Devarim: Shaking Up Routines

וַנֵּפֶן וַנִּסַּע הַמִּדְבָּרָה
"And we turned and journeyed to the wilderness"
(Deut. 2:1)

This morning I parked in a different place, took the wrong elevator up, then a different (but right) elevator down, got off at the wrong floor, walked back up, used a different restroom, then missed my usual turn. All of which led me to a hug from my dad. And in the end I needed to sit and process, so I stopped at a favorite coffee house I don't ordinarily pass.

In this week's Parashah, Devarim, Moses begins to recount for the Israelites where they have been and what they have done. They have arrived at the border of the Promised Land a second time, nearly 40 years after the first time, and in truth the people who were there, and the actions Moses is referring to, all occurred when those present were either children or not yet born - all except Caleb, Joshua, and Moses himself.

What strikes me here is not so much the place or the people, or even the history lecture from Moses, but the quick recount of the wandering itself. A map of the wandering looks a little like a maze that crosses in and over itself. And the return to the edge of promise comes not after a relatively direct journey from Mitzrayim by way of Sinai, but rather from this loopy roundabout journey.

Just as I have seen my day differently, my mind jogged by my unusual morning route, I am sure this new generation of Israelite adults must have seen their approach to the promise of what lay beyond the Jordan differently than their parents and grandparents had.

Being fully aware sometimes requires a little interruption of routine. My routine this one morning a week has been quite comfortable, in its way, for nearly a year, now - I leave the house early, drive in usually quiet traffic, park in the garage, have breakfast with my mother, read out loud to her, then leave to go to work. Never mind that I have changed jobs, and maybe twice have had to skip a breakfast, it has been very regular routine. This morning, I got a hug from my dad, whom I don't ordinarily see on these early mornings. This morning, I learned a couple of things I didn't know, and I am now thinking of possible support for something. This morning, my transition from breakfast to work was more mindful.

Whether or not the Israelites that stood on the precipice in Deuteronomy were literally a new generation, I can only imagine that they stood there with new eyes, with a new perspective, because of their circuitous journey through the wilderness. Perhaps more than that they would no longer remember slavery personally, which might be a valuable difference, their journey had given them something valuable - had set them up for positive interactions with their neighbors by giving them a tour of the area as a free people.

I am grateful for the periodic diversion from the direct route, for the jog to my mindfulness that comes from shaking up--or being shaken from--my routines. Although I admit - forty years of such diversions might have me throwing up my hands and begging to set down roots. Indeed, while I have traveled across our country, lived in many states, and journeyed internationally - I am so very ready to stay in one place for a very long time. And the timing of this could not be more apt, as we near the first anniversary of my having returned to my "homeland," the city in which I was born and raised, after 24 years of wandering.

WSP: Writing as Spiritual Practice (1)

Something happens when I write. Actually, a lot of things happen when I write - to varying degrees depending on what, when, even how I am writing.

There are so many categories of writing, and categories within categories. Journal or diary writing varies based on time-of-day as well as what intention (processing, projecting, reporting, etc.) I put into it. Then there is expository writing with the purpose of showing or teaching others about what I am thinking, reading, focused on in life - taking a variety of forms depending on topic and intended audience (call this blog post that sort of writing). And there are all the little bits of writing - email queries and responses, marketing materials, lists, reminders, notes to self or spouse or coworker. And, on the side, I do a little creative, spiritual fiction.

Writing in the morning or evening is very different, in ways partly but not entirely specific to the of the type of writing I am doing. I am very definitely a morning person - I am at my most creative, typically, when the day is barely begun. In the evening, I'm more likely to reflect backwards - and if I'm writing fiction, just as when I'm writing in my journal, that produces a different voice than my morning writing. I can force myself to process in the morning, or to think creatively forward in the evening, but it's far less natural.

Writing by hand is by far my preferred mode. I use it for journaling, for first drafts of sermons and other expository writing, for fiction and creative nonfiction, and still sometimes for letters (I miss formal letter writing - and receiving). I think differently - more slowly (by force), but also in ways I can't quite describe - when I am writing by hand rather than typing. Interestingly, most of my blog posts are written strictly on the computer, and I wonder about that sometimes.

All of these - the what I write, the when I write, and the how I write - move me. Whether journaling in the morning about something I hope to have happen, or creating a fictional scene, writing transforms me in much the same way that reading transports me - I find myself experiencing the world differently than when I don't write. I connect with the world outside of myself, I see myself in the larger picture, I discover how relationships connect or divide.

Writing is a spiritual practice for me, no matter what I am writing. Over the past couple of years, writing has been essential in my journey, offering a place to process and engage change as it has come my way, and providing inspiration to make meaningful transitions - mindfully.

New Beginnings, Fresh or Rotten - Your Choice

You know that one moldy strawberry in the box? The one that's touching at least five others? What is your first thought - past the ICK - when you see that mold? Contamination!

Torah speaks of the first days of the world - of the separating of light from darkness and of water from land and air - as a time of completion. Things come into being whole and ready. The herbs and fruits are ready to eat right away, "in the beginning." Adam and Eve are not brought into this world as infants, but as wholly formed adults, walking and speaking and thinking.

Rosh Hashanah celebrates this whole world, the anniversary of that beginning. And that's where we stand now, in the autumn - with a world of abundance, beginning and approaching the harvest season.

Ripe apples and pomegranates for our Rosh Hashanah dinner tables mean that the trees - and the herbs of the field - are about to go dormant, to die their autumnal death. We are entering darkness, brought by the autumnal equinox and the hibernation of plants and animals.

Now, as we leave the light of summer and the growing season behind, we celebrate the abundance of the world Created whole, trees and fields offering up sustenance that we seek to preserve to carry us through the winter.

Now, we want to carry the best of our foods into storage - and we want to carry the best of ourselves into the new year. One moldy strawberry will contaminate the whole container; molds and rot spread. We don't want that - in our food supply, or in our selves.

So we clean out the old - we take inventory of our fruits and herbs, and we take inventory of our souls. We choose what goes into our containers carefully.

We have the opportunity to put an end to behaviors that cause rot, that fester in our relationships. We ask forgiveness, and we search our souls for ways to change our behavior, to be better people in the coming year.

If we choose our fruits well, we can make it through the darkness of winter. We will have healthy food for our bodies -- and we will have clean souls and strong relationships that will carry us through the coming year, whatever it holds for us.

Wishing you good choices, solid forgiveness, and a healthy and sweet new year.

B'Ezrat HaShem: With a Little Faith

B''H (With G-d's Help, A personal story)

The moon of Av has begun to wane - from full moon supermoon back to its crescent origins. Despite the heat, summer also wanes, and the rolling beginning of new school terms has begun.

I, too, have new beginnings upon me and approaching, and I want to share - personally and textually - a little bit of the experience of transition.

Less than two weeks ago (shortly after my last blog entry), my family - with me it is my spouse, my toddler son, and our three cats - moved from the east coast to the west coast. This is one of those big moves, not just because of distance but because we have done it for reasons of the heart far more than (perhaps in defiance of) practical concerns.

I gave up a solid job offer in the east, and we landed without an address (with gratitude to friends of friends who had an empty house in which we have been camping).

We came because we have always wanted to be here: I am returning to the city of my birth, here near family again after nearly a quarter century away, and my partner has fallen in love with this city in many visits over the years.

With each step in this decision, we have said one thing: we will do the footwork, and it will all work out.

I came out earlier in the summer, and managed - with gratitude to the networking support of one friend in particular - to procure part time work. The best part of this? I am so very thrilled by the working environment, the hamish community feeling, the positive energy. Who ends a job interview with hugs? I feel totally blessed!

Today, again through the networking of friends (this time a middle-school friend of mine, and that's a LONG time ago - many thanks to Facebook for reuniting us), we signed a lease on an apartment in a fabulous neighborhood, with good access both to my parents and to work, and so walkable, which I have longed for since I left so many years ago. I feel totally blessed!

Our decision to move here was because we wanted to live here, but the final push was my mother's health. She has, such blessing!, made a remarkable recovery, and since we arrived has moved home (more or less) from her various rehabs.

With a little faith, with a whim and a prayer, we jumped. And we are landing - slowly but surely - in our new lives.

The moon of Av is waning toward the crescent newness, which will become Elul, a month in which we are called to prepare our hearts and souls for the rigorous demands of faith.  Last night's fortune cookie told me to be careful what I wish for. That's a statement of faith. And I'm ever so glad I wished for this. I feel totally blessed!

B''H - B'Ezrat HaShem - with G-d's help.
Barukh HaShem - Blessed is the Source.

Cloud Dancing

"I've looked at clouds from both sides now, and still somehow, it's cloud's illusions I recall."

Clouds dance. I've seen them from airplanes up high in the sky, and I've seen them from perches on land. But I've only seen them dance when I've slowed down enough to listen to their music.

This is what I had started to write when the news started to come in. From SCOTUS, decisions that raise corporations above people (by the corporations for the corporations, rather than by the people for the people) a decisions that will have wide ranging and log term reverberations. 

From Israel - three kidnapped boys found murdered. Cries of revenge. An Arab boy murdered. Soldiers announcing rogue retaliations. Rockets flying this way and that. Desires to build new settlements and name them after the dead Israeli Jewish boys. 

And counterbalances: to SCOTUS, the dissent and the outcry makes me think that in the long run we might just beat this; from Israel, peaceful words and hopeful desires, from the families of the murdered boys and not just from the usual peace organizations. 

And because of this, I know that we still merit to dance with the clouds.

Today, I witnessed such dancing - of clouds and of humans - when my son pointed skyward and said "hippopotamus!"  He brought be back to awe and wonder.

He also brings me back to fear and heartbreak.  Because of him, I am much more empathetic to (and more likely to want to tune out from) the kinds of things I mentioned above.  My son could be targeted because of his religion: from American laws that protect corporate religious affiliation over personal (religious or otherwise) beliefs and choices; because he is Jewish, and someone here or abroad decides to take revenge or use a child to push a violent political agenda (he because he is Jewish - but clearly the other side must be wary, as well).

Forgive me if I vacillate, then, between hope and joy and awe on the one hand, and fear and uncertainty and utter sadness on the other.

But permit me to end where I began - with cloud dancing.  Because I first began to think of this blog topic a month ago, when I was in the city I most want to live in, visiting family and looking for work.  From the airplane window, I saw clouds dancing.  I saw them morphing and swaying and growing and dissipating.  I saw them responding to breezes and winds, to shadows and light, and to each other.  And in the dancing of the clouds, I saw great hope: that something so tangible, so real, could also be so open to becoming something different - a different shape; a raindrop, snowflake, or finer vapor; tall and thin, light and fluffy, dark and brooding.

I aspire to cloud dancing - to moving through life as a cloud, open to that which will invariably change me, and offering where I will invariably create change.

Thanks in part to those clouds and their dancing, and in part to the support of some magnificent people, I am in the process of moving to that place I want to live.  I will be near family, and I will be working with people I am very excited to work with.  I offer myself to the teachings of this transition and of the new work and of the new people who are coming into my life - to the ways they will change me and the ways I will change them. 

May I merit to dance - with all of my family, our friends, and the clouds. 

Addendum: today, Rabbi Zalman Schachter Shalomi died. I did not ever meet him, though surely I could have had I tried only a little bit, and I regret that I did not make the effort. He was a teacher and an influence to many of my teachers, and in that way to me. I take this opportunity to add to my above words because the whole idea of dancing with clouds is related to both seizing and creating opportunity, and reaching for dreams. May Reb Zalman's memory be a blessing - and may I yet learn from him.