightened? Let’s look at the circumstances around his fear.
First, since the sun is setting, he sleeps. He places a rock under his head. Rocks are used to designate a path, to create boundaries. In the Babylonian Talmud it says that many rocks form a mound, one rock. So Jacob is creating the path to the divine under his head (binah and chochmah) by drawing the one boundary of his inner journey… while the sun sets and rises.
Then, he dreams. There is a ladder. The rungs on the ladder are levels of consciousness. Angels go up and down it. It is clearly the path to God. There is the boundary (in one teaching the ladder is 24,000 miles wide) and each state (or rung) of heart, mind and soul. God is in the dream making a promise that he will be protected, brought back to his soil, that he will have many descendants.
What a great dream. What does Jacob do, though? He doesn’t say to himself, this is great. Instead, he says he’s frightened, that the place must be sacred, not himself. He then anoints the rock with oil (he uses the term anoint later with his wives). Who anoints things? Kings do. So I don’t think we have humility here. I think it’s simpler than that. Have you ever had a great dream and said, wow, this bed is sacred? Well, that’s what Jacob does. Later, he tells Laban that he’s frightened that his wives will be taken. Clearly, Jacob uses the word fear when he senses possible loss. What could he lose by admitting the dream? By admitting his connection with God?
Then, he makes a vow. He needs God. After all, he’s in a bit of trouble with Esau, his brother.
So he says that if he is protected he will dedicate a tenth of all he receives. He refers to bread and clothing, material things. Honestly, would God really want his donkeys? His tents? Jacob, once again, through this vow, is attempting to avoid the divine beyond malchut, this place.
By the end of the parasha, Jacob still refuses to embrace consciousness or face the discernable levels of his inner journey. Therefore he can’t fulfill his vow and get what he wants. As above, so below. So, no matter his good deeds, the paths before him are always split, whether they revolve around his wives, his children, or his work. For Jacob, there is no straight path to the protection of home. He can’t go there. At least not yet.
I don’t know who wrote GOD on the tree. Some of us write GOD on everything except for in ourselves. I don’t know why. Perhaps in accepting the absolute radiance, in jumping into it, we fear being small in body, too dependent on setting suns, too much like a life with a death. I don’t think it’s sad. We’re being like Jacob. We’re keeping God at arms reach, making sure that everyone else does the same. Decades are spent in the slow struggle but well spent if one day, one moment, we might say yes.
That afternoon I still didn’t climb to the ridge. Soon, I will. I’m looking forward to it. As Rumi says…millions of love-tents bloom on the plain.
For now, may we see ourselves as human poetry. May we embrace our revelations and those of others. May we rise together as one, love our beauty, the fullness, the laughter, the joy, the pain, the levels, the angels by our side, the silver light, the golden light. May we know that yes, God is the tree and in us. May we dance and sing, be in the glory. May we bring prayer to this place. And may we welcome each other as we grow beyond death into the radiant columns of divine consciousness.
Subscribe to Chava Torah... (RSS)
0 comments:
Post a Comment