Genesis Cycle Two VaYigash 44:18 to 47:27

VaYigash

What is consciousness? Years ago my late husband asked me this same question. Well, I said, it’s what happens after we wake up from a coma. He laughed and said perhaps I wasn’t far from the truth. A better question might have been, what is the design of consciousness? The process? How do we wake each other up? And then what?

In Vayigash we are served these questions and more. We find them in one word; behitodah (line 45:1). It can fool you. After all, it feels like the word todah or thankfulness. But with the silent ayin, the root changes and the meaning takes on the idea of intimate knowledge. Of course, since ayin means eyes, perhaps consciousness is to see our gratitude.

First though, let’s get back to the original question. I’m sure that some of us would agree that there is a breathing, living reach and cohesion to all things animate and inanimate. It’s so real it’s solid, so full of motion and merging there is flow. It’s hidden. The essence seeps into our heart, our senses. Most of the time it is not an epiphany or a flash, just a blur, a boundry-less merge of perceptions and emotions that many of us call God.

In Vayigash we get a microscope to view the blur. This way, the tiny veins and bigger body of behitodah can be discerned. What we experience is a construct of energy that includes approach, wholeness, boundaries, shock, acceptance, restraint, letting go, protection, continued approach and then finally, return and oneness. Yes, this is a mind-full. Why not just stay with the blur? I think the more distinct our vision the more we can focus. Finally, that focus determines the depth of re-turn, the fullness of our love.

Let’s come down to earth now, to story. What’s happening with Joseph and his brothers? What is this about? Well first, Judah approaches Joseph. He draws near, penetrates Joseph’s heart (Genesis Rabbah 93:4). All of the brothers are in Egypt for food, Benjamin has been caught with Joseph’s chalice and Judah wants to offer himself as prisoner in the place of Benjamin. This specific approach can be likened to the very edge of darkness moving closer to light. It’s just a small move. But it’s enough for Joseph to be able to both see and feel his brother deeply.

After a sort of re-run of past dialogue, Joseph cries out for his servants to leave. He’s clearly in pain. Some might say he doesn’t want his servants to know his emotions. In the microscope though, Joseph has recognized his own spiritual and physical limitations. He is filled to the finishing point. The cry is a war cry, a guttural shout to enable him to create the necessary boundaries to make his brothers conscious of him. It’s a cry of pain-action as the great light cuts off the shadows and becomes vulnerable. It’s the sound of loss, of heartbreak. It’s the echo of two sides of one boundary rushing in opposite directions, one towards God, the other towards a deep chasm. Joseph is freeing his brothers to join with him, to join in one nation (Ezekiel 27:20-22) The cut of the boundary creates the energy to make it possible.

Such freedom though has two sides. On one hand the brothers now have to face their past in physical form. They have to see, hear and smell their humiliation. They have a mirror held up and they must walk through to join with the radiance on the other side. Darkness, when faced with light, has to recognize its own subjective darkness. All of us, when faced with our shadows, have to accept to walk through. We may want to blame the mirror or the person holding it. We may refuse to look. This is why Joseph says after his brothers (when they leave to get their families) do not be agitated. He fears that his brothers, in shock, will sink back to the comfort of their previous ways. A shock that is too powerful can repel us. Therefore, the gentleness of Joseph’s words and his gifts are important. In all though, the pain is greater for Joseph. Light-pain is greater at higher vibrations. Consciousness is ignited by that which is being risen to, not that which is rising. Joseph does and feels the greater part of the work.

What happens though to the darkness that gets cut off? Well it sinks with the same speed as does the rising energy of Judah and his brothers. It dives into a miserable famine (47:15 to 47:25), to a place where by its very nature, it consumes itself. In the microscope, the heightening of our higher selves causes our lower selves to turn. In story, the peasants don’t have bread. They offer their livestock for grain. Then they offer their bodies and their land. In other words, they give all of themselves in submission. They turn. We turn. The shadows within us consume themselves with the power of the rising light.

It’s hard to be thankful for starvation, for boundaries that seem to cut our hearts in half, for the light-beings who cut the boundaries that wake us up. It’s hard to be thankful for dark edges, for those who draw near, for the wholeness when you are exhausted from the work. But there’s great thankfulness when we, as one, can move even a small step closer to God. And that’s what consciousness is about, the minute details of movement, the merging and the love.

So may we shut the eyes of the dead to draw the boundary and to allow the soul to return. May we know that pain before a coma is greater than pain upon waking. May we only create boundary-cuts that lead to revelation. May we reach with affection to help others. May we understand the pain of those who reach. May we walk through our mirrors with courage. May we be gentle with each other. May we feel joy in the merging. May we be compassionate with eyes of divine gratitude. May we see what we are doing here on earth as images of God.