i was lurching to a stop, at a light leaping toward red, and that’s when the thought was birthed in my head. oh, it had been pulling at me all morning. i felt the weight of it from the moment my eyes opened, let in the light.
i was having trouble letting go of the great sacred hours of saturday. it had been a day of pure oxygen. i had nowhere to be other than prayer. i did nothing worldly.
i only drove at the end of the day, when the dark came. all day i walked to the place where the prayer was in pews. i walked with my boys; we weren’t in a hurry. the little one filled his pockets with acorns, sat off in a corner when we got there, played games with the corns and their caps. the other boy, wrapped in his prayer shawl, stood beside me, sat beside me, prayed beside me. their papa, this year, was far far away.
we spent enough hours in the place where the prayer was–coming and going all day–that we followed the arc of the sun.
the morning light, white, filtered through glass the color of cafe au lait, poured in from the east, lit my pages of prayers from the top, spilled toward the bottom.
by late afternoon, the light streaming in from the west was golden. some in the pews wore sunglasses. i let the sun in without filter, practically blind me.
when the sun fell, when the light fell, the rabbi lit a bright candle. for a few minutes, it was the only light in the great-ceilinged chamber.
then, it was over and we stepped out into the twilight. walked home one last time.
it was the light and the words, and the pushing away of the everyday, that drew me into a place where i want to return. the rabbi kept saying yom kippur is the one day, the one 25 hours of the year, when we brush up closest to God; we taste paradise, he told us. i believed him. i felt the stirring inside me.
i felt the touch of the fingers of God, up near my temples, up where the prayers settle and launch back into orbit. up where my thoughts rustle like grasses.
i felt time itself transform. it was not a staccato of chock-a-block minutes. but, rather a plane with no beginning or end. it was a mist that carried me. took me deep into a place where the world could not enter. it was sacred and slow and without measure. i had no hunger. other than that of wanting the day to last forever.
and then came the next day. and everything about it, it seemed, was hard. there was breakfast to make and errands to run. and a whole week ahead. i felt the wallop of monday galloping towards me.
i was on my way home from the mall where i’d gone to buy knobs for a door that resisted the ones i’d already bothered to try. that’s when the words came.
what if we let go, just for a spell, of all the constraints and let time return to its essence? what if we put out our hands and cupped as much as we could? what if these were our very last hours? what if we allowed each minute to sink deep into our soul?
would we be racing to malls? or would we be breathing? filling our lungs with the warmth of a sun that hasn’t gone out yet.
would we know if a monday followed a sunday? would we care? we have lassoed the moments of time, coerced them into ill-fitting forms.
oh, i know, i know. we have lives to lead, jobs to fulfill, mouths to feed.
but might we maybe have gone overboard? gotten so locked into clocks and calendars that we never, only maybe once a year, and only if we must, tell time we’re not paying attention.
we are, instead, wholly indulging in the gift of the light and the breeze. we are sinking our hands and our heart and our soul into the timeless. we are digging holes for a bulb, kneading bread dough, rocking our children. we are watching the waves, holding a butterfly, listening to air flutter the leaves of the trees.
the gift of shabbat and the sabbath offer that very reality. one day of each week. from sundown to sundown. for years now, i’ve said i wanted to follow the laws of the sabbath: not drive, not do any labor. pull into a place that knows no end or beginning. knows only the light of the sun and the stars and the moon.
what if each day we honor one blessed hour, or one blessed chunk of an hour? what if we give time its due? not lock it, and chain it, and wrap it around us.
but rather, allow it to flow through our hands, each sacred drop tasted for all that it is: the closest element in the world to paradise itself.
if we give it a chance.
if we let it sink into our skin, in through our eyes and our ears. if we taste it. if we suck on the marrow of time. if we stop and we marvel. the difference between any one moment and the next might be the difference between life, and life no longer.
each moment is sacred.
if only we notice.
if only we live as if we grasp the whole of that truth…
it’s my job to go out on a limb. it’s my blessing to have a place to do so. to say so. i netted this thought before it floated away. here it is now, you too can enter the thought. it’s ours now to share. to look at, consider. to release or let flap for awhile. do any of you make a practice of releasing time from its trappings? how do you do so? do you long to do it more often? what ways do you strip the world from the worldly? seek just a taste of the divine, the everlasting?
a word of deep sadness: a boy who filled a room with his strength and his sunshine died on saturday afternoon. in his mother’s arms. his name was nick. he had just turned 16. he and i shared tuesdays in a small room where we tried to get our bones stronger. he’d been fighting the ravages of cancer since he was four. but he never let on. my little one loved him. so did i. you couldn’t know nick and not love him. maybe nick is part of why each moment feels sacred today. be at peace, sweet friend. be at peace. your mama, and papa and all those who love you, peace to you too.
and finally, that photo up there. it’s from my will. the boy who’s a manchild these days. i usually don’t tell you his name. but the photo is his. and you should know where it came from. i asked him to go out with his lens, and catch a moment that felt timeless. full of light. inspired. up there is what he brought home. i could stare at that moment all day…thank you, sweet will.
beautiful mediation on the transcendent. i loved the metaphor of chock-a-block time versus an endless plane. that’s what higher moments feel like, but you captured it exactly.
I think your dear rabbi would agree that another moment when we brush up closest to God is when a child or loved one passes back to God…time stops then too and our awareness of the infinite depth of a single moment is profound. The “real” world recedes from our perception and we are left suspended. Hopefully we have the sense that “god”, whatever name we give to that mighty force, surrounds us and holds us – just as you were held on that holy day. My prayers and thoughts are sent out to you and Nick’s family and intertwine with all the other prayers and thoughts to hold you all together. As always….thank you for your vulnerability.
My son-in-law and his brother once spent 50 days canoeing from northern Minnesota to Hudson Bay in Canada, 1300 miles a way. They both reflect back on that time as pure heaven. They woke at sunset, slept at sundown, paddled, portaged and ate in between. It took a few days to get into that rhythm, but once it was their groove, they never wanted to leave. Maybe our mantra should be to keep it simple.
A gorgeous reflection on the das of awe.
This posting holds such special meaning for me. As a Christian, I believe that God numbers our days and only He knows that number. It’s so easy to forget that each day is a gift … that’s why it’s called ‘the present’.And to the manchild who has a God-given talent and an unbelievable ‘eye’ for photography … your portfolio is truly inspiring. I love the use of everyday objects and how, suddenly, I found myself looking at them quite differently and appreciating their simple beauty. Thank you.