Exodus - Cycle One - 0101-0601 - Shemoth

Pain is a part of life. No wonder we get sick of it, try to find ways out, expand beyond it. Then why is it so hard? To take care of ourselves? To face the details? Why does suffering enslave us? There it is…a background noise, a rhythm we tolerate, the rattle of a snake as it slides. I read Shemot next to my husband’s grave today. It is sun drenched, the trees are bare and we are all lit up. I sit on the earth, can feel it breathing, can hear the slaves. I can hear my inner cries. When you love a man, yearn to be with him and can’t, it hurts.

The day is exquisite. You don’t need to hide your face from the vibrations rising like fire through the trees, from the circles you draw in the mud with a stick, from your inhale and exhale. You want to embrace it all. Yet right in my hands in Hebrew people are suffering. I feel sad. We have expanded too much. You can see it in the list of names. The Pharoah is scared we will connect with light beyond his boundaries, that his darkness will flit out like a kiss. So he chains us down. Still we expand. The midwives find light within darkness. Then the earthly has to pull us in again. The earthly puts out thousands of sparks the second they are born. How horrifying. Babies are screaming. We can almost hear the names of the dead. There are stories about these babies. Happy stories. But they are vague to me and I only have Shemoth now. I look up at the sun. I want to say forget it, kick my husband’s grave, throw rocks at a nearby tree, pick off its bark.

I continue to read. Three fine vibrations are holding one above the earth. His name is Moses. The mother is Yokhebed, the soul that isn’t counted, that was still in transit in Genesis. When she sees him she sees that he is good… just like God sees that it (the light) is good. Moses is a Levi. I hope we don’t have Schechem all over again. He’s taken in by the Pharoah’s daughter, can’t discern the boundaries, expands out, gets pulled back, blends light with darkness, kills the Egyptian and has to escape.

Smart move. I’m getting sick of waiting while the earthly and the heightened realms do this crazy dance. Where is God? Slaves are being whipped. Love has become a second thought. Do you think you can ever come out of that grave and talk to me again, I ask my husband. Now the slaves are dragging their bodies inside me and I feel alone, frightened and cut off. Sparks have left my eyes. There isn’t a way out. I’m stuck.

Then I see it in line 2:25. V’yareh elohim et b’nai yisrael v’yadah elohim. That’s not a spark, I think, staring at the Hebrew. That’s a lightning bolt. The v’yareh elohim and the v’yadah elohim balance each other and the sons of Israel are at the center. God’s sight and hand hold us there. We are bringing in the sparks that the darkness has tried to suffocate… to one point, to absolute radiance. We are it. The boundaries are finally exact. The whole universe glows in one eternal moment.

And sure enough. That lightning bolt hits a bush and I’m holding it in my hands along with the suffering. Thousands of people are holding it this moment. The energy has folded in. The bush glows like a full moon times one thousand. When God speaks to Moses (lines 3:4‐5) this is what is said: Moshe Moshe v’omar hineini v’omar al tikrav. Same with Jacob, I think, same structure to the sentence, except I am God has become God is approaching.

The translation is do not come any closer but I stare at tikrav and it does not seem to reflect direct address. Instead, it seems to be third singular. The aleph lamed can mean God, don’t or to/towards. So many ways to go and in my mind, God fits best.

I draw circles in the mud with a stick. Circles that connect the words. V’omar is the circle of protection. Moshe (spirit) is aligned with al (God) and Moshe (body) with approach. Hineini, with two nuns, is at the center. Later, we receive the eternal name for God, a sphere within itself. The gates to this name (I believe) are right through the two nuns, the fifty gates to God. The turning is complete. The expansion has become a path through pain. God’s dialogue continues (this is one long conversation). The circles within circles rise from the mud. Wings circle our bodies, giving force to fast vibrations. We are the angels who keep the radiance alive, who keep the bush burning. Wings are not just for flying. They wrap around us, causing our divine sparks to rise like a pillar from roots to feet to heart to stars.

The sun is at the trees and I can smell the cold about to settle. I pull a few dead leaves out from some rocks on his grave. That’s when I kind of see him, a great illumination between us. I laugh. He is so beautiful. He smiles at me. I can tell he’s happy I’m shining.

I drive down the road to town. The Hebrew words are still flowing to a center but now they are on the passenger seat of my car. Then I merge with traffic and look around amazed. Cars are moving in all directions, their window shields like eyes, winking in the dusk.

So may we understand that suffering is the clinging to circles of pain. May we discern suffering between the lines.. May we see that the gateway to the eternal is found beyond expansion, fire/light, flow, and return….in the name. May we be the ones who merge beyond human definition…as we approach and face the radiance and joy of God.