Yom Kippur

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the sabbath and Yom Kippur Candles

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has kept us alive and sustained us and has brought us to this special time.


I've noticed through studies and reading and different interactions that each culture views God in a different manner. Almost every Jewish prayer begins like these two for Yom Kippur: baruch atah hashem, eloheinu melech ha'olam - Blessed are you, oh Lord our God, King of the universe. In fact, when writing out these prayers, the Jewish people often write out "ha shem" which means "the name" instead of the word for Lord, for fear of taking the Lord's name in vain. If you've ever seen G-d before, you know a Jewish writer is writing such to avoid actually spelling out the name of God. There is a lot of fearful respect there that I've always found a bit fascinating.
Anyway, it is Yom Kippur. The Day of Atonement for Christians is strange, as we don't receive our sanctification and redemption through priestly sacrifices (though the Jews do not either at this point).

Leviticus 16: Day of Atonement Text

Many of the traditional activities current Jews avoid are not found in that chapter, but in the Talmud and later writings. Wikipedia lists these as traditional, though I'll probably stay relatively Biblical:

No eating and drinking

No wearing of leather shoes

No bathing or washing

No anointing oneself with perfumes or lotions

No marital relations

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur

It is the one Biblical holy day that is a fast. Later, the celebration of Purim (Esther) includes a fast as well, though it was not an original holy day. I was sitting here and playing guitar, lighting candles (Jewish holy days all have candles. Light is a very important motif of Judaism), praying, thinking, and singing, and wondering what this day actually means for me. Is it like an Easter or Pesach? Thankfulness for God's sacrifice as our passover lamb? Or is it praise and thanks for the blessing of sanctification? I honestly cannot say quite what it means to me, and I've honestly never succeeded in keeping Yom Kippur. Last year, I was walking and praying and doing a fantastic job, when a whole row of blackberries tempted me when I was spacing out. I ate handfuls before realizing how stupidly I'd broken my fast.
Another traditional piece of Yom Kippur is the remembrance of those lost to us. This is another thing I'll be remembering.

Tiny Houses

It's P and L's fault that I'm entranced with tinyhouses. Early this spring, P and L visited my house and we made dinner, walked through the orchards, watched the sunset, and pored over countless blogs of tiny houses. How easily was I swayed! Originally, I thought a nice tinyhouse on the cliffs of scotland, but realized how unlikely that dream might be.

I was born and raised in the country, so woods, mountains, streams, and gardens speak more of home to me than buildings and clustered community. I love community, I love fellowship, I love people and all my fantastic friends. I also love natural beauty and its serenity. I do not for an instant believe I must suffer a solitude of nature, but if nature experience is solitary, I suffer it gladly.
Tinyhouses always seemed ideal. I don't own many things. My "bed" is a mattress on the floor. I have three bookcases (four sorta), a desk, clothes, blankets, a guitar, and my work computer things. What else? I have some knick-knacks of course, artwork, gifts, and items valuable to me, but I can easily store everything in such a house. Only two best friends remain, and both will, likely, be married by next summer.

Now, instead of writing, I've spent about half an hour looking at tinyhouse blogs. My favorites are the ones like log cabins. Subsistence farming from a tiny house? Sounds like I'm turning into a Wendell Berry.

What We Need Is Here

Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.
Wendell Berry

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Wendell Berry

Day of Atonement

I'm eagerly looking forward to this Yom Kippur. Many Christians have thrown out the holy days of Israel all together. I don't think this is a problem, but sometimes I enjoy the appointment days. I've actually never successfully celebrated Yom Kippur. It is the only true fast from the Biblical holy days, though several others have been added to Jewish tradition (the day before Purim: celebrating Esther and some others).
The last time I attempted to celebrate Yom Kippur, I was out on a camping trip, and while walking and thinking (I was in the process of losing a friend, and processing that), I came upon some blackberries and mindlessly ate a whole bunch before realizing I was supposed to be fasting.  I've managed a number of different fasts and find the meditative aspects and discipline of fasting useful for me in my faith. I have not, as yet, successfully celebrated Yom Kippur as a fast.

The day is considered to be the holiest day of the year for the Jewish peoples, although if you ask a Jewish person what the holiest holy day is, they may very well say "the Sabbath". It is the day where the entirety of God's people was atoned for, and was accompanied by much praying as the gravity of sin was upon the nation of Israel. I will not be going to a Synagogue for this (I've actually never been to a Synagogue service, in my recollection. My Jewish relatives are not very devout). I actually let it creep up on me, and didn't even take the day off of work, though I should have. It will also mark the day, I believe, of my 100th post. I think there is a landmark there, a finality.

I think with Yom Kippur, it has always felt like a very heavy holiday. Whereas Yom Teruah (Feast of Trumpets) is a celebratory feast, full of fellowship and fun, and passover, however intense, is my favorite holiday ever, Yom Kippur carries a strain with it, as though a weighty holiday, a dark one. Is that strange? It is the day of atonement? I think, perhaps, it felt like a duty. Like a failure meant that you were not atoned for the year, that you were cursed. It seems like so much more depends on obedience on this day, and there is no accompanying celebration. Perhaps fasts have always carried that somber disposition for me, as they seem... lonely. You can feast with friends, but fasting seems so solitary. Part of this stems from the passage in scripture where Christ says that if you fast, don't broadcast it. This was due, in large part, to the overzealous pride of the Pharisees in their good works. I do not think a collective fast is without merit.

I think this is a finish line, and hopefully a successful one. I've run a race, and though I did not win, did not, in fact, even do well, I'm still going to cross the line with dignity. I was the only one running this invented marathon, and the only one playing this imaginary game. I finished, and even though I know I lost, at least I tried. It was worth the try. I'm not sure what God has in store for me next. I only pray, with faith, God will lead me through unto green pastures beside still waters. Though perhaps I'm more ready for the spiritual warfare analogy right now than the lambs metaphor. My sword is sharpened, my shield lifted on wobbly arms, and I'm girded with truth. No weapon formed against me shall prosper? Sounds like a winning game.

Tuesday Night Lights

Autumn appeared and Summer played its last mischief. The sky was beautiful tonight, like a shadow cast over the purest lapis lazuli, fading into a dull ember orange near the skyline. With a foxtail moon and a dusting of stars, the temperature and atmosphere is perfect for thoughts and simply laying in the grass, staring into the heavens and asking questions of eternity. Where next, Lord? Oh, never mind, it matters little, doesn't it? I can't see very far, truly, when contemplating the greatness of this world, this universe. What's it like, Father? Do you eternally see it as good, each moment since creation?
Silly questions, frivolous questions, but Cassiopeia  smiles and rocks in her little wooden chair as she listens, and pulls up a glass of water with the dipper, though the bear, whose tail it is, was not impressed, and Orion chuckles as he holds aloft his hunter's prize.
Every year, I think, has held its ends and beginnings, its hopes and queries, its trials and joys. What would it take, I ask, for a fulfillment of my dreams? What must I do? The stars just twinkle in response, and the divine is silent, this time, though the breeze over the hills is not. There are a lot of questions, a lot of loves, a lot of thoughts, a lot of wishes, broken or filled or patient, swimming across my mind like those satellites in the sky. Many of these will be broken, shortly, but they'll be replaced with new dreams. Is that the way of it then? Why bother fretting, when all will be clear as this sky, eventually?

We're alike, the moon and I.
Wax to life, wane goodbye
Shedding silver light by night
Shift away by day
No argentine remains to grace
Fae forgotten dreams
I'll trace your name among the stars

Apple Juice Dreams?

A week ago, I discovered that drinking apple juice immediately prior to sleeping induces incredibly vivid dreams. Supposedly, it increases the production of acetylcholine which enhances memory and, potentially, dreams in brain activity.

This fascination with dreams, it is my roommates' faults. I thought it might be worth trying, as I love apple juice and I love dreams. I've had absurd dreams this past week, and last night's was no exception. It is worth repeating, however silly.

We were on a cruising ship on the outskirts of an island full of bridges that leaped into the ocean, falling into the sea. Our ship's engine was loud, though we had a sail raised also, and the wind pressed strongly into the cloth. The purpose of our voyage was simple whale-watching, and the boat was shaped as an extraordinarily large metal canoe, a tiny ironclad bobbing atop the waves.  As we sailed beneath the overhanging bridges, a giant humpbacked whale breached and soared into the air nearby, spouting as its entire length soared over the sea not twenty meters distant from our boat. Our captain was in shock at the proximity of the whales, and ordered our vessel slow, as traveling so close to whales is prohibited by law, he said.

More whales began leaping all around is, sailing through the air like flying fish, and striking poses as tourists snapped pictures madly. Then the captain panicked and said we must race for shore, because so many whales meant an attack, and we had to make it to shore before they ensnared our vessel in their clutches. So, with the wind surging behind us and our motors chugging, we steamed towards the nearest island. Then, as we passed beneath the arches of several majestic bridges, the whales began leaping beneath the ship, lifting it into the air on their backs so that the ship veritably flew over the waters.

We were running shy on time. The whales almost had us within the grasp, the captain cried.

Still, we could go no faster, as we now rode atop the whales' backs. And, soon enough, the captain was correct in his assessment. They lifted their flukes around our vessel, anchoring it in location just off the coast of a giant, temperate island.  Then, with a swish of movement, they flipped the vessel, and suddenly, somehow, we all stood atop the belly of the ship, trying to maintain our balance as the whales rocked the sinking ship. Those who could not maintain their balance fell into the water and swiftly swam for the safety of shore.  I managed to discover a technique that easily left me the last man standing on the boat, whereupon I leapt into the water, victor of a ridiculous game. 

Once on shore, we had a tiny canoe that appeared from nowhere and everyone thought was our original ship (though a canoe of that size would have held only 3 people, and we had ten or fifteen on shore). It quickly became apparent that night was coming, and if we did not find shelter soon, we would all freeze to death in the arctic temperatures of night. We began looking around for shelter, and I hurriedly let everyone know that I did not remember to bring my blanket. I would die once night fell, for I would freeze to death. I asked Matthew if he would share a blanket, and he said he had but one, and it was a tiny blanket.  The captain decided we should hasten and visit the hotel on the hill, and ask for blankets there. We ran up the hill and entered into the hotel, and a lady was cleaning the floors with a large brush. 

"Can we have some blankets?" Matthew and the Captain asked the girl. She looked at them gravely, angrily, and said, "No, I will not give you blankets. You'll have to freeze to death."

We implored her for blankets, knowing she had extras as the inn appeared empty. We even asked her for a room at her inn, and she refused us everything, even when we offered money for our stay. We decided that we were going to have to steal blankets, and left the hotel to formulate our mischief.

Then I woke up, just as we were about to return into the cold of night.

Words from Winnie the Pooh

Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

~ AA Milne - Winnie the Pooh

I'll admit a certain fascination with Winnie the Pooh as a child, though the Heffalumps and Woozels terrified me. There is something positively frightening about every ignoble character in every childhood movie I watched that forced me into watching from around corners. I couldn't watch the flying monkeys from wizard of oz, or stick around for the cheshire cat (still creeps me out, even in the book a bit), or numerous other baddies that rattled my bones with fright. Luckily, most childhood movies provide easy musical and visual cues (thunderstorms and minor chords) for indicating a scene wherein the villains are present: "time to hide behind mom" cues.

But I was looking through some Winnie the Pooh and stumbled across these gems. I love rivers, the snaking waters slithering down hillsides and mountains and stretching lazily across the plains on an adventure into the seas. Sometimes I remember these when playing Pooh-sticks on long hikes, or just when running along the riverbanks, or crossing the Columbia into Oregon or Washington, or when canoeing or kayaking, remember that I know everything needing knowing. It is like Keats said, though nature speaks fewer words:

'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all  

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'

~Keats - Ode to a Grecian Urn

In those moments of beauty, watching the rivers and the mountains and the trees, all at peace, do I need know anything else? The Lord is near. 

And the second quote, which shames me sometimes in my busyness or impatience. It is like Abraham, when promised a son that is not forthcoming in many years, loses patience with God and goes in to his wife's maidservant. Sometimes that same quality of impatience is upon me, and I, without waiting on God's timing,  make a fool of myself and miss the mark. ...there is no hurry. We shall get there some day. Paulo Coehlo (author of the Alchemist and Veronika Decides to die - the latter is where this quote comes from) writes, "The two hardest tests on the spiritual road are the patience to wait for the right moment and the courage not to be disappointed with what we encounter." I'm forever leaping too early, or too late, and rarely listening to the whispering and shouting, beckoning and patient voice of Yeshua.  Wait. Listen. Leap into the arms of God.

I conceived a sunrise poem this morning, which I've temporarily named, "The dawn of day in beauty". In it, I discussed some of these ideas in verse, and I rather enjoy how it came out. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, a glad morning of fellowship and friends. I'm ready for the week, though patiently so. Let's go.

Nonsense

I'm exhausted from this long day, from these long two days, but I linger on in writing for just a moment longer. I'll spout a little nonsense.

There are secrets to tell, secrets to spill, but they are secrets, now, and I shan't say. Secrets of the thousand cuts that bled not a single drop, though the veins laid bare; secrets of what roamed the streets, born of a god's nightmare. Secrets dark, secrets small, hidden whispers thrum along each hall - shrouded mysteries. Hide your heart, cover your eyes, child, these truths may charr your soul, or twist your world upside down. Bitter waters may drink you  drown. Watch careful, closely look, in the vale of dark despair, a gentle crook may hook and save you, ram ewe, fold you, take unto a forest-pond for safety there.

Listen. Tired words are words still; hopeless love is love still; broken hearts are hearts still; distant dreams are, perhaps, dreams still.