About a month ago, I attended a very powerful Goddess circle. Many of the women in attendance are well learned women, having studied and practiced their spiritual path for many years. The atmosphere as we sat outside under the moonlight was both serious and warm. As the fire in the middle of our circle of women curled it's orange and red hued flames upward into the night, we all closed our eyes and quieted our minds for a guided meditation.
I have, on a few blessed occasions during meditation, felt myself truly connected to the One of Holy Name. I have received messages while in this silent state of being that proved to be right on track; words of advice that, when heeded, have helped me tremendously toward a successful outcome during times of chrisis or emotional upheaval (or both). On this night, as I focused, eyes closed, on the third eye chakra, I heard a voice, gentle and soft but unmistakable. It was a voice that spoke to me through the reaches of my soul, and it told me that I would not indefinitely be able to walk both of the paths of spirituality that I've been trying to straddle. I breathed deeply, somewhat alarmed by this admonition of sorts. For years I've been attempting to do just this, unwilling to completely give up Judaism but equally unwilling to stop practicing elements of a Pagan lifestyle. I've told myself that I could do both, that paths to G-d were paths to G-d, all equal and recognized. As I've talked myself into this idea, I've encountered moments which seemed to contradict it, but I've forged ahead, unable to reconcile conflicting truths but not ready to face the fact that Judaism and Pagan beliefs do not really mesh well. The voice I heard in the dark that night came in a moment of unguarded quiet, and it seemed relevant to me. Try as I might, I found myself unable to dismiss it over the days that followed.
About three weeks after the Circle and this eye opening but spiritually troubling revelation, I found myself in the Hollywood Public Library. I'd visited there to pick up a book containing a collection on paranormal mysteries which I'd placed on hold earlier in the week. After locating said book on the hold shelf, I wandered across the library to browse (in spite of the promise I'd made to myself to borrow only one book-I don't have an abundance of time for reading these days). Sifting through various biographies and other books, I came upon Herman Wouk's "The Will to Live On- This is Our Heritage". Years ago, I'd read his book "This is My God" and enjoyed it. I love his writing style and had found this book to be informative as I'd plumbed the depths of my Jewish heritage. I believe this book helped spark a love affair with Judaism for me; after reading it I began reading books upon books on everything from Orthodox belief to Hasidic teachings to Reform belief. I have been unable to put "The Will..." down, so much has it been revealing answers to me that I very much need at this point in time. I will add here that a few days before I found this book, I posed yet another request to G-d, advising that if I could find our mezzuzah (missing since our move three years ago) that would be proof enough that I was supposed to be following a Jewish path. As I posed this request I knew I would not receive an answer in this way; G-d doesn't always operate along our guidelines and is not there to perform tricks for us. Still, an answer did come. As is often the case, my eyes needed to be open to the response in whatever form it was to be delivered in.
In this book, Mr. Wouk, a learned scholar, accomplished writer and devout Jew, talks about our Jewish history, as well as our place in the world- where we've been and where we might be headed. This morning as I was reading the book alongside a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, I came across a passage which really hit home. The author talks about a period in his life when he was living a fairly carefree lifestyle, studying the atheistic words of Nietzsche, the ideas of Immanuel Kant, and writing comedy routines for radio shows. He was also studying Talmud with his grandfather, practicing Judaism, and balancing both sides of his life with a reasonable amount of success. He writes that he "did not anticipate that the parallel lines would ever meet in a wild shower of conscience", that these two lifestyles ran "along parellel tracks in" his mind. He says that the inconsistencies and contradictions between them didn't bother him too much at the time. I can relate to this. The problem (?) is that now, as happened to Mr. Wouk, I find myself in a hailstorm of sparks, such that the contradictions can no longer be ignored, the inconsistencies no longer stuffed into a box and squirreled away into a darkened corner of my mind for future analysis.
And so the beginnings of answers come, not always the way we'd like them to, in small, pretty packages, but instead in complicated, tangled bundles. I look forward to slowly unravelling this one, sure that more surprises and revelations lie ahead.
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