This End Up

Chasing the dragon:

One thing I have asked of the Lord, this I seek, that I may dwell in the House of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon His beauty, and to visit in His sanctuary. ~ Psalm 27

Walt, in the comments below, suggests that in my "chasing the dragon" I am, in reality, chasing my tail. Having given this some thought, I disagree. I am chasing G-d.

I understand that all paths on this earth lead to G-d, whether conscious or unconscious. Yet I think that the beauty of revelation is that your life doesn't turn out in any way that you imagine when you're just treading the conventional path of hopes and dreams, a path that most people happily embrace. It's something else when you end up struck in no uncertain terms by the pull of G-d, and you know it is real and then your life, as I have written many times before, becomes no longer your own.

It isn't like you've given up your life to G-d. It's just that things happen to you, events take their course and you're basically yanked along, off the beaten path, because at some point there was a "yes" and some binding to G-d. So you end up following some mysterious Divine plan instead of the one you imagined for yourself. And all without the comfort of Abraham's G-d, who promised him so much.

The notion of "success" as we understand it goes out the window. You end up being what you were meant to be and having to live with its implications and consequences, which are considerable and quite grand. It is overwhelming and can be unsettling and intriguing at the same time. This is what the experience of awe is like. All of this, coupled with a destiny of obscurity.

So, if I'm in shul, davenning away, and suddenly and surprisingly I find myself in some other space where I've entered G-d's plane, a heightened, charged place of infinite freedom and possibility where you can really breathe, and can see myself through G-d's eyes, and what I see is that davenning is what I was meant to do, that is my sole reason for being, that is who I am, it throws one for a loop. I hadn't read that on the list of approved occupations.

What does one do with this sort of knowledge? It's not as if there is some secular blueprint for how to be uniquely what you were meant to be in the world. It's not like prayer as identity can be proffered on the world stage as something valid when we identify ourselves with our secular jobs and roles. I suppose one could say, "I meditate" "I contemplate" but that's pretty amorphous and insubstantial. I suppose one could become a rabbi or join a monastic prayer community in an attempt to legitimise one's identity to society or oneself. Other than that, there really are no other adequate descriptors. How does one tell: I was created for prayer.

Some say we were meant for praise, which indeed defines prayer beyond supplication. That's the beauty of Judaism for me, there is much room for praise. We begin in the morning with blessings. And we are expected to say at least 100 blessings a day. It takes mindfulness to a whole other level, and legitimises it within an acceptable and sane religious structure. It gives us words when we lack them. It directs us to the divine moment. All we have to do is know that this is what we seek, for to pray is to become praise. You become something else, you enter the flow, the realm of the Divine. It is a being at one with the boundless.

And it's not as if the Divine has not always been there. It just takes a change in consciousness to see what has always been here, the Garden of Eden. And if you've tasted that and seen yourself through G-d's eyes, why would you not want to chase what in essence is the ultimate reality? The mitzvot were created for just that purpose, as was prayer. They make all things right and good and true. In the midst of great suffering within and without, it is sanctuary and respite and the bliss of knowing. It keeps one focussed on what matters and gives strength to bear all things and do what is necessary. Torah addresses the ultimate reality in great detail and the psalms address the chasing.

On the downside, you may start out destitute, abandoned by parents, with no family, feeling displaced until G-d finds you**; I think it's safe to say that most people would find this too high a price to pay, but it isn't something willed. Then having tasted the good and the pleasant, you end up relentlessly and exquisitely sensitised to the venal and ugly and to evil. On their heels come an all-encompassing sorrow and hatred of evil, and an overwhelming desire, part selfish, part selfless, for everyone to see what you see. It's the promise of prophets:

The earth will be filled with the knowledge of G-d, like the waters cover the sea. ~Isaiah 11:9

What can one do, though, to make that happen? You toil in the dark soil of G-d with your chasing and deeds hoping someday the world is flooded with the knowledge of G-d. And at the end even praise ceases to be and you fade away and nothing will be left except the nameless work of your hands, the ultimate reality, here.

** Compare with The Varieties of Religious Experience

Chasing the Dragon

And so it goes...

I've felt hugely ambivalent about trying out one more venue for High Holy Days. Last year, I finally made it to Jewish Renewal services for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. The room was serviceable and small. It was clear that this little community was quite tight-knit. As in all religious communities, some were welcoming and some were frightened of, or indifferent, to strangers. In such a small gathering it is not difficult to feel a cliquish atmosphere.

Let's talk about bliss. In such a gathering it is possible to notice that people are more expressive according to their needs. There was one fellow who certainly was in another world, of meditation, of connecting with G-d. Reminds me of the Self-Realization Fellowship Temple in Pacific Palisades where you walk these serene, harmonically beautiful grounds dotted with closed-eyed meditators, their faces radiant.

There was a lot that I could relate to, the world view, the emphasis on all those good and free form hippie ideals, metamorphosed by Judaism. But, eh, the liturgical nuts and bolts were too chopped up and jarring for me. No flow. Well, not my kind of flow.

I love the traditional form. My beshert ('I would die for him') composer is Bach. When I enter that experience, life becomes organised, sublime- intensely focused, and preternaturally lucid. There is endless play within the form; it allows for the free channelling of passion (I'm listening to the Brandenburgs as I write).

And that's what I love about the traditional service, the traditional prayers and their seemingly rigid form- infinite play within the familiar- like a gossamer structure cradling all thought and feeling- the ultimate safety net.

The Jewish Renewal version I experienced had a wonderful, thoughtful rabbi, yet a liturgy that was pieced together mainly from the Reconstructionist prayer book (which I love- I often use it to daven) and other bits and pieces in fits and starts, using odds and ends and mucho commentary. The services emphasised a lot of group acknowledgment and world unity, rather than a focus on liturgy. I find it difficult to stay within a meditative frame of mind when group interaction is encouraged (and the bleeding davenning is interrupted! by arbitrary commentary!).

It was there that I learned that though this kind of service did not fit my needs, I could see where it did fit the needs of others. I am not into beating drums, chanting anything outside of Hebrew chant, incorporating non-Jews into the service on Yom Kippur (or actually, most elsewhere in services), or a cheery ('upbeat') environment on the most solemn, gravest day of the year. But that is me.

Bliss. I have seen bliss not only there and at the Fellowship Temple. When I was just learning about Judaism, and experiencing my first services which happened to be at a Conservative shul, I noticed bliss. It was so unexpected and fascinated me. Not induced bliss. The Torah scroll had been carried through the aisles and was handed to the lucky man who got to hold it for the duration of the haftarah. I saw bliss. For the first time ever. In the face of some average, colourless Jew who just sat there, cradling the Torah as if it were his child. No fireworks, no bells and whistles. Yet, pure bliss.

This is what I love about Conservative/traditional services- the quiet bliss, unobserved. Not a goal. In effect, a gift from G-d. G-d's favour. G-d shining his countenance. And a whole lot of passion and love. In most ways, restrained, internalised.

The psalms are fraught with chasing the dragon, in its most elemental form- pursuing the bliss. In this case, the bliss is the experience of cleaving to G-d. Most say that this is not possible, but in my experience it is. The Song of Songs is a perfect example of the love between God and human beings- the endless longing and desire to be together. So many dreams.

If you have ever stood before G-d and suddenly known yourself and your place in the cosmos, then you have experienced some kind of bliss. If you have received comfort or a feeling of well-being from prayer or the psalms, then you have known bliss. If you have felt G-d's presence then you have known bliss. If you have been touched by the kindness of a stranger, then you are no stranger to bliss.

My "chasing the dragon" consists mainly of wanting to be with sympatico Jews. To that end, I spent an hour's journey, mostly by hard-seated bus, to be with any Jews who were willing to daven on the second day of Rosh Hashana. I went nowhere yesterday. Renovation in the apartment above me and its brutal effects the entire last week pretty well laid me out flat mentally. The irony never ceases to amaze me- that I long for quiet contemplation and am surrounded by 'noisy abundance' (Hirsch) to the nth degree.

I wanted to the feel the grand solemnity of Rosh Hashana, the Day of Judgment. I wanted to chant the words with other Jews; it doesn't get any better than that. Yes, you can do it alone, but at this time of year, the Days of Awe, that small personal remembering and teshuvah somehow don't evoke shades of that smoking hot time at Sinai.

I had vacillated about today, whether to try a service at Chabad. Chabad in Los Angeles was my first, glorious experience of davenning High Holy Days and the passion and aliveness left an imprint, I think. The ad, here, seemed very welcoming and I didn't have to pay or be a member which is a whole other story. In addition, in desperate times, I really don't care about the mechitza- that issue is for the privileged.

I travelled on a bus that goes through the most desperate area of town- junkies, drunks, homeless, all over the streets, some stretched out, on the sidewalks sleeping; seedy hotels, squalor you can only imagine. For half the way my seat partner was a very stinky guy who clearly had not washed in a long time and slightly smelled of alcohol and tobacco. I fear bedbugs (which are actually rampant in my part of town). Other denizens looked hard, ashen and strung out.

I finally made it to Chabad and may I say that I thank G-d they had a store front window. The room was about the size of my very small living room, with about 5 men. There was no mechitza that I could see, and why should there be at this point? Five men, that's it, not even a minyan though of course Jews seem to forever live in Jewish Standard Time.

Disappointment. Huge. Heavy. Grave. Brain dragging disappointment.

Again.

Not to mention that I wore pantyhose and a dress! Which almost killed me.


What's new?

I could have stayed home and davenned instead of dealing with the noisome, loutish city, I thought. Do I score brownie points for making the effort, I thought.

The light sabers of ambivalence clash again.

All the while I am grateful to Chabad for providing the only other High Holy Day alternative besides Jewish Renewal. Somehow, they both rise higher in my estimation than all other streams because, in my opinion, in this case they are living Torah purely. Hello, membership/money junkies! You're missing the mark. You ought to be ashamed.

I chase the dragon. I never realised it until now that I have experienced bliss. But it's not true bliss without my fellow Jews, I find; the bliss gets amplified and just seems so much truer. I want, long, to be with other Jewish souls. And like the poets and psalmists have stated, once you have known bliss, you want to return. I think that is what teshuvah is all about- to return to that state of grace, that intimate cleaving to G-d. It's not really a high for it carries a serious price. And it seems to sometimes need other Jews to make it sublime.

I pretty well have lost all hope of ever having a normal Jewish life. It is ironic and sad. But there you are. G-d works in mysterious ways.

A belated Shana tova to my aggravating, mysterious and wonderful, lovely, storm tossed and most beloved sea of Jews.