April 02, 2004
The Feast of the Overpass
Today I will spend blogtime preparing for the celebration. Guess what? You probably have already. I belong to a group established for the purpose of celebrating the Jewish holidays. I call it the Havari, but I know the spelling is all wrong. As is our custom, we are celebrating at our convenience, Sunday, rather than smack dab on the holiday. Chanukkah happened on January 25 -- that was the brunch which launched my appendectomy .
Some of us are Jewish and some of us aren't, but all of us participate as best we can for the sake of the children and their cultural comprehension. Let me clarify that the children despise the group. Not so many years ago whole families arrived two hours late (one hour late is de rigeuor), tear streaked and flush faced with adolescents in a hammer locks. But we persisted.
The group has been meeting for twenty three years, three times a year on the biggies, and more often when circumstances warrant. Passover is always at my
house due to an architectural feature which allows three long tables to be strung together, so that twenty five of us (now fourteen) could all sit down for the proceedings. The spirit of irreverance is with us always; more since our most knowlegeable Judaic scholar moved to D.C.
Although our stated purpose is to eat, sing and speak Hebrew, we have been through quite alot together. Originally there were six families with two kids apiece. We lost one father to a heart attack, then another in a plane crash. We have had two bouts of cancer, one of which is cured and the other under tenuous control. We have had an adoption and an adoption reunion, two lavish weddings (one a remarriage), two more this summer, and are expecting our first grandchild in June. We have been there for one another in ways we never expected to be when we started.
We haven't had the children casting their ill humor over our ritual for a number of years, since they are disbursed around the country, but they seem to be returning. The married child, will join us this year, bringing with her a spouse and a new Chagada. A Chagada is the script from which the ceremony proceeds. It tells us what to say, when to sip n' sing, when to throw locusts and eat hard boiled eggs, as we retell the story of freedom. Our current Chagada is quick and to the point. It was written for kindergarteners. The real ones take many hours. Some of us are suspicious that our new document might result in a religious takeover. If it lasts too long, the hilarity level at the table will undoubtedly rise, discouraging those who sought to reform us.
I must now ritually clear all of the past month's junk mail from the diningroom table in preparation. Some observant folk have to change all their dishes, clean all their cupboards, and spit shine their houses for Passover. Just thinking of that makes me glad I'm a shiksa.
Posted by Dakota at April 2, 2004 06:41 AMHow I envy you your sense of community. It's not that I don't have this, it's just that it never seems that solid or long-lasting. Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold. I belong to a church (talk about unmasking - I'm really just a church lady in disguise). We had a woman minister for 9 years, then a black South African minister (fired for sexual harassment - a very ugly story, which brought about a painful diaspora and civil war which still isn't healed) and now, a gay minister. We're so liberal it's painful. This little spiritual band has been through some heavy shit in the past couple of years. There is a parallel in my own life when my "body said no" and began to rebel, buck and heave; Dr. Mate, where are you when I need you? I have to tell you, at one point all bets were off, and I had so blown it with him that he told me he no longer wanted to play the role of unofficial counsellor/doctor, so I thought: that's it; I really blew it, he hates me, there's no connection there at all. Then he clarifies to say he just doesn't want to take on an inappropriate role (i.e. personal saviour)and didn't mean to tell me to take a hike. I am paraphrasing here. What a mess my life has been lately, I feel like a stuffed animal all unstuffed, all the "stuff" coming out at the seams. It is a very messy, unsettled, chaotic time for me. I keep on reading your blog and being impressed with how sane you seem, and how connected. I feel cast adrift much of the time and was bitterly disillusioned by the publication of my book, which flopped. A glorious failure. Well, what did I expect, fame and glory? (Yes!) I am realizing I can't make this omelette without breaking A LOT of eggs, very messily over my head, with other people watching me while I fumble and fail. Or land on my ass on the ice and spin around a few times, blump. This all has to be in the service of growth. I fortunately have something of a mentor in Bohdan Siedlecki, my violin teacher for 8 years, who is also (not coincidentally) an alternative healer. He says he will "work on me" tomorrow and I pray it helps bring my spirit back into alignment with my wretched body. Oh God, there is still so much to learn! Humbling, humbling, if not humiliating, but isn't that my pride speaking? About 14 years ago when I first landed in 12-step recovery, I told myself "pride will be my biggest obstacle", and that has turned out to be right. Pride, and a kind of abject loneliness that causes me to do compulsive spilling like this message! God give me strength to bear up, to walk the path alone, which I am beginning to see as necessary. There is a part of this journey that must be undertaken alone; there will be no companions, no solace in the wilderness, just the face of the Divine, enigmatic and pitiless, not even kind but always incomprehensible, and more powerful than anything. Am I making sense? Anyway, please do wholeheartedly enjoy your celebrations, and honour your community which is a precious asset.
Margaret
Just lost a huge post. I will refrain from taking a baseball bat to the computer.
First let met tell you that I am enjoying, nay, sometimes hooting as I read "Better Than Life" - (just went to amazon to arrange a clickie,which I can't seem to do in comments, and discovered that there are only two copies left! Have heart, it's a sleeper.) Min's kick the can act and all the detail from my era, housedresses with clocks printed at random and Don Ameche's mustache make me chuckle. I will have hours at the hairdresser this morning to proceed further.
Also happened upon your review of "It Takes a Certain Type to be a Writer" too. So you're out there, girl.
Sounds like your church has provided enough material for a second novel, at the very least a piece for the Unitarian Universalist Review.
Had an idea for you. Forget the prefab organizations. You can start the Canadian chapter of the Abraham-Hicks Discussion and Manifestation Group. You can ask Gabor, in the spirit of restructuring your relationship, and both of you can invite a friend. Very little equipment required, just a few of Esther's tapes which are often quite droll. Tell him Dr.Wayne Dyer and Dr. Christiane Northrup are heavily into it. He doesn't seem to be having too much trouble manifesting at the moment.
Lastly, you think I'm SANE???? Well, that's a comfort. Reminds me of the remark "You like my personality? It only cost me $100,000".
Now on to a nap before flower arranging activity. Right now the table smacks of St. Patrick's Day, lacking the proper semitic dignity.
Dakota
Oh, you're better than sane, I'd say. Sane is so dull anyway. Your blog is always worth a look, and I do love those photos. Bohdan worked on me very intensively today, and I feel better than I have in five or six months, so something must have come unclogged. The thing is, we don't do all this personal growth stuff just because it's so durned fun to do. Personally, I do it because I don't feel I have much choice: he not busy being born is busy dying, as the poet said; and at 50 I think it's a tad too early to pack it in. In a sense, it really IS life-and-death, as the path I was on years ago would've finished me off for sure.
When not on this shining path of spiritual enlightenment, I get my kicks watching reruns of Green Acres on a religious TV channel (why is Green Acres considered religious? But there it is.) I always thought the relationship between Oliver and Lisa was highly sexually-charged, and they were the very first TV couple who slept in the same bed, a shocking idea at the time. I absolutely love the theme song, which begs to be sung along to. And the synchronicity (Gabor!) is not lost on me.
Darling I love you, but give me Park Avenue!
Margaret
Posted by: margaret gunning at April 3, 2004 09:50 PMNothing like a good vibrational attunement, no doubt expertly done by a violinist. Bravo! D
Posted by: Dakota at April 5, 2004 11:26 AM