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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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