Outside my window birds chirp and the green grass sprouting are marking their seasonal cycle. Jewish people and allies around the world have celebrated the Passover, the story of epic cycle of anticipation, revelation, of oppression and liberation. In this moment in a calendar cycle that has offered stability and predictability for generations of my ancestors, nothing feels more uncertain. Impermanence is everywhere. Reentry? From what? Into what?

On the last session of Glow Up Spring Meditation Series, a group of us reentered the uncertainty of one moment, then another, experiencing the cycles of the breath, of our feelings and our minds, finding freedom in something simple – reentry to awareness.

Following the silence, many of us shared our experiences in this uncertainty. ‘After-covid,’ ‘Transitioning’, ‘Reopening’ were some of the words we used to set the context.

Some described the tears of relief, and grief, they shed when they received their first vaccination shot. To some, the promise of isolation lifting released sadness that has bottled up for a year, tugging on older, deeper yearnings. To connect? to belong? To touch and be touched? Others spoke of navigating new kinds of conversations with their partners, children and close friends about precautions, unclear ‘opening’ CDC instructions and ultimately deeply personal preferences of existential comfort. Another described the dissonance of seeing others’ newfound freedom in places of low infection, access to outdoors, or due to vaccination, while themselves are still restricted. Some expressed the dread of returning to business-as-usual, in our destructive behavior towards our planet. A recognition innocence lost, gullibility maybe? Has our relationship with the promise of permanence changed? Do we even ‘buy’ the notion of ‘normal’ anymore?

Reb. Nahman, the late 18th century hassidic luminary, grappled with similar questions concerning himself and his community. In one of his many tales (“The Tale Of The Switched Children”), he described his model of resilience and wisdom in the Person of the Forest.

This person was embedded in the wilderness. They knew their forefathers and foremothers, and received a gift box from them which releases a song from anything it is placed on. Yet the hut in which this person lives and stores abundant food and libations, has no foundation. It levitates, free. This person is kind and available. This person is no mere person at all, Nahman wrote.

We shared silence. The window behind my zoom monitor presented bare branches swaying wildly over clear blue sky. One asked, “What have we learned?”

“Stay vulnerable,” another answered.
Following a pause, “Even in moments of negotiations and discomfort, find honesty and beauty,” a third responded.
“This is real and you are completely unprepared,” wrote Rabbi Alan Lew. Living, moving through this space in Not Knowing.

Our attention allows us to remain resilient and present in our own ‘forest hut’ of our bodies, our feelings and our senses, in the foundation-less ever changing reality. Could this historic ‘transition’ be the perfect opportunity to lean into this Not-Knowing, investigate how it affects our minds and hearts, tweak or let go that which is not useful anymore? Could this be related to the next Rosh Hashana, marking a cycle of Shmita, once every seven years, of release, letting go, resetting?


Our foremothers and forefathers marked cycles of the calendar, of destruction and rebuilding, of energies in our bodies and in the stars. They taught us a tool, an attention that is loving and spacious, that when includes or placed, makes all sing with honesty and beauty. They taught us to apply this awareness, of these cycles of uncertainty, from the abode that is not grounded on leaves and weeds. So where to place our trust?

 

The great wind responds with the swaying branches. 

“What have you learned?”

Call someone. 

Tell them you love them. 

Be tender to yourself, 

And forgiving to others.

Take permission to be slow, 

honest, 

and beautiful, 

like the crocus 

in the March spring wind.


Header Image Artwork: Prospect Park, Brooklyn NYC, by Rami Avraham Efal

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