washwords

Today is Yom Kippur, the day of atonement for my faith, the closing of the 10 day period of the new year, of reflection for the year behind, of looking to the year ahead.

Truth be told, I love this time of year. I love the rituals of cleansing, purifying,  the haunting melodies,  the looking ahead and celebrating first so that filled up with love and hope and promise, you can more properly atone for sins, and reform into someone better, stronger, more authentic.

I especially love the poetry, the music of our services. I sing “Avinu Malkeinu” to myself throughout the year (no doubt especially annoying friends and neighbors this time of year) and unlike my favorite songs in English where it’s the lyrics I most connect to, focus on; in prayer, it’s the melody - the haunting beautiful notes that express better where my heart is dwelling then the actual words sometimes can.  “Our Father, Our King” the literal translation of that prayer’s title, isn’t what the song speaks to me.

Rather, it says loudly, softly, heartfully, tearfully, pleadingly, “I’m sorry.”

It says: I’ll do better. I’m working on it. I do have love in my heart of hearts, I do appreciate the riches I have.

It says: I am joyful, exhuberant, warmed by this community, even when they are strangers. I am home here with this familiar melody I seem to have always known, by the ability to sing fully, forcefully, till I’m dizzy and hoarse.

It says: Thank you. Thank you, God, if that’s what you believe in. Thank you friends and loved ones. Thank you strangers for forgiving me the sins and offenses I don’t even know I’m committing. Thank you love for finding me, thank you world for recognizing the talents and strengths I have.

And it says this: There’s going to be hurt, there’s going to be mistakes and pains and some of them are going to be your fault. And

I tried meditation. A bunch of times.  It helped, if for nothing else that for sitting sans computer in the quiet and kindness. But I couldn’t relax, couldn’t focus on meditating, focused on the noise I was making, the meditation I wasn’t doing, racing, racing thoughts.

I went for a one-on-one with the leader of the class, who suggested I try walking meditation. I liked the idea. But I didn’t try it.

A few months later, work launches a stairclimbing challenge. Simultaneously and separately,  my sweetie and I decide to start walking on the paths behind his house or the city streets toward the Mall near mine. I am walking, more and more, beyond my walks to and from work.

And it is working. Beyond strong calves I feel calm coming in. Clear. Zen.

It is the most beautiful color of all.

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Note: Happy 4th to all!!! I have also added a few posts to X365.

*B* tells me they’re having troubles. Baby-making troubles.

B, the friend who spread out a blanket with me in the wet bluegreen grass outside our dorm room so we could have a slumber party under the stars (while our suitemates went clubbing). B, who when I broached the unspeakable … “divorce”, asked me earnestly, warmly “so what if you do?” allowing me to be okay in the eyes of at least one human.

Other friends said my voice changed whenever I talked to B. We’d listen to jazz in the dark or eat cheese and grapes or go for snowy walks. We’d joke that it was too bad we weren’t attracted to women - marrying each other would be so much simpler. But in truth, I was glad we weren’t; asexually,we were able to love each other so much more - more purely, more authentically.

So when she writes me out of the blue that she is hurting and fearful and ashamed, I tell her what I know to be true: that God is not punishing her, that as she so often told me that God has a plan, for her precious gifts too.

And B, my pastor friend, spiritual counselor, doctor of theology, says thanks.

I tell her I wish I could have a baby for her, because I am just not sure I want a baby of my own, full as my heart is with love for my niece and the kids in my life; I’m just surprisingly not sure it is for me any more.

She says her acupuncturist gave her a CD called “open your heart to a new life”

“And,” says B “I realized I wasn’t sure I wanted to open my heart to a new life.”

I say I understand. I do. But I hope she can and does. She has so many gifts in that heart.