Just Another Mindful Monday: On the Topic of Prayer

I love this photograph of Jewish women praying at the Kotel (Western Wall), taken in 1848

Happy Mindful Monday! It has been a while since I've posted on this theme and a while since I've been online--though as of sundown Saturday night, this High Holy Day season has finally drawn to a close. Don't get me wrong--I love holidays and this season in particular is laden with meaning for me, but I am quite at peace with returning to my usual routine at this point.
A dear friend of mine has taken on the huge mitzvah of learning together once a week with me. I refer to it as our Torah Tuesdays. The reason I say this is a huge mitzvah is not just because I appreciate our time together so much (which I do!) but because of the importance placed on educating another Jew by Judaism itself. There is a well known Talmudic proverb, which states:
"Whoever teaches his son teaches not alone his son, but also his son's son, and so on to the end of generations." -- Talmud, Kiddushin 30aJudaism places so much importance on teaching and educating that the act of learning with and teaching a fellow Jew is also said to fulfill the commandment stated in Dueteronomy 11:19 to "dilligently teach your children..." even for those who do not have children of their own.
But, yet again, I digress--perhaps I shall post at another time on the role of education in Judaism. For now, I want to focus on the topic of prayer.
I borrowed a book from my friend a couple of weeks ago titled "How To Run A Traditional Jewish Household." The author, Blu Greenberg, had the following to say on the role of daily prayer:
"Prayer serves many functions, in fact, every function and its opposite:
It is a safety hatch when one is overcome by fear or dread, anger or need.
It calls forth a generosity of the human spirit. Prayer reminds us not to take totally for granted that which we all must presume as we go about our business--the gifts of life, health, love, and good fortune. If we constantly worried about these essentials, we would be paralyzed in our actions. If we took them for granted all the time, we would be ingrates, and most unprepared for the vagaries or life.
Prayer sometimes enables us to reach into our own souls, to see what it's like in there. The truth is that we can get by very well for long periods of time without this contact with our inner selves, but at some point it catches up.
Prayer is a sensation of community; but it is also a feeling of intense loneliness, and aloneness with G-d." (Chapter 4, page 137)

For me, prayer has taken on many roles. It has sometimes been like having a conversation with G-d. Sometimes it has been forced, rote, mechanical. Sometimes it has been full of feeling and meaning. I pray at times out of habit, at times out of what some might call superstition, at times out of desperation and hope, at times out of joy and gratitude. Many times, all of these factors play in to one Shabbat or one Krias Shema (prayers before retiring at night).
It would look pretty on paper to say my relationship to/belief in my G-d comes as easily to me as the breath to my lungs or the beating of my heart. It has not and does not. In the past, starting that "conversation" of prayer has been challenged by my not knowing to Whom I was speaking. The name game would get in the way--after all, one cannot address a "G-d" she does not believe exists. In those times, which were driven as much by comfort as they were by anger or pain, my prayers would take me by surprise. I'd find myself calling out G-d when I least expected to. That, in hindsight, is as natural and involuntary as the human heart beat or act of breathing.
Judaism recognizes that prayer will not always come with feeling. It recognizes that oftentimes our thoughts or emotions will serve as a barrier rather than motivator when it comes to talking with G-d. That is one reason why we have so many prayers we say daily, weekly, at holidays, on special milestones, painful occasions, even when eating, seeing something in nature, wearing a new item of clothing, using the bathroom, taking a road-trip, etc. It is well known that there are and will be times when we cannot find the words to begin the conversation; Judaism gives that to us.
However, equally important are those words which do come straight from a place deep within. Whether it is from despair and desire, from a place of loneliness or fear--we are all granted a private audience--"aloneness with G-d"--to pour out our soul-song when the occasion arises.
In the early stages of diagnostic testing over a year ago, well before it was discovered that I have severe sleep apnea, I had to go through 3 rounds of MRIs. This took 3 days and over six hours. I was terrified of the machine, the small space, the inability to move, the dark and the loud noises--not to mention all the anxiety of what they might be looking for in there! The one thing that got me through was to continuously recite in my mind the words to a Jewish song, Adon Olam. This is a piece taken from daily Jewish liturgy. Over the generations, it has been put to about a gazillion different tunes--a great way to take up 6 hours of time! But more than entertainment, it provided comfort and peace--each and every time I reached the last words: "Hashem* li, v'lo ira" -- "G-d is with me, I shall not fear."
So whatever the Name you choose to call, whether it's in your own words, driven by feeling, accompanied by meaning or completely by rote, may you all find comfort, peace, and gratitude in having even a brief moment of conversation in prayer.
*To honor the commandment of not taking His name in vain, many Jews will use "Hashem," meaning literally, The Name, when quoting liturgy outside of actual prayer

True Confessions of the Human Kind

I have a confession to make...
I am human. In fact, I have been human for my entire life.
While I am at it, I may as well also mention that I am not perfect, in fact, sometimes I am not even close to being perfect.
(What is perfect?)
Sometimes I am sick. Sometimes I am tired, exhausted even. My body has an incredible and God-given ability to tell me this. I have an incredible and human-like ability to ignore these messages. Sometimes I am worried or sad or angry. My soul has an amazing and God-given knack for feeling all kinds of emotions, but I have an amazing and human-like knack for only expressing the ones I think are "pretty," "neat," and "tidy."
(Which emotions are pretty, neat or tidy?)
I compare myself to other women. I have a lot of compassion and empathy for these women; I admire them. They are single or they are married. They are tall, short, thin, curvy... Maybe they live alone. Maybe they live with children and families. They are younger. They are older. They are professionals, students, moms, teachers, healers. They have many talents. Their homes are orderly and clean. They look neat and put-together every day and all day--even when they have been up with infants all night, raising children, working 40+ hour workweeks outside the home--and/or 24-hour, seven-day-per-week shifts in the home! They not only function in the many hats they wear and roles they play, they do so with grace and charisma! When one of these every day heroines confides in me that she feels tired, messy, disorganized--imperfect, I don't have any harsh judgments. If anything, I admire her more!
Imagine if it were OK to be messy or disorganized. Imagine if it were OK to be imperfect.

But what would that mean? Would it mean we are broken? Less-than? Not enough? And who gets to decide that?
So, yes, I feel tired. I feel sick and sometimes struggle not-so-gracefully to become well. I am sometimes messy, disorganized and--if you're really lucky, I've let you see you that in me. Because, you know what? I am whole. I am complete. I am human and today, right now, in this moment--that is more than enough.

It's Just Another Mindful Monday! ...And a Beautiful Day for a Staycation...

When you're out and about, is your head tucked in your feathers?

It is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and though most schools, public services and federal businesses are closed, I had still planned to go to work this morning. I surprisingly ended up with the day off and decided to take advantage of the unseasonably mild weather and go for a walk downtown with a friend--somewhat of a Staycation, if you will.

I've lived in or near Spokane, Washington since September of 2008. For the 5 years prior to that, I lived in Couer d'Alene, Idaho, just outside the state border. Today as I was walking with my friend through Riverfront Park, I remarked that after all this time, I still felt like a tourist in my own hometown. It occurred to me that much of my time when I am out on the town is spent focused on accomplishing some task. I am running errands, getting to an appointment or meeting, getting home. Even if I am walking for leisure, I have failed to notice so many of the beautiful aspects of downtown Spokane. I can only imagine that I am missing a lot of my surrounding environment wherever I go!

My realization on this Mindful Monday is that I am so lost in thoughts of who-knows-what while I am walking around town, that often I end up lost in my own neighborhood!

Monday Meditation

As I walk down the sidewalks of my home town, I allow myself to adopt the mindset of a visitor. I notice the simple and the ornate details that have become familiar as though I am seeing them for the very first time. As I bring the background into the foreground, I embrace my childlike sense of curiosity and wonder. I quack with the ducks, jump over puddles, and tightrope walk along garden walls. I do not need to travel far to feel as though I am on a vacation--I need only to walk with open eyes and an open mind through my very own neighborhood.

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