Imbolc and the Moon of Tides

Shabbat gratefuls: Rabbi Jamie. Rabbi Rami. Teshuvah. Tikkun. Talmud Torah. Bagel table. The Mishkan. Shabbat. Colder.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Torah

 

Kavannah: Histapkot. Contentment.   Seek what you need, give up what you don’t need.

Tarot: Page of Stones, Lynx.  “Begin something new that supports your health.” Clinical trial for me.

One brief shining: Each night before I go to bed, I say three things. Hands over eyes, I first say the Shema. Then, hand on the mezuzah, “I am content with who I am. I’m content with what I have.” Last: “I love that little Shadow–all to pieces.”

 

When I say I’m content with who I am, I mean histapkot. This body, linked to all that becomes, has been, is, will be enough. The Shema says that plainly, yhvh is one.

The second part, “I’m content with all that I have.” has become a challenge. Money? Yes. Shadow Mountain Home? Yes. Shadow? Yes.

But. Am I content with cancer?

Cancer and contentment. What about those days I read unwelcome news? What about all the treatments, all the uncertainty?

I am content with having cancer. It can churn my stomach. Yes. It cannot be cured, so it’s a permanent resident. We are not two. We are one. When I eat, the cancer part of me eats. When I sleep, cancer rests with me. I am not content with cancer killing me. I do what I can to prevent that. Then again, I am not content with my heart killing me either. I do what I can to prevent that.

Railing against the cancer. Fighting it. Struggling with it. All those war-like metaphors. No. Why? Because they bind me to self-hatred, stir the anxiety pot until it overflows.

I refuse to live a life where cancer consumes not only my body, but my mind, my spirit as well. Like Medworld from yesterday, I will not allow cancer any more room in my mind and heart than it already has. I do not forget about it. Neither do I focus on it.

I turn to the lodgepole and the aspen. To life with Shadow. To improving my writing. Life is for living, not for waiting to die.

An enduring lesson of the Shema. The oneness of all becoming.  All is part of the one. Nothing lies outside it. Not cancer. Not war. Not crime.

Oneness challenges me to calm myself. To not let life be colonized by fear or self-pity. That’s why saying the Shema can act as a shield against anxiety and discontent. Stay here. Stay now.

Seek what you need.

Give up what you don’t need.