Pure Spirit Creations

This blog has Moved! Vist Me at WordPress or at www.purespiritcreations.com

2008-09-18T12:13:00.001-07:00

This blog has moved to WordPress and is hosted on my website, www.purespiritcreations.com. To access the most recent posts or posts made since July, go to http://purespiritcreations.com/wordpress/.

See you there!

Living in the Unknown Zone

2008-07-15T23:26:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the long delay in posting. My website has been under construction, and we've had some trouble not only moving this blog but also converting it and all the old posts to Wordpress. We should be up and running on a regular basis again soon.

While my web master and I have been struggling with an unknown problem that has stopped me from being able to import all my Blogger posts to Wordpress -- and I surely don't want to leave all those old posts behind, I've also been struggling with the unknown in terms of my son. My last post was about him as well. Only then, we were getting his little light to shine. Now his light is dim again, but this time because he has been sick with an unknown illness. First we thought it was viral...then bacterial...then viral...then bacterial...then viral...now bacterial again. He went to camp -- his favorite thing in all the world besides dancing -- only to have to come home after 8 days and 3 days in the infirmary. He was home for 8 days, one of which was spent in the hospital. We even had a moment or more of thinking he might need surgery. Then, suddenly he was back at camp and seemed fine. Six days later, he was back home and sick again.

He rises with no fever. Then his temperature goes up. His eyes are red. His hands and feet have peeled. He has had pain in his hip. He has had a cough -- it came, it went, it came again. We've seen an orthopedic doctor. We've seen an infectious disease specialist. It's a mystery. We've done blood work, x-rays, MRIs. Nothing...well, a little anemia...then that was gone. A little problem with his kidneys...nothing to worry about. A little something called rickettsia, but we were told that wasn't the problem. Now he's being treated for microplasma with an antibiotic. His cough is better; his fever is higher.

As a mother, I spend my days and nights worried. I'm living in the unknown zone. It's unknown, because I've never been here before. It's unknown, because we don't know what my son has. It's unknown, because from day to day we don't know what my son's symptoms will be like.

And all I want is for my child to be healthy. I wanted him to go back to camp and enjoy his time there. He did. He came back sick. Now I want him healthy so he can start dancing again. I want him to be able to let his light shine. I want him to be okay...healthy, vibrant, able to do whatever he wants.

My sister has a daughter who has been ill since she was 11. She's 24 years old. They have diagnosed her with all sorts of ailments and diseases. No one has found the original source of her problems. No I understand what my sister and my niece have been going through. They have been living in the unknown zone for 13 years. I don't know how they have stood it.

I hate not knowing. And at times like these, although I pray, I have a hard time trusting. Fear finds a way to wiggle in to my mind and heart. And then I worry. I hate to worry. Worry does no good and creates no good. I try to be positive, to create with my thoughts, to do all I can to manifest answers and healing. But not knowing is so very difficult.

So, I can only see this time here in the unknown zone as a lesson in patience and trust. I have to trust the doctor to figure out what is wrong with my son. I have to trust that all of this has happened for a reason, including my son missing camp. I have to trust that not knowing right now in this moment is okay. I have to trust that soon I will know...that answers will come. I have to trust God...and not lose my faith.

This Little Light of Mine...Let it Shine.

2008-06-27T11:01:00.000-07:00

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine." Do you remember that song?

I was thinking about it last night and told my son that he needed to sing it every day as his theme song. We've been talking about when he let his "light become dim." He's my dancer, and he used to get on stage and shine so brightly you couldn't take your eyes off of him. Then something happened, and he turned the dimmer switch. Maybe it's a developmental stage or maybe he was trying too hard to fit in at school -- to be like everyone else despite the fact that he is so different. In any case, something caused his light to dim, and now he's finding the dimmer switch kind of stuck. He's working on loosening it up and getting his light to brighten up a bit again.

Have you ever felt like that, like you've dimmed your light for some reason? I surely have. Sometimes I think I've dimmed mine to not outshine my husband. Sometimes I think I've dimmed it simply so people won't see the real me and, like my son, think I different and, therefore, not like me. Sometimes I think I turn my light off rather than be seen, because it's easier to remain hidden in the dark than to shine my light and be seen and to be judged -- to have someone say I'm not good enough.

There are lots of reasons to dim our lights. I'm tired of having my dimmer switch on. In fact, I think I'll tear mine out and put in a simple on/off switch. I'm going to suggest that to my son, too. What about you?

Then I think I'll get some good ol' Duck Tape and make sure my switch is taped into the "on" position.

You know why? Because it's time for this little light of mine to shine...and I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

If you all join me, imagine what a bright world this would be.

I'm Back wtih Post Shavuot Thoughts

2008-06-12T14:59:00.000-07:00

After more than a one month absence, I’m back…sort of. I feel a bit like I’m only half here, since my life seems just a bit crazy still. You see, while I teach people how to live life fully, mine has just a bit over full lately and totally unbalanced. I admit it; all I’ve been doing is working.

Since I last blogged, I’ve reorganized and republished my Kabbalah of Conscious Creation booklet. I’ve prepared for a trip to Chicago, where I gave two talks and led one workshop. While there I did manage to visit two friends, whom I stayed with and another woman I knew and whose horses I used to ride. (I visited my favorite horse, too.) I also recorded a CD of meditations. I came back home to finish writing a book proposal and two articles and to finish helping my new webmaster totally redesign my website. And there have been small projects interspersed within these bigger ones.

My husband has also been traveling – even while I was in Chicago – and my kids have gotten sick (me, too), and my son has graduated from middle school, and we’ve had a huge wildfire near our house, and we’ve had some yard work done. The house, as you might imagine, is a mess inside and out. Thank goodness, my husband is still working at his new, new job, as I like to call it (the one he accepted after he accepted and the resigned from the other new job), so I can finally hire my every-other-week housekeeper to come back and help me clean up the mess inside the house.

All this to say, I’m sorry for disappearing for a month, but something had to go. The blog turned out to be that something. But now I’m back. But…

I missed Shavuot, the holiday when we celebrate receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai. I was hoping to get around to writing this blog on Monday so I could say something about the holiday, but now it’s past. With my book, The Kabbalah of Conscious Creation about receiving as well as giving, it seemed appropriate.

Instead, I received information to help me open to receiving on Monday. That seemed appropriate. I had a session with a woman who is clairvoyant and does energy work from a distance. She helped me clear some old issues that were blocking me. Interestingly, it took me back to a past life with an old boyfriend. (Hi, Eddie…) Who would have thought not being chosen in this life time would relate to being chosen in another? Or that either of these incidents would some how be affecting my ability to have my work chosen by a publisher? Well, according to this woman, it was all energetically tied together. And in the process of going back over my teenage years and my relationship with this young man, I received an understanding that previously had evaded me. I received an understanding I didn’t even know I needed to have.

I also let go of a piece of my past, making room for something new to enter – a little bit of future.

And, interestingly, this information I received did tie in to Shavuot. For on that day when the Israelites were given the Torah, they truly became the so-called Chosen People, entering into a covenant with God. And as I was told, I, too, on this awesome holiday, was asking to be chosen, opening myself up to being chosen, and allowing my work to be chosen.

My book, which I released in its proposal form to my agent after my session that afternoon so some publisher might choose it and me, will offer readers a way to open to receiving. In fact, it also offers me a way of opening to receiving. And in my session, I was reminded that sometimes we have to open our hands (stop controlling) in order to receive. And sometimes we have to let what is in our hands go so that something else we want can be placed there instead.

So, I guess in a kind of round about way I’m writing about Shavuot after all. I’ve rambled a bit here and there, wandered like the Israelites in the desert, but I think I feel I’ve gotten clarity in the last month and begun to see my path a bit more clearly. After finishing the proposal, I see where I am going with my book project. I see my work clearly. On another front, I see the need for balance in my life clearly. I know where I’m going. I’ve received helpful information, and I’m open to receiving more. I’m also ready to be chosen for the task I desire to take on.

They say that all Jewish souls in existence today were at Mt. Sinai when the Israelites were given the Torah. Maybe that’s why this feeling feels so familiar.

Israeli Independence Day -- A Four Worlds Approach

2008-05-08T13:17:00.000-07:00

Today, Israel turns 60! My father helped her gain her independence, serving first in the British army as an officer and later in the first Israeli army. In fact, my maiden name, and the name I use for business (Amir) was a name he selected just after Israel's independence was declared and the officers of that first Israeli army were asked to take on Israel, rather than European, names. (His name was actually Rottman.) My mother also served in the Israeli army. My sister was born a Sabra in an Independent Israel. Besides my immediate family -- two sisters and my mother -- the rest of my family lives in Israel. So, I feel almost (not quite) as connected to this day almost as Israelis themselves.

My wish for Israel on this, her 60th birthday, is that she find peace. In light of that wish, I offer my interpretation of the most important Jewish prayer, the Sh'ma. "Sh'ma" means "listen" or "Hear."

Listen and hear, all of you who struggle to understand how we are all connected to the same God: The spark of God within you (and in others) and the flame of God that is all around you and in everything, it all comes from and returns to the same fire of God -- the original Source, one and the same.

May Israel today be blessed that all her people -- Jew and Arab alike -- reacha place of peaceful understanding and cohabitation despite differences of opinion and religious belief.

Additionally, in 2003, I wrote an anothology piece for Living Words V, A Source Book on Israel in a Time of Struggle, which was published by Sh'ma. I'd like to offer you a bit of that essay, which was meant to offer people a way to celebrate Israeli Independance Day, Yom Ha'Atzmaut, as a spiritual as well as a secular holiday. Maybe you'll find some of it useful today.

I created a “four worlds approach” to observing Yom Ha’Atzmaut, and each year I now invited friends over to observe the holiday with me in this manner. Beginning with Assiya, the world of doing, we select a charity that helps Israel. We place our contributions into a tzedakkah can and the money is later sent to that charity.

Combining this with B'riah, the world of thinking, we acknowledge that the Messianic Age has not yet come and discuss Israel current situation. We brainstorm solutions and action plans for peace.

We then move on to Yetzirah, the world of emotion, acknowledging our feelings about Israel, peace, God, and miracles. Some people bring articles, poems or essays on these subjects to read to the group.

Each guest brings to the celebration something that reminds them of Israel, such as a tallit purchased in Jerusalem or a piece of Israeli jewelry, and explains to the group why it connects them to Israel.

Afterward we join hands, close our eyes and move into Atzilut, the world of being and Divine connection, praying together: “Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu, ruach ha olam, Blessed are you God, our God, Spirit of the Universe, who gave us the Holy Land, Israel, home of our ancestors, home of all Jews even those residing outside its borders. Bless the state of Israel, the land of Israel, the people of Israel. May its borders know peace, its inhabitants tranquillity, and may the faith in our religion, the bonds of our shared heritage, and the wisdom of our tradition unite all Jews and become a source of light, strength and peace for all the world.”

We each offer our own blessings for Israel and the Jewish people. “Yevarech’ekha, may you, Israel be blessed with ____,” completing the prayer individually.

This done, we continue with a meditation: Remember the miracle of this day. The small, tired, ill-armed Jewish army defending its new homeland…and winning despite the odds. God gave the soldiers strength. Think of a time when you experienced a miracle…Think of a time when you felt God’s presence in your life...

Imagine yourself as a Jewish exile returning to Israel. How does it feel to know you always can come home to Israel? How does it feel to know a prophecy has been fulfilled…to be one step closer to the Messianic Age? Feel your hope for and faith in the promise of peace. Feel peace within yourself…Feel it radiating outward as you and God co-create peace…

We end by reciting, “Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu ruach ha-olam, shehasa nisim la-avoteinu ul'imoteinu bayamim haheim ba-z’man hazeh. We praise you, Eternal God, Spirit of the universe. You showed wonders to and performed miracles for our fathers and mothers in days of old at this season.”

I conclude my Yom Ha’Atzmaut observance with a seudat mitzvah, a ritual meal, consisting of Israeli produce, foods, flowers, and wines. Afterward, my guests and I enjoy Israeli songs and dances.

Thus, my kavanah, my intention, of observing Israel’s Independence Day in a meaning-full and spirit-full manner is realized. Now, each year I celebrate Yom Ha’Atzmaut not only as a commemoration of a secularly significant event but as a religiously and spiritually significant one as well.

Happy Birthday, Yisrael!

Affirmations of Action and My Response Column

2008-05-06T18:48:00.000-07:00

Back in the days when I was training to become a rebirther and was enrolled in a variety of workshops and classes offered the Loving Relationships Training, which is still run by Sondra Ray, I learned about something called my "response column."

Typically, when writing affirmations -- you know, those positive statements meant to help create change in yourself on a subconscious level -- we would include one column on the page for the affirmation itself and then another column for our "response" to the affirmation. That response represented the first thought we had to the positive statement we had just written.

For example, if I wrote the affirmation, "I, Nina, now experience perfect health," in my response column I might write, "But I have a headache." I would then write the affirmation again, and my response might then be, "Yeah, right, that's why I get at least three colds every year." You get the idea.

Why bother with a response column? It might seem that, contrary to the point of the exercise, instead of focusing on the positive you're actually focusing on the negative thoughts. Actually, by using affirmations with a response column, you allow your negative thoughts to surface. You acknowledge them and continue with the affirmation, effectively replacing the negative thoughts with the positive ones until eventually -- after days, weeks, sometimes months -- your response column begins to fill with positive responses, like, "Yes, that's true," and "I do, indeed, enjoy perfect health."

Sometimes, however, when we are making changes in our lives or doing things that push the envelop of that with which we feel comfortable, the world around us becomes our response column. Lately, that's been the case for me.

Recently, I pushed forward with a project of mine and managed to convince my literary agent to take on my Kabbalah of Conscious Creation book. As my literary agent left for New York City last Friday morning to begin a month of meeting with editors at publishing houses that will conclude with a trip to Los Angeles to attend the Book Expo America, where he will meet with more editors and publishers for several days, the possibility of my dream becoming a reality took hold. My positive action -- my affirmation of action, as Stuart Wilde likes to call it, began to develop a response column. The world began to bring me evidence of my negative thoughts. You see, although I want my book to be published, having it out in the world in a big way (and me with it) brings up some fear, especially given the book's topic -- generally speaking, it's about the Law of Attraction from a Jewish mystical perspective.

Every day I affirm through my actions that this book will be written with integrity and honesty and my highest desire to serve. Yet, in response, what have I most recently received? First, I received a package of articles written and published in newspapers and magazines by a rabbi adamantly opposed to the type of book I'm proposing to write. I'll just mention that I received these articles from him because a friend suggest that I write to him and ask to speak at his synagogue. He didn't get past the one topic related to my book (I have lots more) before he sent me a somewhat nasty email and then these articles, which discussed how horrible it is for unknowledgeable New Agey people (Like me?) to write about "energy" Kabbalah (Is that what I'm doing?). Needless to say, he declined to have me speak to his congregation.

I also received an article sent to my by my agent and published in the New York Times Magazine, which was written by someone who went to the Kabbalah Center and had some not so nice (and some nice) things to say about it's brand of Judaism and Jewish mysticism. (Most people I know and respect don't have anything good to say about the Center either...) I've never been there, but I admit I have some of their books. My feelings about them are mixed.

And I'm left staring at my response column -- It even shown up in written form! -- and wondering what to do with it. Well, actually, I know what to do with it. I will acknowledge that what has appeared simply represents my negative thoughts ("I'll be judged for my beliefs and thoughts." "Those I respect will judge me negatively." "People won't like me for who I am and what I believe and what I write.") And I'll continue making affirmations of action. I'll continue writing and moving forward with this project.

Today, I reorganized my booklet on the same subject and contacted another expert to ask for help. Yesterday, I worked a little on my book proposal. I've decided to write an introduction addressing some of these issues to put them out in the open. Soon, you'll see a new blog, which I've been creating, on the subject of the book and with the same title, The Kabbalah of Conscious Creation.

And you know what? Just before I finished this blog, I checked in on a Beliefnet forum (Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism) to see if anyone had commented on something I'd written there. Lo and behold, someone told me they thought the work I was doing was wonderful! A positive response from the universe...

I guess that response column exercise worked well. It only took about a week to clear out the negative thoughts and to replace them with positive ones!

A Month Packed with Holidays: Lag B’Omer and Shavuot

2008-05-02T11:01:00.000-07:00

Two important Jewish holidays fall during the month of May: Lag b’Omer and Shavuot. However, the first is often overlooked by less observant Jews – and it is little understood by many. Maybe because many have found it hard to figure out what it’s really about.

I like the first holiday, Lag b'Omer, probably because it has a Kabbalistic bent and her in California my renewal group celebrates it with a bonfire on the beach and lots of drumming and singing and dancing. Most commonly, we are told that Lag b’Omer, which is celebrated this year on May 23, joyously commemorates great sage and mystic Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s yahrzeit (anniversary of his passing). Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, who lived in the 2nd century of the Common Era, was the first to publicly teach the mystical dimension of the Torah known as the "Kabbalah," and is proportedly theauthor of the basic work of Kabbalah, the Zohar.

Why would we celebrate his death with festivities? On the day of his passing, after revealing many deep secrets of the Torah to his students, Rabbi Shimon instructed his disciples to mark the date as "the day of my joy." Also, the Chassidic masters explain that the final day of a righteous person's earthly life marks the point at which "all his deeds, teachings and work" achieve their culminating perfection and the zenith of their impact upon our lives. So, each Lag b’Omer we celebrate Rabbi Shimon's life, teachings and the influence they have had on so many people.

Many of those who live in Israel may visit Rabbi Shimon’s resting place in Miron on this, the 33rd day of the Counting of the Omer. According to the Torah (Vayikra, Parshat Emor, 23:15-16), we are obligated to count the days from the second night of Pesach to the day before Shavuot, seven full weeks. These 49 days represent the 49 days of preparation from the exodus from Egypt the receiving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai on the seventh day of Sivan. The Counting of the Omer is a lovely yearly tradition that takes you from Passover to Shavuot in a Kabbalistic, spiritual and deeply personal manner.

I like what Rachel Barenblatt, “The Velveteen Rabbi” (check out her blog at www.velveteenrabbi.com) has to say about it: “Literally, the name means "the 33rd day of the Omer." -- remember, "counting the Omer" means counting the 49 days between Pesach and Shavuot. Once upon a time, we counted the days between spring planting and spring harvest. More recently, we think in terms of counting the days between liberation and revelation, because we understand freedom not only as freedom-from but also freedom-toward.”

Other people celebrate the holiday with outings, bonfires and bows and arrows. Why a bonfire? The bonfire signifies the great light that came into the world with Rabbi Shimon. Additionally, the Zohar says that on the day Rabbi Shimon died, a great light of endless joy filled the day because of the secret wisdom he revealed to his students. That secret wisdom was recorded in the Zohar. The sun did not set until Rabbi Shimon had revealed all he was allowed to reveal, and as soon as he was finished, the sun set and he died. Supposedly a fire surrounded the house preventing any but Rabbi Shimon's closest students from approaching; this serves as another basis for the custom of lighting bonfires on Lag b'Omer.

As for the bows and arrows, some say that relates back to a plague that occurred during the Counting of the Omer. Supposedly, Lag b’Omer also commemorates the end of a plague that raged amongst the disciples of the great sage Rabbi Akiva "because they did not act respectfully towards each other" during the weeks between Passover and Shavuot. This time period, therefore, is observed as a period of mourning, with various joyous activities proscribed by law and custom. However, on Lag b’Omer, the dying ceased. That might be why children observe Lag b'Omer by playing with bows and arrows, a way of remembering the students who fought amongst themselves. (Rabbi Shimon was one of Rabbi Akiva's students who survived the plague.)

Barenblatt tells a different story: “Some say that what [Lag b’Omer is] really about is, Rabbi Akiva supported the Bar Kokhba revolt against Roman occupation. Many of his students followed him in supporting that revolt, and were killed. The so-called "plague" which ended on Lag b'Omer is a euphemism for the ill-fated rebellion. (In that case, kids play with bows and arrows as a symbolic re-enactment of the fight against Roman oppression.)”

Lastly, some people say that the manna which fell from heaven during the Israelites' wanderings in the desert began to fall on the 18th of Iyar, which is the 33rd day of the Omer, so maybe Lag b’Omer celebrates that.

This brings us to Shavuot, which falls on May 29 this year, the second of the three major festivals (Passover being the first and Sukkot the third). This holiday occurs exactly 50 days after the second day of Passover and marks the anniversary of the day when the Jews received the Torah at Mount Sinai.

The word "Shavuot" means "weeks." It marks the completion of the seven-week counting period – the Counting of the Omer – between Passover and Shavuot. During these seven weeks the Jewish people cleansed themselves of the scars of Egyptian slavery and became a holy nation ready to enter into an eternal covenant with God with the giving of the Torah. Every year on the holiday of Shavuot, Jews reenact this historic moment. God re-gives the Torah, and Jews lovingly reaccept it and reenter into their covenant with God.

I like thinking of Moses also receiving the oral mystical teachings of the Kabbalah on that day. All the wisdom inherent in Judaism was revealed on that mountain, and we are told that all the souls of all the Jews then and now were present at that time. What an awesome vision.

Starting a Spiritual Practice in a Practical, Sustainable Manner

2008-04-24T12:08:00.000-07:00

I recently subscribed to a blog written by a friend of mine, Arthur Kurzweil, an author, geneologist and magician. The blog, called "Let My People Know," which offers "Essential Steinsaltz," or daily teachings from Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, author of one of my favorite books on Kabbalah, The Thirteen Petaled Rose, and modern Talmud commentator. Arthur has been a student of Rabbi Steinsaltz' for many years and even recently wrote a book about his travels with him, called On the Road with Rebbe Steinsaltz, which is a fun and educational read.

In today's blog post Arthur mentions that he has been corresponding with a man who wants to become "more Jewishly involved." He then offers a teaching from one of Rabbi Steinsaltz' books that talks about the fact that we can take on one or two practices to begin our spiritual practice; we don't have to do all the mitzvot, or commandments, at once. I was struck by this posting, because much of my writing and teaching stresses the same point.

In fact, my booklet, The Priestess Practice, 4 Steps to Creating Sacred Space and Inviting the Divine to Dwell Within It, discusses taking on Shabbat (Sabbath) candle lighting, which happens just once a week -- on Friday night -- as a spiritual practice. I've recently written an essay for an anthology on Shabbat candle lighting that takes the same angle.

When we get overwhelmed by feeling that we have to do too much or spend too much time on religious or spiritual practices to be religiously observant or to lead a spiritual life, many of us end up not doing anything at all. We simply say, "Why bother? If I can't do it all, there's no reason to do anything."

That's why I recommend practical spiritual practices. Short, sweet, easy prayers, blessings and rituals. These are things you can do all day long without really taking up too much time but that constantly remind you of God and connect you to the Divine. These types of spiritual practices are not only doable but sustainable. And that's the point. We want to be able to sustain our spiritual and religous practice. Not to start, become overwhelmed and stop.

Anyone, Jew or non-Jew can find such religious or spiritual practices to put to use in their daily life. However, if you are Jewish, Judaism is replete with many mitzvot and traditional practices that fit the bill.

Practical spiritual Jewish practices include saying the traditional morning blessings when you wake up in the morning, saying the blessing for washing hands, kissing the mezuzzah when you enter or leave your home, and saying the Sh'ma when you go to sleep.

Lighting Shabbat candles on Friday nights, a weekly rather than a daily spiritual practice, offers you a chance to take more time and to create a sacred space, invite the Divine Presence into that sanctuary and to little by little extend your practice into a larger and longer one -- the full 25 hours of Shabbat. However, you don't have to do that. If you have no desire to take on all of Shabbat as a spiritual practice, you simply can light the candles each week as an additional ritual during which you can use the prayers and observance as one more way to deepen your Jewish spiritual life.

You get the idea. Little spiritual practices all day long. Longer ones when you feel ready to commit to them.

Anyway, in case you'd like to see what Arthur wrote and to also read the excerpt he provided from one of Rabbi Steinsaltz' books, I've copied today's posting below. You can find "Let My People Know" and subscribe to it yourself at: http://essentialsteinsaltz.blogspot.com/. You an find out more about Arthur and Rabbi Steinsaltz on Arthur's website, www.arthurkurzweil.com. Tell Arthur I sent you!

"The Caterpillar Does Not Become a Butterfly in a Single Act"
Recently I’ve been in email correspondence with a young man who has asked me to help him in his process of becoming more involved Jewishly.
Today I found myself insisting that he track down and read Rabbi Steinsaltz’s extraordinary book Teshuvah: A Guide for the Newly Observant Jew.
My suggestion prompted me to go back and reread one of the most important chapters in the book for me personally, “All or Nothing: The False Dilemma.”
In that chapter Rabbi Steinsaltz writes:
"All or Nothing: The False Dilemma"
A person who, through neglect, develops a malady in one part of his body, need not, for the sake of consistency, neglect the other parts as well.
So it is with the mitzvot.
The question of “all or nothing” is also invalid from a human, personal point of view.
Though the ba’al teshuvah may wish to see himself as one reborn and to begin his spiritual life with a sense of wholeness, it is important for him to recognize that even in spiritual rebirth it is not possible to take on everything at once.
The people of Israel, in accepting the Torah, did not receive it all at one time. Rather, the process was a protracted one, from the early preparatory stage of the seven Noahide laws to the acceptance of additional mitzvot in Egypt, at Marah, and at Sinai, to the full revelation there that followed.
Similarly, a child raised to be an observant Jew takes upon itself the full yoke of the mitzvot only after long preparation; years of training and the gradual, step-by-step assumption of responsibility according to its intellectual readiness and practical capacity.The essential point is that living beings do not undergo sudden, complete transformations.
The caterpillar does not become a butterfly in a single act but as a result of a gradual process, governed by certain laws.
Within this process there appears to be a series of jumps between distinct stages, and these the ba’al teshuvah also must make from time to time.
But these transitions, too, are neither as quick nor as sharp as they appear.

--Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
From Teshuvah: A Guide for the Newly Observant Jew, “All or Nothing: The False Dilemma,” pp. 18-19

From Lack to Abundance in One Fell Swoop

2008-04-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

I've been mulling over how one can seemly go from lack to abundance in one fell swoop. Maybe it's simply a mindset, though, a change in perspective.

My husband felt the lack of a job so profoundly for the four and a half months he was unemployed. He also felt the lack of any job opportunities. Then he landed a job. What do you think happened the following week? Not only did he receive several calls from head hunters and recruiters about possible job opportunities, but he also received a call from a former boss with a really great opportunity, which he is actually looking into despite the fact that he's just begun work.

Plus, whereas his dabbling in start up companies so far hasn't gotten him very far financially, the one he's gone to work for suddenly has some great deals in the works that might mean a fast sale. The other possible job could mean working for quick turn arounds, which means quick money as well.

There's abundance every where my husband looks if he opens his eyes to see it. He just needs to figure out how to take personal advantage of the abundance of opportunities and the abundance in general.

As for me, I have an abundance of viable book ideas. Actually, I have an overabundance of viable book ideas. The lack I have comes in the form of time to produce them and a perceived lack that there are no publishers to purchase my books. I say perceived, because some of the ideas have been turned down by large publishing houses and there are only so many small houses that cater to my niche. However, it is perceived...not real.

I need to figure out how to take personal advantage of the abundance of my ideas. I need to figure out how to make an abundance of time as well so I can write the books. I need to find an abundance of publishers, or at least just enough publishers, to buy my books -- and to pay me for those books.

In both cases, my husband's and my own, we need to be open to receiving all this abundance. We need to develop large containers to hold all the wonderful opportunities available to us.

How do we do that? First, (in light of Passover) by freeing ourselves from our perceived restrictions. We have to stop saying "I can't, I shouldn't, I won't, and I'm afraid." We begin, instead, reciting the words sung by Rabbi Gila Rayzel Raphael last night at the Chadeish Yameinu community seder I attended. We all sang together: "I will, I can, I know I should."

It is possible to do what we want and to have what we desire. We simply have to want it badly enough and be willing to change the perceptions that we can't have them, can't achieve it, aren't good enough, don't have the ability, aren't worthy. We have to want these things badly enough to move forward no matter what.

In my husband's case, he has to keep moving forward with the interviews despite the fact that he accepted a job, especially since the job culture where we live and in his industry is one of constant flux. And he has to believe he can create a situation in which he can take on situation all the way to fruition and then do the same with the next.

In my case, I have to believe that I can make time to write all my books and find publishers for them all and make money in the process. I have to then set out to do exactly that. I have to actually make the time, write the books and submit them (or have my agent do so). It's that simple.

Another way to increase the size and strength of our container and to open ourselves to receiving more abundance lies in giving. For me, that's easy. My writing involves giving to others. For my husband, he has to see that what he does is a way to give not only to employers but to those who use the end product of what the company manufactures. In addition, we can give in other ways, such as through tithing, charity work or anything that constitutes tikkun olam (healing the world).

Abundance is all around us. Lack is mostly in our minds. I'm not negating the fact that some people do, indeed, live in lack; their are people who don't have enough money to put food on the table or a roof over their head. Yet, the universe itself is abundant. With a little ingenuity and perseverance almost anyone that isn't too handicapped to take action can find a way to create abundance.

As Rebbe Nachman said, "Remember: Things can go from the very worst to the very best…
in just the blink of an eye." It's all in how we see things.

Living Fully and Weight Loss

2008-04-15T22:31:00.000-07:00

Someone recently told me about a web site with a name quite similar to my Living Fully Challenge, 12 Months to a Fully-Lived Life, so I had to go check it out. The web site, www.livingfully.com, seems to be primarily about weight loss. However, it's got lots of great resources for weight loss if you are interested and if you feel that losing weight will help you live your life more fully. Of course, health and wellness and fitness are indeed part of the Living Fully program, and I, for one, could use to lose a few pounds and get in better shape myself.

I have to admit that perimenopause hasn't been good to me in the weight department, and my work load has kept me from exercising regularly. I used to cycle at least 4-6 times per week, but I'm lucky to go once a week these days. I do try to walk at least once or twice a week, but that's really not much, and sometimes I forgo the walks for work as well. Lately, I haven't cycled because my wrists have been bothering me. I was afraid it was carpal tunnel syndrome setting in, but my doc says its "overuse." So, I need to take breaks and at least walk. Cycling might not be the best thing for my wrists. And in the process of exercising a bit more, I might drop a few pounds -- and live my life a bit more fully to boot!

Anyway, I thought you might enjoy the LivingFully.com principles. They are right up the same alley as those I talk about in the Living Fully Challenge, so I thought I'd share them with you. I couldn't copy them here, but you can access them by going to http://www.livingfully.com/10_Living_Fully_Principal.pdf.

Also, I've been listening to some great shows on Conversations with Ms. Claus (www.thefamilyyak.com). I know she has me on her pod cast once a month now, but she's got some pretty awesome guest these days besides me -- and they don't all talk about Christmas either. (You know I don't...well, I do talk about Christmas and Chanukah and Easter and Passover and Valentine's Day and the High Holy Days...and all the holidays!) These guest talk about relationships, the Law of Attraction, laughter, and so many other things. And they always offer great tips for living our lives more fully and more positively. So, if you haven't subscribed to Conversations with Ms. Claus yet, I suggest you do so now and start downloading her pod casts to your Ipod and listening while you drive or exercise (!) or work. Plus, you won't want to miss some of the guest she'll be interviewing in the coming months. I can't tell you who they are, but they've written some super books and you'll definitely recognize their names.

I know this blog was a bit like a commercial. Sorry, but I really hope you will enjoy the information and find it useful.

Of Narrow Places and Miracles...Using the Energy of Passover

2008-04-12T17:14:00.000-07:00

I've been living in a few narrow places. That's what the Hebrew word for Egypt, Mitzrayyim, means. Narrow Place. When Passover comes along we have to look at where in our lives we've struggled with our own narrow places. I don't have to look far this year to see mine.

My husband has been without a job for several months. That represented a very narrow place. Living in California with not much money in a savings account and a huge mortgage and very little income definitely made us feel as if we were being squeezed from all sides. However, this week he began a new job. The possibility of a job and then the job offer felt like the Red Sea parting. Negotiations and waiting for the deal to be sealed represented the crossing on dry land with the waters threatening to descend at any moment. And now we are standing on the other shore looking backward and looking forward, able to heave a sigh of relief, to take a deep breath and move forward once again.

Our relationship has suffered in the process, my husband's and mine. He has lost his faith. Mine has been strengthened. I married a man with whom I thought I'd always share a spiritual path. Now, I'm not sure we will ever share that path again. This place in our 20-year marriage feels like a narrow one. I feel I'm living in Mitzrayyim, not necessarily enslaved but restricted, unable to express myself fully, unable to share totally, unable to open myself with abandon to the man I love. I feel squeezed, as if sometimes it's hard to breath in my relationship. I stand at the edge of the sea hoping for a miracle. All I have right now is the promise that my husband will work on some of his issues and my promise to try and move forward together despite our differences in beliefs and approaches to life. I can't yet see the other shore. I'm willing to walk into the water, like Nachshon, who walked into the sea when it didn't part for Moses and whose faith brought about the miracle that saved the Israelites. I have faith that it will part, but I don't know what I'll find on the other side of the sea. I wish Moses' staff and God's will would create a miracle for me and return my husband's faith. I don't want to walk to the other side alone. I know God will be with me, but it's human companionship I desire as well.

I've been in a narrow place at work as well, feeling restricted by the publishing world's requirements and lack of time and support to do what my agents and publishers require for me to achieve my own goals. I've felt that I couldn't do what I wanted in the way I wanted and at the time I wanted. I was ready to change directions, to tell the literary agent I sought for so long that I had to follow my heart and find another agent that would take my project and run with it now, right now. And then the water parted before my eyes, and my agent agreed to take on my project and to help me find a publisher for it. A miracle. Now I just needed to get to the other side of the sea.

I find myself in a new narrow place between one shore and another. (Do they just follow one after the other?) I am afraid to move forward with this project that lies so close to my heart. (This narrow place is of my own making. It exists in my mind. It's the "Not Good Enough" thought that underlies so much of what I do and that holds me back. Do you have that thought?) I'm afraid to put myself out there. I have to speak my truth, and I am afraid. I know this narrow place. I know this fear. It has stopped me often, but I know that it is the trepidation that comes when I am on the right path, the path I am meant to take. This time, I must enter the water myself and create the miracle. I must move through my fear and towards my highest purpose. As I do, the water will part and my path will become clear. Then I'll find myself on the other shore, free, unrestricted, liberated, and successful. When I can fulfill my purpose, write my book and have it published, I will feel the expansion of who I am -- to myself and to others. (Not that I couldn't use another miracle. Not that a little Divine help wouldn't be nice in the area of finding a publisher and a publishing contract and an advance.) I'll keep walking with faith that on the other side the other miracle awaits.

Narrow places. How well I know them. How freeing it is to move beyond them. Miracles. Lovely to experience and to create.

Do you know your Mitzrayyim? Do you know how to squeeze out of your narrow place and into a more expansive place? Passover is just a week away...Use the energy of the holiday to help you create your own miracle of liberation. I'll be liberating myself, praying for miracles while walking, step by step, into the water, my faith helping bring those miracles into my life. I hope you will be doing the same.

Freedom to Live Your Life Fully this Passover

2008-04-02T21:00:00.001-07:00

I was just reading a blog by Rachel Barenblat (http://www.velveteenrabbi.com/) that made me think about living fully this Passover. She comments on a recent posting by Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi called Toward Freeing the Seder, in which he takes the fifteen steps of the basic seder structure and offers creative suggestions for making each of them one's own. For anyone who has ever sat through a boring seder, the home service conducted on this Jewish holiday, you know that creative suggestions often are much needed. Reb Zalman is a genius when it comes to this sort of thing -- and in general. So, take a look at his post. It's well worth your time. I printed it out for my own use, and you can be sure that elements of it will show up during my seder.

Among other things, Rachel chose to highlight the section Reb Zalman wrote about the Four Questions, and I just loved the idea of doing this section differently. In fact, Reb Zalman's suggestions made me start thinking about how well these questions play into my Living Fully Challenge. Here' s what he says about the Four Questions:

Use your pencil and paper to jot down your four questions. What are
they?

Or your four questions about Judaism.

In other words, if I want to get some answers to my questions this
night, what are my real questions, the ones I want answered?

Mah nishtanah halyla hazeh? Why is the night different? And
what about life? Why is life different from what I expected? Jot
down four "Differents," four "It isn't as I had thought it would be"-s.

Rachel commented: "Imagine using those four questions in your seder, questions that arise out of who you are this year, in this moment, as this festival unfolds! How would that change your experience?"

I think I'll ask participants at my seder to answer, "How am I different this year." And, given that the topic of discussion in general revolves around freedom, "If I were free, how would I choose to be different?" By that I mean, if nothing were holding you back -- finances, ego, doubt, family, boss, time, etc. -- how would you change? I'm not necessarily talking about external situations now, because those issues would be gone. If nothing were in the way of you being the best you possible, who would you be?

Of course, the question that logically follows is: Can I be that person now despite what I perceive to be holding me back? Can I be free to live my life fully right now?

Now, whether you are Jewish or not, you can ask yourself these questions. You don't have to participate in a Passover seder, nor do you have to wait for Passover or a seder to ask these questions. In fact, ask away right now if you want!

To read all of Rachel's blog, go to http://www.velveteenrabbi.blogs.com/. She's also got a Passover haggadah of her own. Check it out. Plus, she's a great poet.

Singing the Blues

2008-03-31T21:47:00.000-07:00

Remember that old song, "Can't live, when living is without you. Can't live, can't live any more!" I don't know who sang it, but today the words are running through my mind with a slight variation on the words. "Can't live, when living is focused on you."

Yeah, that's right. I admit it. I've been so damn focused on where my husband "is" right now with his spiritual path (or lack thereof) and his attitude towards life and his beliefs about God and about life, that I've not been living my life at all. In fact, I've been miserable. And I've been making him miserable. And I've been making our relationship miserable.

I'm a total believer in the fact that what we focus on expands. I know that when I am thinking about red convertibles, I definitely see more red convertibles on the road. Even if I'm not "creating" them, I'm more aware of them. In my own perception, I perceive more of them. It's now different in my relationship experience and in my life experience. The more I focus on what I don't like about how my husband is living his life and about how he is thinking and what he is believing, the more aware I become of all of this. And the more upset I become about it. And the more I see of it, and the more miserable I become. And that surely does not lead to me living my life fully at all.

So, while I was walking with a friend today, she basically told me to let my husband have his own spiritual path. She said he might not look like he's on one right now, but his questioning and his disbelief might really just be one stop on his spiritual path. She reminded me that consciousness and spirituality are all about questioning and reevaluating and coming to new understandings of our beliefs. So, if he is angry and feeling like a victim, if he want to shout at God or not believe in God, if he wants to not believe in anything right now, maybe that is just part of his spiritual path. Maybe, like Jacob, he is wrestling with God right now, or needs to. And, she said, I should be compassionate and loving until he finds his way or comes to a new understanding.

Okay. Got it. I've been one complaining, unhappy, judgemental, impatient wife (there's another word I could use, but I won't.) -- and not too spiritual either. And I've been spending all my time focused on him rather than on me, focused on what I perceive as not working, not right, not what I want rather than on what is working, what is right what is working.

Time to focus on what enlivens me, on what brings life into our relationship, on what helps me live fully. Maybe in the process, it will help him do the same. In either case, I'll stop singing the blues.

Pulling the Weeds of Your Life

2008-03-30T20:41:00.000-07:00

Every spring I'm faced with a daunting task: I must pull enormous amounts of weeds that grow on my large rural property. I live in the Santa Cruz Mountains on about four acres of land. Not all of that land has been cleared or is usable. However, the area around the house has, of course, been cleared and there is a path that leads to an area where a house was once supposed to be built that has also been cleared. This area, which runs all the way to the edge of our property, contains a small orchard and a fenced garden, as well as a small "cottage." All the land between and around our house and the edge of our property becomes totally overgrown with a variety of weeds and wild grasses every year. This includes my fenced garden. Last year we managed to put mulch the pathway, and that did stay somewhat weed free, but this year it has once again turned into a path of weeds as the rains have stopped and the sun and warm weather have heralded in spring.

And so begins my spring work: pulling weeds. Huge heaps of weeds. I pull weeds each weekend until my hands and arms are so sore that it becomes difficult on Monday to hold a pen or to type on my keyboard. I pull so many weeds that The piles are knee high until I haul them off, wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow to the mulch pile. I dump them over the edge of a hill. It used to be along way down to the bottom of the mulch pile, but after three years of dumping on this "pile," the pile has made it's way all the way to the top of the hill. I've actually extended our property by about a yard of decomposing weeds.

This year I began early, and the weeds are still short by comparison to most years. They don't yet even come up to my knees. Other years, I've waited until June and they have been shoulder high. The first year I weeded the fenced garden, my husband couldn't see me among the weeds.

As I spent the third day pulling weeds, I began to think about how many weeds I pull -- and even if I pull them before they go to seed -- some still seem to reseed and come back the next year. It struck me that some issues in my life take the same course. I work on them and think I've got them fixed (pulled), but they sprout up again at some time in the future. And then I have to work on them once again. If we push the issues down and ignore them or try to cover them up, they always rear there heads as well. (Two years ago we put down a fabric weed guard, but this year the weeds had either come up around the edges or simpled begun growing in the mulch on top of it.)

Of course, I could use some weed killer, which would poison the plant all the way to the roots. I don't have this choice with my personal issues. I can't treat it with an issue killer. I can't pull or dig it out. I have to actually find a way to resolve it or come to terms with it in some way that ensures it won't "grow" back.

My question as I pulled weed after week was simple: Is there a way to ensure that our issues don't come back once we think we've resolved them? Or do we have to resign ourselves to dealing with them over and over again, year after year, just like the weeds that grow on my property?

I think some issues we resolve well enough that, for the most part, they don't "grow back." Maybe we work on them hard enough that we managed to get out ever last bit of root or we pull it out enough times before it goes to seed that no seeds are left to sprout. But other issues simple are harder to eradicate. Just when you think they are gone, you find a little shoot trying to find the sun. You have to take a good look at it again, deal with it in some way, and then hope that this time you really did get rid of it.

Sometimes, the process of trying to get rid of the issue makes things worse temporarily, such as when I have to pull out poison oak. If I'm not careful, the plant touches my skin and for several weeks I'm itchy in those places. My skin is irritated. Problems and issues that arise time and time again can cause the same kind of reaction, seeming bigger than the last time, more aggravating than before, until we learn a better way to resolve it or move through it.

So, I suppose our personal issues and problems are just the weeds of our life, and we must resign ourselves to having to occasionally -- or continually -- deal with them in one way or another. Over time, the number of weeds we have to pull gets smaller and smaller, but the garden of our lives, like any garden, will probably always have at least a few weeds that sprout up and require our attention.

Purim: When Laughter is More Healing than Chicken Soup

2008-03-21T09:39:00.002-07:00

Last night as I sat in temple and watched a parade of different costume-clad people read and chant in a variety of unique, creative and humorous way from the Megillat Esther, I realized an important reason why on Purim we are supposed to in some way blur the difference between evil Haman and the good Mordechai in the story. My husband had just asked me on the way to the holiday service, why people drink alcohol on Purim, and I had explained that it was for just that reason, but he wanted a deeper explanation. I'd given him one that was too philosophical for both our tastes, but by the end of the service, I had one that related directly to life and to my own belief system.

(If you don't know the history behind the holiday of Purim, Google it and you'll find a good synopsis. Basically, Haman wanted to kill the Jews. Mordechai, a Jew, tells Queen Esther, also a Jew, to tell the King, who doesn't know he married a Jew. She does. The Jews are saved. On Purim, Jews dress up in costumes to remember the "hidden" aspects of this story and they read aloud the historical account.)

Every day we struggle with the evil in our lives. We may see evil as yucky neighbors, debt, a terrible boss, an abusive spouse, ill health, loneliness, war, politicians, bills we can't pay... Each of us has our own Haman -- or Hamans. What happens, however, as the line blurs between evil and good, between Haman and Mordechai? We can no longer tell what is good and what is evil. If we can't tell, then it could be either good or evil, right? However, what we realize is that it all comes from one Source. As we read in Devarim (4:35), "Ein ode milvado." Which means, "There is nothing but God." It's all God. Haman and Mordechai, good and evil. All God.

We are taught in Kabbalah that nothing is a coincidence. So, it was no coincidence that Esther ended up in that palace as queen at that particular time. It was no coincidence that previously her uncle Mordechai had overheard a plot to kill the king and had told Esther, so the kings life had been saved. It was no coincidence that all these things led up to the events that we now celebrate on Purim -- Esther's saving of the Jewish people.

Kabbalah also teaches us that at this time, goodness is concealed. It's masked just like the masks we wear on Purim. Everything we go through in our lives, including our experience of what we call evil, leads us to spiritual transformation. Thus, evil shows up in our lives for a reason. Haman knocks at the door not by coincidence but on purpose.

What should we do when we open the door and find him there instead of Mordechai? Laugh. That's when the transformation occurs. That's when the line between good and evil begins to blur, and we realize there is no good and no evil. There is only God. And then we can laugh with joy.

I sat in the sanctuary laughing for two hours last night as the megillah was read. I saw friends in hilarious costumes cracking jokes and offering sacrilegious commentaries on the text. I sang funny songs. I heard Hebrew chanting done to melodies from to old peace songs. And we yelled and booed at Haman and cheered for Mordechai and even acknowledged the Esther and Vashti when there names were read. We had fun. We laughed and laughed and laughed. And as we laughed, it became hard for me to see the difference between my personal Hamans and my Mordechais. My worries about money disappeared, and I felt abundant. The tension between my husband and I dissipated for that amount of time, and I enjoyed his presence next to me and his shoulder pressing against mine. The stress I have felt about work left my body and my mind, and I felt peace and joy come over me in its place. The laughter was more healing than any bowl of chicken soup could ever be.

And maybe that's the important reason why we dress up in costumes and do silly things on Purim. The story of Esther commemorates a time when things looked dire for the Jews, but it turned out just fine. Often our lives look dire in one way or another. When we celebrate Purim with vast amounts of joy and laughter, we realize that things can be fine. In fact, they are more than fine in that moment. In that moment, they are joyous. We are joyous. All the evil is transformed into good, and we get to feel the wondrous healing that brings into our lives.

No wonder so many rabbis and sages have spoken about the importance of Purim. God's hand in the story may be hidden. It may seem like a story about man's hand in events, but it's really both. And by taking hold of our ability to act -- to choose to be happy and joyous -- we allow ourselves to experience transformation and to connect with the concealed part of what goes on in our own lives -- God.

So, give me a bowl of laughter over chicken soup any day of the week.

24 Minutes by the Ocean

2008-03-16T15:10:00.000-07:00

Living fully today meant taking myself to the ocean if only for the 24 minutes I was allowed to leave my car parked in its parking spot. (Yes, the meter only allowed me to pay for 24 minutes.) It also meant paying myself for time spent preparing for a workshop and showing up to teach it even though no one showed up.

I admit it: I was depressed today. I had worked really hard to get ready for the Saturday night class and workshop. In fact, I gave up Shabbat to prepare my for both, because I had too much work during the week to do so. I can't say I had focused a lot of time and energy on creating a huge crowd at either the class or workshop prior to Saturday. I had done some advertising, but I hadn't focused my thoughts. I hadn't used my own Kabbalistic conscious creation process except in short spurts. I had, however, spent all day Saturday preparing. And for my efforts (minimal, I suppose...) I had one student on Saturday night and none on Sunday.

So, I drove myself to Aptos, CA, the next town over, and parked in a 24 minute parking spot. I put my money in the meter and first went to a little metaphysical shop down the street. There I purchased a beautiful amethyst bracelet. Payment for my time and effort, I rationalized. A gift to myself for putting myself out there, working hard, being willing to offer the class, trying to realize my dreams, wanting to share with and help others.

I walked back to the car. The meter had already run out. I put more money in the meter and bought myself another 24 minutes. Quickly I walked to the beach and sat on some rocks and looked out across the green, blue water to Monterrey.

The ocean always makes me feel better. I love the ocean and wish I had more time to walk and sit by its shore, to spend time writing while I listen to the music of its waves against the sand and the gulls in the air and the sea lions near the pier, to meditate with the surf as my mantra, to read and rest and rejuvenate. My busy life more often than not precludes me getting to the ocean as much as I'd like, although I can be at the shore in under 20 minutes. My favorite local beach is only about 30 minutes away.

So, while I could have let life bring me down today, I decided to live a little...to be good to myself. The bracelet will remind me of my efforts and the purple stones will offer me their energy every day. The trip to the beach was the real treat that lifted my spirits, reminded me of the goodness life has to offer, and reconnected me with something greater than the little disappointments in life.

Sitting there on that rock I remembered that the Source of that vast ocean and that beautiful piece of land on the horizon and the wind in my hair and the sun on my face was also the Source of the creative power within me. My desire to give back what I have learned -- to teach -- allows me to tap into that Source, which wants only to give goodness to me. I need only learn how to receive it, and to let it flow like the ocean waves. In and out. Receiving. Giving.

Just as God exists in everything, God exists in my experience this day...even in the empty classroom and my disappointment. God lies in the free will I was given to choose what to do with that experience, how to respond to it. My first response was to drive to the ocean and park the car for 24 minutes.

It's amazing what 24 minutes at the ocean can do for you. When I go to bed tonight, I'll see myself on that rock by the ocean, I'll touch the stones of the bracelet, and I'll know that today I lived my life a little bit more fully.

It's Adar: Be Happy, Don't Worry

2008-03-13T23:11:00.000-07:00

Two days ago I helped lead a Rosh Chodesh group to welcome in the Jewish month of Adar. Actually, Adar 2. We sometimes get to celebrate the month twice as a way to catch up since our days get a bit off after a while. I don't feel like explaining how that works right now... My mind is too filled with worry, and I know that now, during Adar, I'm supposed to be happy. In fact, during Adar, happiness is supposed to increase.

But my mind says, "NO! It's time to be worried and depressed." Well, I look at my husband, who has been without a job for three months and is worried and depressed, and it's hard for me to be otherwise. I just paid bills when we have no income, and it's hard for me to be otherwise. I look at all the work on my desk and realize how little of what I do brings in any money, and it's hard for me to be otherwise.

"It's Adar," I remind myself. "Don't worry. Be happy." (And the reggae melody begins to play in my head.) So, how can we be happy when life seems to give us good, solid reason to be worried and depressed, disturbed and sad, distressed and melancholy? I try to remember the wisdom of Rebbe Nachman of Bratslov, my Jewish life coach, my human potential teacher, my spiritual mentor.

He said, "Depression does tremendous damage. Use every ploy you can think of to bring yourself joy." He even said to be silly if need be, but I'm not a very silly person. I can, however, focus on the good things that happened to me today. Like the fact that I got another great dancer to sign on to my dance book project. And I was told that I am a maggid, something I didn't know about myself. And that I made contact with someone I want to interview for an article I'd like to write. Focusing on those positive things instead of the negative things in my life make me happy.

Rebbe Nachman also said, "Never despair! Never! It is forbidden to give up hope." I love this morsel of wisdom. Any why should we never give up hope? Because, he said, we must remember: "Things can go from the very worst to the very best...in just the blink of an eye." I always keep that in mind -- or try to. (I didn't do such a good job today.) When I do, I know that tomorrow, my husband could get that call that leads to a new job. The next time I check my e-mail, I could find that I've been contacted by a new editing client. The phone could ring this minute and I could be told that I'm about to receive an advance on a book. You just never know what goodness God is going to flow your way at any given moment.

"You have free will," Rebbe Nachman also taught. "You have the power to escape from the painful discussions and worries of your life and to trust in God, to abandon the struggles of this world and focus instead on spiritual study." It's easy to understand that we have free will, and I'm a big believer in our ability to choose where we focus our thoughts. We can certainly shift our focus from our worries and pain to something more positive by simply choosing to study spiritual texts or to read books that are spiritually uplifting. This places our focus on God. In so doing, we regain our faith in God. We remember that God's hand is in everything. Ein ode milvado. (There is nothing but God.) It's all God -- the good and the bad. Gam zu l'tovah. (This too is for the good.) Even what we perceive as bad is also for the good. We may not know why, but we know it is of God. Focusing on God brings us back to center, gives us our equilibrium once again, allows us to find joy and happiness within our faith.

This brings us full circle to another of Rebbe Nachman wonderful quotes. "Always remember," he said, "Joy is not merely incidental to your spiritual quest. It is vital." Why? Because when we are sad or depressed, we often lose sight of God. My husband loses sight of God -- has lost sight. He has no faith that things will get better at any moment, that God's hand is in the events of his life. He feels lost and alone, and the more depressed he becomes the less of God he sees. When we are joyful, it's so much easier to see God, to feel God, to appreciate God.

So, when Adar comes we must take advantage of the energy of the month...and the second month, too. We are given the opportunity for increased joy, and we must take it even when our lives seem to be giving us good reason to feel quite the opposite. It's hard sometimes; believe, me, I know. But, as the Rebbe would say, “If you don’t feel happy, pretend to be. Even if you are downright depressed, put on a smile. Act happy. Genuine joy will follow." That's right. Fake it 'till you make it. I'm sure gonna give it a try.

What Does Not Living Your Life Fully Cost You?

2008-03-12T14:51:00.000-07:00

It’s been over a month since I last blogged. I should be flogged! But I won’t dwell on the negatives of why I haven’t blogged. Suffice it to say, I’ve been busy.

Too busy to write. Too busy to bicycle. Too busy to read. Too busy to relax. Too busy to garden. Too busy to clean my house. Too busy to do yard work. Too busy to do some of what I want to do and some of what I need to do. To busy to live my life the way I’d like to live it.

Which brings me to my point. Last month on my website I began a challenge: The Living Fully Challenge, 12 Months to a Fully Lived Life. The idea behind it is simple: Not living our lives fully costs us something. What is that cost? It’s different for each of us. Some might pay with peace of mind, leaving them with worry and stress. Others might pay with happiness, leaving them sad or depressed. For one person the cost might be health and for another connection; these people end up holding only illness and loneliness when the day is done. For someone else, the cost might be their dreams, leaving them empty and without hope of ever achieving their potential or their desires. No matter the cost, not living our lives fully costs us something. And each day, each moment that we don’t live to the fullest extent represents one more payment we don’t want to make, one more payment for which we can’t ever reimburse ourselves.

I’ve had to really look at this idea very closely not only because I had the bright idea to pose this challenge, which meant I had to write the assignments to go with it (and do them as well), but also because my husband has been out of work for a few months now and my income has been pretty minimal as well. Lack of money always seems to make living life fully a bit problematic. Maybe that’s why the first Living Life Fully assignment I posed involved having fun with finances…

Plus, I don’t ever seem to have the time to do the things I want to do. Lack of time and money are real show stoppers when it comes to doing things you want to do, and it often seems like living fully revolves around doing things we enjoy.

That said, it seems to me that there are some very small ways in which we can begin living our lives fully every day (even with little money or time). The point is to go to bed each night and to be able to acknowledge and feel grateful about at least – at the very least – one thing we’ve done that day that made us feel happy and alive. And we can fit that thing into our busy days and into our work and into our driving kids here and there and into our paying the bills and into our conversations with others. How do we do that? I hope to explore that a bit in my blog over the next 12 months – maybe not in each blog but at least once each month as part of my own challenge.

And as part of living more fully myself, I’m committing to writing my blog more often. Writing makes me feel more alive. Writing represents my life’s purpose. When I write, I am on purpose, enlivened and energized. I want to write more! So, I can live more fully each day by committing to write more – even if it is simply by blogging.

Some small things I know I can do include walking out to my garden to see what’s growing or to pick a flower or pull a weed (or two or three); lighting a candle and incense and putting on music each morning before I begin work; taking even five minutes in the morning to write in my journal and even less in the evening to write down the things for which I’m grateful; reading even a few pages of a book each day; and saying something nice to someone I care about. These don’t sound like they’d contribute much towards living my life fully, but with the little I’ve been doing most recently they’ll make a huge difference, I’m certain.

Here are a few larger things I’m committing to do – maybe not every day but every week – so that I go to bed more often able to acknowledge that I did, indeed, live more fully:
ride my bike or walk with a friend
-- spend time in conversation with God
-- do something I simply want to do
-- communicate honestly
And, I’ll continue taking the time to do the challenge exercises! Who wants to join me?

What’s the point of living if you aren’t living fully? God didn’t place us here on this earth in these bodies to not experience life on this plane to the fullest extent. We are meant to experience all that live has offer and that this physical plane has to offer. (Yes, that means the good and the bad.) We are meant to experience all that we can spiritually and metaphysically as well. We are meant to experience it all!

Even people in wheelchairs and with terminal illnesses can live fully in their own way. I know a woman just about the same age as I am who was recently diagnosed with terminal cancer. I look at her and wonder if she regrets now not having lived her life more fully. I wonder if she is living it to the fullest extent that she can now. We must all approach our lives as if today could be our last, as if this moment could be our last. By that I don’t mean we should focus on the negative, on the possibility of death being around the next corner, but rather that we should focus on doing all the things we want to do now (if we can). We shouldn’t wait.

Now, I’m not necessarily going to choose to get into more debt by taking an expensive vacation that I can’t afford, but I might take a trip to a local park for a walk. I might wear that expensive shirt that has been hanging in my closet waiting for just the right occasion to be worn – but that has only actually been worn once in 10 years (because I haven’t wanted to ruin it). I might actually write that letter to that person I admire and ask for an interview. And I might actually send out that book proposal to that publisher. And I also might talk to my husband about how we can move to the next level in our relationship. And I might actually stop work early today and go for that two-hour bike ride (rather than 30 minutes) I always wish I had time to take.

Those are all things I can do now, this moment. I don’t have to wait. And then I won’t regret not having done them. And I can go to bed knowing I lived a little more fully by doing so.

Co-Creation at Its Worst?

2008-02-05T23:57:00.000-08:00

Ever wonder about co-creation? I don’t mean the type of co-creation we do with God. I mean the kind we do with the people in our lives. I’ve been wondering about it a lot lately.

My husband is going through a rough patch. He’s between jobs and doing consulting here and there. It’s a stressful situation, and, understandably, it doesn’t make him feel great. Despite the fact that he and I have traveled the spiritual path together for many years, and he and I learned about conscious creation, creative thought, Law of Attraction – whatever you want to call it – long ago, he tends to stop believing when things aren’t going so well. He loses faith. And when he loses faith, he tends to think a lot of negative thoughts. Given that I believe our thoughts are, indeed, creative, I have a problem with that. I don’t want his negative thoughts manifesting in my life. Yet, we share a life.

Do we, therefore, co-create the bad things that might show up in our shared life, or does he create them and I simply deal with them (and vice versa)? I know that if I worry about him creating them, I help create them. I’ve been angry about him moping around the house feeling like a victim and telling me how nothing good ever happens to him and how it “just figures” that bad things happen to him. Feeling that way doesn’t open me up to creating good things or receiving them either. So, I guess I do co-create negatively with him on some levels and in some ways.

I was on the phone with my mastermind group today, and I mentioned my issues with my husband (since the group of women happen to be some of my best friends in the world), and one of the women asked me how I was handling the situation. I said, “I just keep focusing on what I want to create and on what’s working in my life. That makes me feel better.”

You see, I know that when I feel good, I open myself up to the Divine flow of goodness available to me. I open myself up to receive what I desire. When we feel negative emotions, we close down and don’t allow ourselves to receive. We become disconnected from the Divine flow of goodness that is normally available to us.

I also know that when I focus my attention on what I want, I am likely to create it. (The same, of course, goes for focusing attention on what I don’t want.) And when I focus on what’s working, I get more of what’s working.

Maybe by doing these things I simply counterbalance my husband’s negative thinking, thereby not allowing anything bad or good to happen in our shared lives. I suppose that’s a better co-creation than some others! I’ll take it over co-creating something I don’t want!

If I focus harder than he does on what I really do want and open myself up to receiving by feeling really great and knowing in my body that all is well and that only good is coming to me, I might put so much energy into creating something positive that I negate his negative thoughts and create something positive. I suppose that wouldn’t be co-creation, would it? It would be worth creating though…

So, I guess I do believe we co-create, that what others manifest affects me and my life to some extent even if it is not something I may have consciously wanted to manifest for myself. And maybe that’s part of the Divine plan or our own individual Divine plan. Maybe that’s part of being in relationship. Maybe learning how to co-create on the physical plane simply represents part of the human experience.

The Hand of God at the Cactus Kallah

2008-01-25T13:01:00.000-08:00

I just returned from teaching at the Cactus Kallah in Tucson, AZ -- not a big kallah, or gathering, like the bi-annual Aleph kallah but rather a small, intimate, first-annual, regional gathering. In every aspect of preparing to go and actually being there, I felt the hand of God gently ushering me in the direction I needed to move. Even the chant that began and ended my drumming class and that still echoes in my ears spoke to this theme: Yad Eloheim b’kol. The hand of God is in everything.

I experienced a lot of trepidation prior to leaving for Tucson. Actually, trepidation is putting it mildly. I felt stress and fear and resistance. The fact that no one had signed up for my class didn’t help, but I knew my emotions, while partially based in some real-life situations on my home front, were something to be pushed through. Like the workshop I taught at the kallah on moving through fear, I knew I needed to walk the narrow bridge no matter how precariously it hung between the peaks of the mountains I had created in my own mind. Illusions, I knew, with what I saw as a huge, wide, deep, dark, cavernous, chasm between them. And just as I decided take that first step, the bridge that seemed so scary and unsafe became more solid and secure. That first plank held my weight. And the distance between the bridge and the ground shrank considerably. I felt the disconnect between illusion and reality, thought and being, dissipate. My vision cleared. Reality settled in. I decided to take the next step. I felt the light move through me, through worlds. God's hand reached out to me, and I reached out and took it.

I got a call from an old acquaintance, my first kabbalah teacher, Mindy (Shulamit) Ribner, another teacher at the kallah. She wanted to be my roommate. I already felt better. I packed and got on the plane the next day with all my many materials, which I would soon discover I didn’t need at all.

I was greeted only by the tall cacti in the Tucson airport parking lot. At the hotel, I found myself unable to get into my room; Mindy had accidentally locked me out. Gentle knocking brought her sleepy face to the door to greet me, and just as that door opened to me that first night, many others would do the same over the course of the next few days.

In fact, when the first door opened to a meeting room the next morning I was greeted by Eli Shirim Lester. Ah, a face I knew, a man I deeply respected, a hug that felt open and welcoming. Maybe there would be other familiar faces to make me feel I was coming home, like at the Aleph kallah.

A trip to the shuk to deliver my goodies, indeed, found other familiar faces – Karen Wortman and Carole Kestler – Aleph kallah acquaintances. Richard Kestler was there, too. I remember you! I remembered Deborah Mayaan’s mezuzot as well (My daughter's hermit crabs used to live in cholla wood...), but not her. The door squeaked open as we all began moving towards friendship.

Teacher introductions happened next. Two rabbis first – Jonathan Siedel, whom I’d taught a retreat with just six months before, and Mindy – both long-time teachers and very knowledgeable. My thoughts ran wild. I’m so unqualified…so out of my league! I looked in the other direction. Lots more rabbis and a cantor – Robert Michael Esformes, Itzchak Marmorstein, the Ickovits siblings, and Jim Goodman. A few people I didn’t know, I assumed they knew more than me. Eli spoke next. His first words… “I have no credential…” I felt so much better! And I said so! “I’m so glad you spoke before me. I have no credentials either! I just want to share what little I know.” Guess what! The person next to me, she wasn’t a rabbi or scholar either. Nor was the next person or the next or even the next! After that…well…a few rabbis, the cantor…But I felt better. The door had opened to those of us who were “uncredentialed” to be teachers amongst those with credentials. Later, we’d all learn that we had something to offer – each and every one, receiving what we needed from the other.

There was still no one signed up for my class when I arrived, but just when I thought I'd take a class instead, Rick Kadis asked me to open the door of my class to him. God's hand at play, I'm sure. I agreed willingly. Better to teach to one than to none. I came to teach. I was nervous – how to teach to one? Did I need to teach like the rabbis with texts? We had a conversation. I taught him what I knew, what I believed. I shared. He shared. He taught me. I threw away my notes and my texts. Why had I bothered to bring them at all? I opened the door to my heart and to the flow of wisdom from within and from above. And we worked through my workbook together in a two day coaching session that was perfect for both of us. I received clarity on my book and my work. I received a new meditation. Rick received…what he needed, I hope, and eventually he'll create what he wants. We became friends. One student? Gam zu l’tova. (I want that bracelet!)

I relaxed into the afternoon – drumming with Eli, a class I’d always wanted to take (and that my husband and son really should have been taking instead of me; they are the family drummers, not me). The other class I had considered was cancelled; God's hand again. After hours of drumming and chanting together – and laughing until tears ran down my face (Coombahyah, oy vay!) – and drumming and chanting and singing some more on Friday (magic!) and Saturday, a door not only opened but a heartfelt connection took place in that space between the sound of my drum and Eli’s drum. More than that, a healing occurred for me as the stress and anger melted away with the medicine I took in -- the sound of the drums and the melodies and voices mingling together with the huge amount of joy I felt. (Kumah kumah Yah…kumah kumah Yah…Yes, now I can actually sing it without laughing but with fond memories in the place of that world-traveled drum’s beat.) And, of course, we had our class chant: Yad Eloheim b'kol and the favorite L'dor v'dor... We learned to be in synch – that last beat, our hearts and hands like one.

Then there was the smiling face of Karen drumming across from me and across our "shared" drums. We, too, connected in the spaces between the sound of my drumming and hers. Mmmm…makes me warm and fuzzy thinking of how the door opened to friendship. Punched arms, playing “musical drums,” trying not to look at each other so I could drum straight faced during that chant. (I won’t say the words lest I laugh again.) Oh, the aching cheeks and wondering who gets to play that drum this time? (Be careful, it’s so loud.) Wendy’s got “my” drum now… The promise to really stay in touch. I do promise.

I learned Ophanim with Itzchak – just he and I in preparation for Shabbat, his intense renditions of Abraham Isaac Kook’s poetry still ringing in my ears. We discussed kabbalistic “yoga” and the need for conditioner on hair. I’ll always remember filling his cup with green, sweet smelling tonic for his dry hair, showing him how to program his phone with ring tones, being the “first team” on the Shabbat walk, sharing Shabbat dinner (Is it time for salmon yet?), shivering in the cold as we lit candles. But I need a refresher course on Ophanim; I've already forgotten the breathing and letters... An unlikely friend, I would have thought, yet sometime during our time at kallah an opening happened, and we walked through a door together into friendship. He said I was good company. So was he.

I was honored to be asked to trade a booklet and workbook for a CD (Shhh…We shouldn’t have!) with Michael (He actually wanted to read what I wrote!), the beautiful voice on the CD I’ve often listened to at home. I shared cactus wisdom with him – shed the prickly outside to get to the soft good stuff inside and to let the soft good stuff get out past the prickly barrier. He liked that message. I wanted to get past his quiet exterior; there wasn’t enough time for us to talk. He gave me the perfect flower, still in bud but in so much pain that it would be easier to burst forth in bloom than to stay a bud. He asked me to teach at the Cactus Café at a time he could hear me…again I felt honored. I brought him home with me in a thin plastic box with his photo on it and a slim disc inside. I can hear his voice and see that beautiful vest that he didn’t bother to bring with him to kallah. I look forward to the door opening a bit wider…a stronger connection made over time.

I traded also with Carole (Shhhh….We won’t do it next year! Promise!), this time for art – a Shechinah to bring home – and in the hope that my booklet would help heal her.

Workshops were open for the taking. I opened to taking – teaching – in every opening. I filled the void. “Shafir, I came to teach.” And the students came, and my notes flew away as if God’s hand had reached down and snatched them up. So, I “winged it” and the words flew from my open mouth and were received by the students who came to hear. And with each teaching, I learned. I opened. I connected with the wonderful people who sat with me and learned and taught and shared. In fact, I grew teaching wings at kallah. God's hand came down and installed them on my back. You can't see them, but I can feel them there.

I bought a card in the shuk for my hubby. “Heineini,” it said. He is always there for my family and for me. I wasn't there for him or for my kids; I was off teaching and playing at kallah again. He always stays behind and handles the kids and work, allowing me to cross my bridges, find my wings, take God's hand. One day he'll come to kallah with me. I hope at this time he, too, senses God's hand in his life and feels it reaching towards him.

Meals, where the food wasn’t always the best but the company was always superb, were a time to be social. There weren't many of us, but there wasn't enough time to get to know everyone.

Time in my room provided a chance to connect on a new level with a woman who was once my teacher but was now my friend as well as a fellow teacher, writer, and Constant Contact user. We talked about guys, our books, what to wear, teaching, how to move forward with our careers. She was quiet in the morning; I tried to be quiet at night. We e-mailed when I returned home. “Isn't it past your bedtime?" "It's just like being back in Tucson in our room...Lilah tov, Nina." "Lilah tov, Mindy.”

Shabbat, of course, was a high and awesome time, and God’s hand was in everything. God’s light shone in everyone. Rebbes T’mimah and Jonathan and Shafir and Cantor Michael opened the door for the Shechinah to enter and kept it open to channel Her energy and light for us all to enjoy. Eli lead us Holy Drummers of the Purple Sage in our attempts to help bring the energy to a crescendo. Oh, and the little man on Friday night after services on the keyboard…and the karaoke without words…and Margaret singing regea ("Don't worry. Be happy!)…and songs started and not finished…and Eli and Jonathan making up verse after verse and Karen and I drumming and drumming until we laughed too hard and had to stop (Oy vay, what a day!)...and wishing we knew more than just “I know you’re gonna leave me." A repeat performance on Saturday with less energy, but we tried. We wanted the magic back again.

A lovely surprise! Two Aleph kallah friends came to join us for Shabbat. Rhonda Mason and her hubby, David. I got to eat lunch with them. Rhonda and I drummed on the table during birkat and tried to remember the words. She joined me in a workshop, although she's already a kohenet. Rhonda danced and David drummed with us after Havdallah. So nice to see them more than every two years…

And there was the cabaret and the talent show…wonderful talent all the way around. (Too bad Reb Jim wasn't there on Saturday night to sing his lovely songs again – gone to take care of his sick dog. No more hallway meetings with a fellow writer.) Attendees and teachers alike, singing, reciting poetry, playing guitar and drums, doing Biblio drama. We were visited by the spirit of Rav Kook and Sarah. And a few of us stayed long into the night, dancing until our bodies were too tired to continue moving, singing until we had no voices left, drumming until our hands hurt, lingering by the door because we did not want to say good night.

Then it was time to leave, to say good bye not just good night. I had opened and opened and opened. I hugged everyone. I collected business cards and e-mail addresses and asked for sign ups for my mailing list. I closed the door to my emotions not wanting to feel the sadness I always have when I leave kallah – Aleph or Cactus, it seems. It's that sense of leaving behind my spiritual family, my soul friends. There was talk of me coming back to teach…a lovely possibility…a door left open.

Karen offered to take me to the airport and on a short Tucson tour. We envited Eli along. I was happy for once not to be calling a taxi or getting on a shuttle. We “decompressed,” Eli, Karen and I, on that drive around Tucson, and I thought that would make it easier to close the door on the Cactus Kallah, but it only made it harder. Saying goodbye to two friends made it clear that I was once again leaving behind my chevre, going back to the stresses of my life, and that felt sad and lonely and a bit scary.

We only had about an hour and half until I had to be at the airport...too short. I wanted to make it last longer – the kallah, the time in the car, the feeling, the experience, the person that was me at kallah. Karen thought she knew where we were going, but she was lost. I was lost...in thought, in memory, in disconnect already. God’s hand took the steering wheel. We took the perfect route through the mountains to see those big, tree-like, 100-year-old+ Arizona cacti – the one with the crossed arms (or, as Eli suggested, legs…Ha!) – and then we turned around and went back to the airport.

I went through the open doors alone. Truding along with my heavy backpack, dragging my bags and carrying my little drum (Where's the big one I want? With Shafir and with Wendy in Tucson. Jonathan, you can have this one. I can't play it, but you can.), I didn't look back. I might not have gone forward if I had. Kallah seems real when you're there, but I knew from experience that a different reality waited at home. I felt like I was stepping onto that narrow bridge once again. It looked different this time, and I had much to draw on to give me courage, faith, and hope as I moved along its length. I remembered my students – eyes closed, heal to toe, arms out. I put one foot in front of the other. I walked fast, like Karen during my workshop, and blinked my eyes to see clearly. No illusions. (No Egypt coming...) I searched within for Nachshon's certainty. Not sure that I had found it, I reached out. God's hand took mine.

I'm so grateful to have been asked to teach at the Cactus Kallah. And I remember now why I never miss the opportunity to attend the Aleph kallah. In fact, I haven’t missed one since the first one I attended eight years ago. And now that I’ve attended the Cactus Kallah, I’m sure I’ll keep going back to this one as well. It’s hard to believe I ever considered not attending, not teaching. Shafir, thanks for your vision, for making this all this possible (You had to have the first one...), for giving me space and time – and for hearing my pain, for offering to take me shopping next year so I can have some lovely skirts like yours. (I really do have some, too.) The kallah was perfect in every way. Yad Eloheim b’kol.

Gam Zu L'Tova

2008-01-03T09:14:00.000-08:00

I haven’t posted a bog in ages. Actually, I posted many a blog in November, just not in this blog. (Check out writenonficinnov.blogspot.com.) I was blogged out after that and couldn't bring myself to blog in December. Now I’m not so blogged out, and I’m ready to blog again.

Much has happened. My husband lost his job. I missed out on two really big radio interviews. We put our little somewhat feral kitty to sleep. My daughter's panic attacks have continued, maybe even worsened.

Oh, some good things have happened, too. We went to New York for a Thanksgiving family reunion. I received a tithe check from a church where I often speak. One of my book projects is being considered by a publishing house.

But somehow, it’s those bad things that are stuck in my head, and with them comes my struggle with a Kabbalistic teaching: Gam zu l’tovah. This, too, is for the best.

Sometimes it’s really hard to see why something that happens to us is for the best, at least in the moment when it is happening to us. When we look backwards after a time, often it’s easier to understand how that event was for the best, how it got us to a new – possibly better – place we might not have made it to otherwise. It’s harder to see these things when you are still so close to them, when you are still living them.

Now, I can see to some extent why my husbands lost job was for the best, but, on the other hand, I still have a hard time mustering clear vision on this particular event. He hated that job. It made him miserable. He needed to be out job hunting, and he wasn’t going to put his whole heart and all his effort into finding a new job as long as he stayed in that job. So, losing the job was a good thing. However, with no job, we, as a family, find ourselves in financial peril. I have a hard time seeing that as a good thing. Mind you, he’s doing some contract consulting work, which will keep us going for a while and gives him a feel for doing consulting work, but the fact that he doesn’t have a steady income represents a scary reality for us. Contract work only lasts so long. Our financial situation wasn’t so great before he lost his job, and he isn’t making as much as he was when he held down a full-time job. Plus, in the meantime, all my work has dried up as well leaving us, once again, dependent on his salary. It’s difficult to see this as a good thing.

It’s harder for me to see anything good about me missing two radio interviews. I could rationalize that I wasn’t ready for them. I almost paid for some media training for the second one – a great opportunity to be on a BBC World News talk show, but I didn’t because of my husband’s job situation. I was waiting for the interview to actually be scheduled – which never happened – before committing to the training. (Surprise, surprise. Anyone who knows anything about conscious creation (LOA) knows that I wasn’t focused on the interview happening but on it not happening. I didn’t trust that it would come true. I didn’t have faith.) I suppose that it could be a good thing the interview didn’t come through, because maybe without the media training I would have made a fool out of myself. After the first missed interview, my agent said, “Something better will come along,” and it did…and then it went away. I don’t yet see the good in that. Maybe one day I will. Maybe the BBC will call me up to speak about a topic I would prefer to speak on. As my husband said, “At least now they know who you are.” That is a good thing, but an interview under my belt would have been better. I wish my vision was clearer on this one.

As for putting the little kitty to sleep, I suppose the good in that was that we put her out of her misery – she was sick and possibly suffering at that point. And we then committed to the other kitty that had adopted us and totally adopted her. We took her for her vaccinations and allowed her to sleep in the house at night. Now we have a pet. We lost our dog last year and were left with these two cats – one feral and one our neighbor’s that decided she liked our house better. Now she is ours (Our neighbor is happy about that, by the way.), and we have a pet again.

I sometimes wonder about my books – why they haven’t yet been published. I suppose this too is for the best. I’ll understand why eventually. Maybe I haven’t really figured out how best to write them, what approach to take. Maybe as the years have gone by my perspective has changed enough to significantly improve how I will write them. Maybe for one of my projects that had a publisher and then lost a publisher the first one wasn’t the right one; this one considering the manuscript might be perfect. Maybe I didn’t have the time then to do what it would take to market and promote my books. Now my kids are older and I’ll have a bit more time. While I still find it hard to see how this is for the best, I can refocus my vision and find the good if I try.

I’ve wondered about my daughter – why she had to experience her best friend’s suicide last summer and now suffers from panic attacks. How could that be for good? I suppose one day we’ll know. Maybe she’ll help other people who lose friends to suicide. Maybe it will stop her from ever committing suicide herself. Maybe the fact that she has had to go into counseling for her attacks will giver her insight into herself she wouldn’t have otherwise gained at all or wouldn’t have gained until she was much older. It’s hard, though, to understand how a 15-year-old having to suffer such a tragedy can be for the best.

The issue, I believe, revolves around having faith even when we can’t know the reasons why something happens to us or to others. Faith requires trust. When we have faith, we don’t have to “see it to believe it.” We just believe it. We trust. We don’t have to understand it to believe it either. We just do. We have faith. And so, the Kabbalists said we must have faith that everything is happening just as it is supposed to happen. No matter what befalls us, we must trust that “gam zu l’tovah.” And one day, maybe the reason why will be revealed to us. Ken yehe ratzon. (May it be God’s will.)

Rebbe Adin Steinsaltz (and me) on the Popularity of Kabbalah

2007-11-12T00:47:00.000-08:00

I went to hear Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz speak last week. I was very excited to hear what he would have to say about Jewish mysticism, since I write about Kabbalah and have been a student of Jewish mysticism for some years now. Notice I say a student, not an expert; it matters not that I have written a small book on the subject. I still feel I am far from an expert on anything but the small little piece of Kabbalah that I think I understand.

But Rebbe Steinsaltz…now he is an expert. He wrote the classic book on Kabbalah, The Thirteen Petaled Rose. I read it this past summer. I loved it, and learned much from it.

Anyway, the Rebbe spoke about the fact that Kabbalah cannot be taken out of the greater works of Judaism or out of the way we as Jews live, but that as it has become a popular spiritual (a term he dislikes) path, of sorts, it has been cut out or away from its source. He said Jewish mysticism is part of the whole teaching of Judaism and equated studying it alone to taking a beautiful woman and cutting her into pieces. If we only had her nose or her mouth or her leg, we wouldn’t find that piece so beautiful, nor would it have much meaning to us, he explained. The beauty and meaning are found in context of the whole – the woman in totality. The same is true of Kabbalah. It is part of the whole we call Judaism. He explained that we can find Kabbalah in the blessing we say over the bread, in the prayer, “Lecha Dodi,” that we say on Friday nights to welcome the Sabbath, and in the prayer book we use every day. He said Kabbalah can be found in the way we as Jews live and think.

He stressed, however, that we have never lived or thought in a way that could be deemed “popular,” but now Kabbalah has not only been extracted from the whole of Judaism but made popular to boot. This popular Kabbalah, he seemed to say, is not really the Kabbalah of the Jews and shouldn’t be sold like a fashionable dress to anyone who simply wants to get in on the newest trend or be part of a fad that celebrities find appealing.

I’m no supporter of selling Kabbalah water and I don’t care what the rich and famous do, but I don’t have an issue with Kabbalah’s popularity. I have often wondered why celebrities find Kabbalah so attractive, but I believe that people like Madonna actually find that Jewish mysticism does something positive for their lives – adds something, changes them, enhances their perspective – otherwise they wouldn’t bother advocating this particular spiritual path or spending so much time and money supporting one particular spiritual group. If making Kabbalistic teachings accessible to people allows them to learn about Jewish mysticism, even out of the context of Jewish life and Judaism as a whole, offers people something they need and want – something that betters their lives and helps them improve themselves, isn’t that a good thing? I believe it is. So, it’s a fad. Who cares if some people benefit from it – and I don’t mean just those making money off of it. (I could be accused of the same, as could all those writing and selling books on the topic and teaching classes and seminars based on their books – and there are some very well-respected authors out there writing books on Kabbalah, including Rebbe Steinsaltz himself.)

We Jews know the truth; in Judaism, mysticism has always existed. Sometimes even within Judaism it was a fad and became popular. And at other times it was seen as bad and hidden away. But it was always there. It will remain there, but because it has become popular again within and without Judaism, more people will understand it and be able to use its principles and benefit from its teachings. Theymay not be immersed in Jewish life, that is true. Yet, they may get a glimmer of what that might be like. And if that person is a Jew, that glimmer might be enough to send that person seeking a more Jewish life.

I know that I have spoken to many Jews seeking a more spiritual Judaism. When we discuss some of the beliefs that are found within Jewish mysticism, they are thrilled and excited and want to learn more. They are eager to delve deeper and to explore Judaism in a way they have not in the past. Kabbalah brings them home again. It had the same affect on me, bringing me back into the fold of the religion of my birth after many years seeking "something more" elsewhere. It hasn't made Madonna want to be a Jew, although she did choose a Hebrew name, nor did it make her want to lead a Jewish life. Yet, there might be some other non-Jews out there so influenced by Kabbalah that they are considering becoming Jews by Choice. That's a good thing, too.

I didn't agree with everything Rebbe Steinsaltz had to say, but I was glad I heard him speak. I'll ponder his words for some time to come, I'm sure. And I'll be happy to have his signature in my well-highlighted copy of his book.

If Hindsight is 20-20, What’s Foresight?

2007-11-03T14:33:00.000-07:00

I’m a big believer in visioning, or visualizing what we want to create in the future. I guess you’d call this foresight. I’ve noticed however, that my foresight tends to be perfect. In fact, you could say that when I see the future, I have better-than-20-20 vision.

Yet, I’m well aware of the common adage the hindsight is 20-20. I understand this to mean that we don’t always see clearly in the moment, in the now. Seeing in this sense encompasses more than just seeing what is right in front of us but also those things that are hidden or harder to see, such as why things are in our lives or experiences. Sometimes we only “see” this when we look backward at the past with a new perspective afforded from time and space.

All of this tells me that when I’m visioning the future, and then the future becomes the present, my better-than-20-20 vision becomes flawed. I don’t see perfectly. Sometimes I don’t see at all. I might even create that perfect future I envisioned and not see it at all. I might not realize I manifested it in the here and now.

I began thinking about this idea of hindsight and foresight when I recently was asked to speak on the topic of vision at a local new thought church. I needed more than this one little bit of personal wisdom to fill out my 30 minute talk, and the congregation tends to like the fact that I typically bring them some Jewish teachings when I speak there. I didn’t know much about the Jewish view on vision, however, so I put out a query to my Jewish Renewal list serve for help. I received many suggestions, all of which were thought provoking. There were too many to include in my talk or in this blog, but a few provided me with the insights I needed. I’d like to share a few here as well.

My friend and teacher Rabbi Goldie Milgram first reminded me that the morning blessings refer to vision. Indeed, each morning observant Jews say the words, “Blessed are you God who gives sight to the blind.” Reb Goldie told me that she believed that this blessing doesn’t simply refer to blind people who are given sight; she said it refers to our capacity “through God-connection to become increasingly less blind to what’s around us.” So, the more connected we are to God, the more we see, the more vision we have. Or maybe we simply become more aware and more conscious, and, therefore, we see more clearly. This provides a compelling reason to pursue a spiritual practice of some sort each day. I personally like to combine my spiritual practice with visioning. I’m not sure if that can improve my foresight, which is already excellent, but I’m sure it improves my ability to see my present. I definitely see my now with added clarity when I do this.

Reb Goldie also suggested I look at a reading fro the prophet Isaiah. This particular reading is called Chazon after the first Hebrew word (chazon) in the portion, which mean’s “vision.” The Shabbat (Sabbath) on which this portion is read is called the Sabbath of Vision (Shabbat Chazon), and it precedes the holiday of Tish B’Av, which commemorates the destruction of both the temples in Jerusalem. On this Sabbath, every year Jews read of Isaiah’s vision of the destruction of Jerusalem and of the rebirth of Jerusalem and the building of the third temple – a vision of a joyous time that has not yet arrived.

Some very great commentators have shared their thoughts on why just before the holiday that commemorates such a sad event in Jewish history we read a prediction of this tragedy but a vision of a happier time. For example, Rashi taught that even as Jews begin this period of grief they should also envision sadness turning to happiness, thus remembering that this is the course life tends to take. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev taught that our vision of the future must become internalized and arouse a longing, for this changes us and makes it possible for us to bring that vision into physical reality. In this process, our souls see the vision as already existing; thus, we long for something that is distant and that inspires us while at the same time feeling at peace with something that exists within us as reality.

Rabbi Levi could be one of the teachers on the popular DVD The Secret (or quoted in the book by the same name) or a proponent for my own book Abracadabra! The Kabbalah of Conscious Creation! He’s talking about the power of seeing what we want as already manifest. And he’s talking about being happy and at peace with the vision of what we want even though we haven’t yet seen it come into our physical reality.

In addition, my friend Rabbi Fred Guttman was kind enough to share one of his High Holy Day sermons with me that spoke to the fact that without a vision of the future we cannot manifest that very same future. He quoted from Proverbs, chapter 29, which says, “Where there is no vision, the people show no restraint.” Says Rabbi Fred, “The text here is teaching us that without vision, the people lack direction and fumble around.” Isn’t it true that if we don’t visualize our future – if we don’t see it clearly – we don’t know where we are going? That foresight gives us a roadmap, a blueprint that we can follow.

Additionally, Rabbi Fred told a wonderful story about 10 Jews crossing a river prior to the onset of the Sabbath. When they get to the other side, however, the leader counts them all to see if they have all made it across. To his dismay, he finds there are only nine. Someone has drowned in the river leaving them without a minyan. He counts several times with the same result. As the group begins to wail for their drowned friend, a peasant comes along. He count the men, and finds that there are, indeed, still 10. The leader had not counted himself. Rabbi Fred ended the story by saying, “Very quickly, these wise men understood that it is one thing to count upon others, but it is something else entirely to count upon oneself.”

Rabbi Fred went on to stress a similar point in his sermon as did I that Sunday morning in church. I pointed out that if we don’t put ourselves in our own vision, we will never see ourselves in that future we desire to create. The future might come to pass, but we won’t be in it. Plus, to make that vision into a reality, we must count upon ourselves to manifest it; we must see ourselves as part of what is necessary to bring it into physical reality.

Last, but definitely not least, I shared with the small congregation a story from one of my favorite Jewish authors, Rabbi Mitch Chefitz. The story, called “Just a Miracle,” comes from his book of short stories, The Curse of Blessings (previously published in his novel The Seventh Telling: The Kabbalah of Moshe Katan) and describes a townspeople’s reaction of young Elijah’s miracles. No matter what he does, the townspeople say it was “just” this or “just” that. The young girl who is the recipient of all these miracles learns a lesson from this, a lesson about how our language and our thinking affect our vision. Here's what Mitch writes about the lesson she learns and goes on to teach others:

“The word just puts blinders on you,” she taught. “so even though a miracle might be right there in front of you, you won’t be able to see it. You would see just this, or just that, but never look into the depth of anything. Your eyes would never open in wonder.

“That you open your eyes at all is a miracle. The word just can’t keep your eyes from seeing, but the word just can keep you from seeing the miracle of sight.”

So, go out and see. Feel blessed that you have vision. Connect with God so that your vision increases. Have foresight. Use your better-than-20-20 vision to visualize that perfect future you desire. Internalize that vision so that it changes you and changes your future. See yourself in that future. And when that future becomes your present, and that present is miraculous, don’t discount it as just another day, another moment, another whatever. See it. Really see it. Have 20-20 vision, or better-than-20-20 vision, now.

Lessons from Na’amah and Noah – and A New Ritual for Cheshvan

2007-10-14T21:44:00.000-07:00

I was asked last week to help lead a Rosh Chodesh (new moon or new month) group at the temple I joined a few months ago. I know several of the women who attend the group, and I felt honored to help come up with a theme and a program. The three of us threw around a lot of ideas but latched on to some that revolved around the week’s Torah portion, which told the story of Noah and the flood. I’d like to share with you the part of the evening I came up with. Maybe you will find it interesting and useful.

I thought about parshah Noach and it reminded me of something I am constantly trying to do – to go with the flow. I find that more often than not I am paddling up stream rather than with the current. Noah, however, did not paddle the ark at all. (It would have been a hard thing to do, mind you, with all those animals on board and so few humans to actual paddle such a large boat.) The ark just floated along, drifting in whatever direction the flow of the water dictated. One of the other women and I thought a discussion about flow in our lives might be appropriate.

One of the women also shared a midrash with me that I’d never heard before. She explained that Na’amah, Noah’s wife, was wise enough to plan for life after the flood by collecting the seeds of all the plants. These she brought with her onto the ark and later, after the waters receded, planted. Thus, we today enjoy the results of her wise action. I began thinking about planting seeds… I wondered how I could tie this in, especially at a time of year when most plants are going dormant. Then I remembered the bags of seeds that my mother had recently collected for me and that I had also collected while at her home from plants going dormant (to seed) in her garden. And if we hadn’t collected them, the seeds would have fallen to the ground only to lie there most of the winter until the warm spring weather accompanied by the damp earth would have caused them to sprout into new plants.

“Aha! The plants are going dormant,” I thought, “but like Na’amah, the plants actually are preparing for the future – planting seeds for the future.”

With that in mind, I created a new ritual for a month with no holiday – one of the other women leading with me had explained that Cheshvan is called the “sad month” for this reason – and no ritual of its own. Using a chant, called the “planting chant,” and a ritual I learned from Rabbi Shefa Gold, I tied this in to the idea of flood waters and the just past holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. In the group, we discussed the fact that the month of Cheshvan comes right after the High Holy Days. Much like the passing of the secular New Year when we enter January with New Year’s resolutions, we enter Cheshvan with new “targets” we have set personally and spiritually (sometimes professionally as well), but by the time the new moon rises we may already have forgotten at what we planned to aim, stopped practicing or given up practicing at all. Some of us may not have even set targets. Thus, the new moon of Cheshvan provides the perfect time to plant a seed – a quality – that will allow us to follow through with our goals for the new year – and to weather the storms, the draughts, the floods of the new year as well. So, we each picked a quality, and together we planted it within our selves while chanting, “Vechayay olam natah betochaynu, Infinite life is planted within us.”

Thus, a new ritual for the month of Cheshvan was born and a quality was planted within each one of us. And surprisingly – or not – one of the women who attending the gathering showed up with plants for us all! She didn’t even know the theme of the evening, yet she brought a “Mother of Millions” for each of us – a plant that not only grows but produces more baby plants on its leaves, creating more plants constantly for the future. How perfect was that?

Between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Life Got In My Way

2007-10-03T19:13:00.000-07:00

Between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, life got in my way. My mother was in a car accident (nothing broken but very bruised and battered), and I found myself on a plane to New York once again, this time to spend a whole week caring for her. No Kil Nidre service for me. No Yom Kippur spent with my family and community. No leading a morning meditation. No chance to speak face to face with my family or friend and to apologize for the sins I might have committed against them over the past year.

I spent a good part of the days prior to leaving anguishing over the fact that I would have to spend the week with my mother. Not that I didn’t want to care for her; I did. I just wasn’t sure I could handle being in her energy for that long, especially given the circumstances. Even under good circumstances I have trouble being with her for more than a few days; then we begin to argue. A week together, I was sure, would be terribly trying, and I didn’t want to lose my temper while she was in pain and suffering. I wanted to go and be compassionate and helpful and supportive and to care for her in a loving and understanding way. (Does this sound at all like an earlier blog?) But I got all the kvetching done before I left, and I arrived in New York ready to do what I began calling t’shuvah in action. I would do my Yom Kippur repentance and contemplation while caring for my mother. And I did.

In fact, with the energy of that week, which is about t’shuvah, turning back to God and to your best self – and which sets the tone for the rest of the year, I cared for my mother as best I could. And I didn’t lose my temper. And I tried to speak from my heart when I was aggravated or upset, and I was more understanding and compassionate than I usually manage to be in her company.

I went to bed on Erev Yom Kippur and read my siddur alone. I walked my mother’s dog on Yom Kippur morning and spoke aloud of my sins as I traveled the road of my youth. “Al chet…for the sins (the missed marks) I have committed by….” and I filled in the blanks. When the sun had already set, I had time to read, once again, my siddur. It didn’t feel like Yom Kippur, but I knew it was.

If nothing else, I felt I had acted differently. I had set a new target for myself in coming to New York, and I had done a fairly good job of hitting it. Not a bad way to begin the New Year and to end Yom Kippur.

I missed hearing my son blow the shofar at the end of Neilah. I didn’t sit with my husband as he mourned the passing of his father during Yiskor. I wasn’t there to break fast with my community. I only had the chance to hurriedly tell my husband and my kids over the phone that I was sorry for anything I had done that had hurt them without being very specific or thoughtful. But I made pot roast for my mother – enough to freeze so she’d have several more meals after I returned to California. I felt as if I made amends for the last time I was in New York, when I did yell at her and left feeling pretty lousy about how I had behaved with her. I spent a week giving of myself and being more concerned with her needs than with my own. I behaved in a way of which I was proud. I learned a little about myself, and took into consideration my mother’s point of view a bit more than usual. I helped someone in need – someone I love. I returned to New York glad to go home to my family but sad to leave my mother alone.

All in all, not a bad way to have spent Yom Kippur and to have started the New Year. So, maybe life didn’t get in the way after all. Maybe life happened just perfectly. Isn’t that they way it usually happens – at least when we look back objectively?