Descent for the Sake of Ascent

Me'Or Enayim teaches: the whole of the path is ups and downs.

We rise up in the fullness of finding ourselves, and then we fall -

but these are called descents for the sake of ascent.

We must let go completely where we've been to find momentum

necessary to propel us to an even higher place.

And also, on that lowly ground, we find it's maybe not so bad to fall.

The lowest point is simply earth - who longs to hold you

who catches you, simply - who loves you, still.

So give it up completely, whatever heavy holding wears upon your shoulders.

Put your feet, or better, face, on hers.

This low point is the place from which everything must grow.

And when it's all too much to feel, our tears become the rain

for which Adam was placed upon the land to pray.

They water something old and ever-present,

let them flow.

I recently discovered a Talmudic mention of the Phoenix:

The one creature who did not eat of the forbidden fruit,

and thus was granted life eternal. Which is not to say

she never dies, but that when she does,

she will rise up from her ashes, born anew.

Now I'm studying the way that stories are like bodies are like land

and how although story clothes and chariots the truth,

there's a necessary gap between the two.

But despite story being simply story,

while truth, of course, is true,

it's in the realm of story

where we've got so much work to do.

Is God more quiet as I've grown older?

Or have we gotten so close that she's harder to perceive?

Herein, another sake for the descent:

to turn away

to take some space

to feel your shape

to see your face.

I'll know your song by silence,

and when the yearning

grows too strong to bear,

with all my might, I'll run

towards you

again.