Standing at the Burning Bush

We begin the great Turning, as the Solar Year wraps itself down in closing dusks and the Lunar Year opens to promises of ever-growing MoonLight. Time has never been linear – it circles in spirals, and endings are always also beginnings.

It is at the moments when Life miraculously turns to Death and Death miraculously turns to Life, those moments when the floor of Reality has been pulled out from under us and we find ourselves suspended in the Void, that we breathlessly reach out for something tangible, something Real, to grab hold of, to hang onto.

We are Here, Now. The Hebrew is Hinenu – Here We Are.

Last month, we learned from Rabbi Wayne, through Rabbi Burt Jacobson, through the magical Baal Shem Tov — that the only constant, the only Reality, is the Presence of the Divine. When we desperately fling out our arms, trying to catch hold of something meaningful out there — and come back empty-handed — Rabbi Wayne, in his beautifully poetic way, reminds us that I Am That I Am is not in the earthquake or the fire or the storm. We find the Voice of the Divine within, in the Quiet of the Heart.

Yet, in our Western Culture, we have been taught that survival depends upon looking outside and always scanning the horizon, in order to see coming danger before it can destroy. And to ensure their continued wealth and privilege, those in power (including out parents sometimes) have taught the rest of us to never listen to our hearts, to not trust our own knowing, and to take direction only from them. We have learned over the eons that we don’t have a right to our own Divine Connection, much less our own Divinity — because, of course, if we were Connected, we would step into our own Power and rise up.

And so in those sometimes rare moments of Connection, our first instinct is to doubt, to deny, to shut ourselves down, to turn away, to make the moment small, to pretend nothing was there, to forget about it.

Thank God, the Divine is more Powerful, more Present, more Intent, than our doubts.

Knowing this, what if we simply Surrender?

Hinenu! I remain so grateful for your continuing presence and support as we rise together.

Ellen, continuing the work of the Elijah Minyan

Prelude to

20 Minute Kabbalah

by Rabbi Wayne Dosick, PhD
published 2007, Waterside Publishing

Moses stood at the bush.
The bush burned, but it was not consumed.
And from out of the fire, Moses heard the ever-echoing Eternal Voice.

We, too, stand at the bush.
But, for us, it seems to be just a bush.
Where is the flicker? Where is the flame?
Where is the Voice calling out to us, enveloping us, summoning us?

Gently, we talk to the bush, asking for its light.
But, the bush does not burn.
We sing a song; we chant a wordless melody; we clap our hands, and dance, and spin around the bush, hoping that our fire will produce fire.
Yet, the bush does not burn.
“Please, God. You spoke to Moses. Now, speak to us. Speak to us out of the bush. Let us hear Your Voice. Tell us what You want from us; tell us how we can serve You. Show us our purpose, our mission.”
Silence.
Will we ever see the flame, bask in its glow, be warmed by its fire, illumined by its light? Will we ever hear the Voice? Will we ever be called?
More silence.

Maybe it is the wrong bush; maybe we are in the wrong place.
Or, maybe, it is the right bush, but, perhaps, bushes do not burn anymore. No flame. No Voice.
Or, maybe, we are the wrong people. Who are we to think that we can come to stand at the bush, yet less hear its Voice?
Or, maybe, it is all just one big story, one big fable, one big myth. There never was a bush. Moses never stood there. The Voice of God was never heard.
“Come on, God. If You are there, show YourSelf; prove YourSelf. Talk to us. At least make the bush burn.”

Silence.
Deep, empty silence.
So, we turn to leave.
But, wait.
We cannot go.
The bush will not let us go.
It grasps us in its grip; it holds us tightly in its sway.
The bush claims us.
We belong at the bush.
We belong to the bush.

And, so, we wonder:
Is there something that we are missing? Is there something that is eluding us? Are we, perhaps, like those “who have eyes, but do not see; who have ears, but do not hear”? Like those who hunger, but are not satiated; whose hearts seek, but have yet to find?
And, then.

And, then. At that very moment, in the silence, from the silence — from the collective unconscious? from the archetypes within? from God? — comes a soft, murmuring sound…a quiet, compelling whisper:
“Be still, and know that I Am.”
Ah.
Our deepest soul-memory stirs and awakens.
Now, we remember.
Now, we know.
The bush always burns;
The Voice always speaks
— if only we open our eyes;
if only we open our ears;
if only we open our hearts.

Silence.
This time, our silence.
The sweetest and most satisfying silence.
The grand silence of great and Eternal knowing.

The bush burns brightly.
We are enveloped in its warmth and bathed in its light.
Holy Sparks emanate from the Holy Presence.
We are breathing in the Divine.
And, like Moses of old, we take off our shoes, and surrender our souls.
For, we know that we are standing in a holy place.

A PRAYER
for