25-Mar-2005
NATURAL ECSTASY
The following Sabbath hymn, Yedid Nefish, was written by the Jewish mystic, Eliezer b. Moses Azikri, c1584. Rabbi David Nelson explains its mystical context: "For the Kabbalists of 16th century Tsfat, the Sabbath was a time of holy union between God and the people of Israel, between Israel as the groom and the Sabbath Bride, and between the masculine and feminine aspects of God's own Self. The poem celebrates all levels of coupling."
YEDID NEFISH
Draw me to You with the breath of love,
Swiftly shall I come to stand within Your radiance
That I may attain that sweetest of all intimacies.
My soul aches to receive Your love.
Only by the tenderness of Your light can she be healed.
Engage my soul that she may taste Your ecstasy.
My heart yearns with an age-long yearning
For the embrace of Your compassion, the refuge of Your
strength
O God, who experiences all, penetrate my longing with
your Presence.
Reveal Yourself; let loose Your light upon the earth.
Surround me with Your sheltering love for the time has
come.
Hurry, my Loved One, embrace me that I may rejoice in
the source of all joy.
- special thanks to Rabbi David Nelson, author of the new book, "Judaism, Physics and God," for contributing this poem. (Don't miss his fascinating event at the First Unitarian Church on April 3 at 7pm - email me for details!)
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THIS WEEK'S featured website is www.innerexplorations.com, where you'll find an outstanding selection of mystical books, videos and audiotapes from the Christian mystical tradition. The website describes itself as a place where "Christian mysticism, theology and metaphysics meet Eastern religions, Jungian psychology and a new sense of the earth." Excellent website! You can receive free postage on any order sent by mail with a check or money order. Call 541-783-3126, or email arraj@innerexplorations.com. Address: Inner Growth Books & Videos, LLC; Box 520; Chiloquin, OR 97624.
HOWE'S HAPPENINGS:
On Thursday, March 31, I'll be teaching three workshops at the Highland Park Literary Festival. Although this event isn't open to the public, stop by for a coupon for an extra 5% discount off either of my books (in addition to the 10% discount you'll receive by subscribing to this newsletter). Coupons will be available Thursday evening starting at 7pm at Half Price Books on Northwest Highway, just off I75, venue for the evening's student open mic performance.
GET REAL
Although mystics feel sorrow, just like everyone else, over the death of a loved one, death doesn't affect the mystic in the same way it affects others. Mystics, despite their grief, embrace an awareness that the soul has left the body to be reunited with the Divine. Or at least I'm told that this is what they experience. I'm not to that level yet. I mostly just grieve.
A few years ago, however, when my dad passed away, I had an experience I'll never forget - or understand. For as long as I can remember, my dad and I shared an extraordinarily close relationship. Dad was a coal miner for 50 years, and to make ends meet, he often worked long hours doing "odd jobs" for people in our little town in Southern Illinois.
At three-years-old, I became my dad's constant companion, getting up very early so I could go to work with him. Often, because many of the people he worked for were poor, Dad would take whatever payment they could afford. Usually that included (for me) handmade doll clothes, and/or freshly baked cookies.
Dad and I continued to be "riding" pals throughout my life. When I started kindergarten - and throughout grade school - he'd almost always be waiting for me at three o'clock, and off we'd go to work. After supper, we'd usually head back to another job. Never once did I hear my dad complain. He loved his work, his family and his life. We'd take breaks at the drug store, sipping cokes and buying comics and candy.
When I started junior high and high school, Dad carted my friends and me to parties and to each other's homes, the back seat of his car so filled with tools that our legs would be scrunched into our chests, our heads bumping the ceiling.
After I moved to Texas as an adult, Dad and I looked forward to trucking around during my visits home. We'd drive down the road that the coal miners had paid for in the 1930s by having $1/week deducted from their paychecks. We'd cruise the company town where Dad grew up, and stop by the little stores that always offered credit to the miners during hard times. During these drives, Dad and I would stop at barber shops - or wherever the old miners hung out - listening to stories told by men who remembered the days when they mined coal with picks, shovels and dynamite. Dad lived through three explosions. In one of these, my parents lost all of their friends and four family members.
When Dad died a few years ago, I felt unable to cope with the grief I felt. Visions of his terrible death from cancer filled my mind. Nighttime brought nightmares, and I sometimes woke thinking his death had been one of these cruel dreams. I framed a picture of him and set it on my home altar, communing with him every day.
Then to my complete surprise, one day I fell into a sort of trance-like state in which I felt a tangible sense of his presence. An ecstatic joy overwhelmed me and I sobbed not from grief, but from joy. There was no doubt in my mind that my dad had entered into a new level of union with the Divine - and that I'd been granted a glimpse into the joy he was feeling. This continued for months, and regularly increased in its intense delight.
One day, however, I felt my dad's spirit slipping away from me. I panicked, and remember calling out loud, "Dad! Don't leave me!" Yet his spirit simply seemed to vanish. I sat stunned and devastated. And then a strange and amazing thing happened: I felt again that joy I'd felt for so many months, only this time it was the most intense I'd ever experienced. Somehow I knew that Dad had moved on into a deeper union with the Divine.
Occasionally I still grieve for my dad. I miss him. The memories of his illness still haunt me, and I still wish I could ride through town with him, listening to the stories that have now mostly disappeared with the deaths of the old coal miners. But my strongest and most frequent feelings are ones of incredible joy. I'm deeply grateful for all the years I had with him. But mostly, I feel awe and amazement over the picture, so vivid in my mind, of my dad dancing through the universe, moving closer and closer to union with God.
Perhaps I do feel a bit of the mystic's outlook on death after all.
THIS NEWSLETTER is sent every other Friday around noon, allowing you the leisure of the weekend to look it over. Please remember: readers of this newsletter consist of Jews, Christians, Muslims, Sufis, Buddhists, and others, and I'll try to alternate presenting their stories, poetry and websites as often as possible.
IF THIS NEWSLETTER uplifted your heart and drew you
closer to the Divine, please forward it to others who
might enjoy it. Thank you!
Blessings,
Mary
