Empty me
Every moment
Is so full
I have taken up haiku writing for some reason and thought I would share one today...oh and for those people who think "every" is only two syllables...keep it to yourself
So life on the farm is slow and good and full of work. There have been a few reality checks, for which I am grateful, though it usually takes a little while to appreciate the gift that has been presented. There have been frustrations and miscommunications and discomforts and loneliness and negative cycles of thought ...but after a little time and practice I recover my senses. Before I left a teacher of mine, who considers me something of an idealist, told me that this trip held for me a few wake up calls...and I am sure he is right. I have been thinking that I am glad that I have this time in Europe before heading to India and Nepal to adjust a little to a few things on the road and to bring a more sober set of eyes to, what will surely be, a new world. In any case, because certain aspects of life here are in the works and I would rather wait to see how they pan out a little more before exposing them to the eyes of my readership, I have decided to take this opportunity to cover at least some of my time in Paris...so here we go
I arrived in Paris super tired since there was no sleeping to be done on the plane (who could sleep when there was Letters To Juliet and Prince of Persia to watch). After some hustle and bustle I got to where I was supposed to get picked up and eventually was by my "house brother" Jeremy (Rabbi in training...not really but you´d think so). As I arrived on erev Yom Kippur, from 7 to 10 pm I was in a 10-20 ft room in the back of a house filled to the brim with extremely religious French Jews racing through their prayer books at 100 miles per hour as though the Messiah was on his way. I understood a little and was able to participate in even less since any prayers I did know were in melodies and at speeds to which I was totally unaccustomed. There was a section of the room separated from us by a cloth divide for the women. There were two Torahs present on a table in the center of the room...both were of course on the mens (the apostrophe is not working for me so please excuse the plural/possessive mix up from time to time) side since women are inferior or impure for whatever arcane nonsensical Bible-backed reason. The constant movement of each individual in the room during prayer was something both beautiful and odd for me since in my practice nowadays I seek an internal stillness beginning with an external manifestation of that stillness vis-a-vis my quarter lotus meditative posture. For those of you who have never been to a religious Jewish ceremony, most orthodox Jews sway back and forth or do what looks like high speed bowing when they pray. This is supposed to represent or to illustrate the presence of the flame of God in each of his chosen...they burn with divine light and move as a flame on a candle wick, its derived from Psalms or I dont remember where exactly. Dont get me wrong, its not like I felt totally divorced from the religion in which I was raised, it brought up a lot of history and all that jazz, but its not like I felt like I totally belonged there either. I suppose everyone has their own way of finding stillness...I found myself moving after not too long in part because it was the only way in which I felt I could participate externally. That and because there is something to be said for feeling subtle vibrations in the body and there is something to be said for creating a spiritual frequency with a room full of people. (And Ive had a soft spot for Judaism in Paris since I read My Name is Asher Lev a little while before I embarked on this adventure...more on that later). But when they started auctioning off Torah presentations for mitzvah points I had had enough.
Moving on...I slept the next day till three in the afternoon...It was fasting day anyways so I didnt miss much around the house. In the evening I went into Paris proper from Saint Cloud (where the Mafoda family lives) on the train...I love trains in Europe. Perfectly enough, a young man with a guitar and a very pretty voice started singing Bob Marley for spare change and I got all retarded happy that I was in Europe and staring my whole adventure and blah blah. So to balance out the previous evening the first thing I did was to go to mass in Notre Dame haha. How perfect is that? After mass I wandered down by the Seine since there were all kinds of people and booths and noise...(I thought of getting lost a few years ago in Rome along the Lungo Tevere with someone if you are reading this) little did I know that there was a whole row of booths of cheese, and bread and oil and all sorts of French goodness waiting for me down there. So I of course bought a baguette filled with Camambert and sat watching the Seine for a while surrounded by French youths drinking wine and eating bread, cheese and meat on the concrete. I took the metro and then train back to Saint Cloud after some more wandering about Paris a little more and went to sleep. Which I am going to do now since I pulled at a barbed wire fence and cut prickly bushes in the sun all day today and I am tired...that and this computer is annoying and I have had enough of its nonsense for tonight. Goodnight. Metta to you all.
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