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Section 2 of “Shekhinah: The Presence” by Joseph Zitt
This is an unedited scan of the text, courtesy of Josh Ronsen
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There in the dreamworld
the distant spheres
the world whose name
is formed before our eyes
by the letters that float there
when we shade them
when we shut them
when we turn our souls
toward the outside within
in creation
in meditation
in prayer
we crouch
close to the ground
absorbing magic from the earth
as we slide along the water
across, along, above each other,
our simply being near each other
blending spirits,
like a remote caress
as we slide along the water
from the darkness into the light
as we emerge
and we brush against the rushes
as we roll, roll along the banks
seeing each other,
the water,
each other,
the sky
the black of the riverbed,
the black of the night,
the white of the foam,
the white of the clouds,
the blue of the water,
the blue of the day,
the black then blue then white
of expanding circles
in each others eyes,
as if our world were woven from
the strands of the prayer shawl
of an unseen mystic
Here in the prayer hall
we speak our words
just loudly enough
to be sure that
we have spoken them correctly,
now pausing for breath
stand and rock slightly
to the unmetered rhythms
of our long-prescribed speech,
speak words of praise to the one
who designed our bodies
and sculpted our souls
who created the animals,
earth, and the air.
for giving us the duty of prayer,
for giving us what freedom we have,
for giving us the sight
and clothes
and guidance
and strength
for giving us the knowledge
of good from evil
of love from hate
of the world of dreams
from the world of law
as we slide along the water
a basket, a raft,
a small padded platform
on which rests a girlchild
asleep, silent,
newly formed
from the dreams of the creator
a token on his presence
her hair trailing in the water
like the light from the tail of a comet
on her face the gentle smile
of one who has only known heaven
her limbs unmoving
yet speaking in their stillness
of the potential energy of joy
waiting for her wakening
as we slide along the water
summoned toward the doorway
in the pillar of smoke
to which the water flows
summoned by the voices
of those who praise
our common creator
in ancient words of
hidden power
summoned toward the doorway
to which
at the end of days,
all doors will lead
and we read the prescribed sections
of the books of the Bible
of the books of law
of the books of the secrets
of our creation
of how Abraham was called
to throw away his only son
(as if Ishmael,
not yet lost in the wilderness,
somehow didnt count)
of how Sarah stopped laughing
when she feared the death of her child,
of how the creator called it off
when he saw that Abraham would obey,
of how Abraham,
seeing his child allowed to live
knew he had found a god
that he could follow
listening to the voices
proclaiming the creator
we slide forward to the door
of how Moses was commanded
how one must prepare
to approach the altar of sacrifice
of how Aaron was told
what he must kill,
and where and when,
of how they prepare the fragrances
to rise into the air
we approach the pillar
and in the margins
between shadow and smoke
we slide our child onward
of how our teachers fondly described
in minute detail the Temple laws
of how they prayed
when the Temple was gone
and there was no home for sacrifices
of how they replaced
fire with learning
slaughter with prayer
the Temple with the hall of worship
and bidding farewell
to the water
for the moment
we drift into the doorway
to the voices
to the world that awaits outside
far from the heaven
far from dreams
of how we now determine
the workings of the law
and yet we pray we may return
to the Temple
to the sacrifices
to the vivid rituals
that would speak more clearly
and yet we praise the one
who placed us where we are today:
Glorified, sanctified is the great name!
Glorified, sanctified is the great name!
The voices, in the holiest of prayers,
pull us onward through
the doorway that divides
the temporary
from the infinite
the light of love
from the light of day
the distances
between hand and hand
from the nearness
of soul to soul
Glorified, sanctified is the great name!
into the solid
onto the dry land
into what those who dare not dream
call the real world
as we pass through the door
our transitions unseen
by those who clothe their souls in earth
we take on temporary flesh
and moving
to their voices
by the creators will
we emerge.
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