Quote 8:
I am shown a great hall full of people sitting at long tables laden with fruit of every kind glowing fresh and ripe and goblets of ruby rich mead and they laugh together and sing and speak and it is heaven and God does not sit at a great hight seat but moves among them, speaking to one and then another, and God is thanking them. And now I am seated among them, drinking from a golden cup, and God approaches and speaks to me:
I think thee for thy service and thy travail, especially in thy youth.
A clutching knot of anxiety inside me softens as I receive gratitude for efforts I had called failures [… ] Tight anxiety at failure softened by the recognition of […] effort. Just that.
I watch God move on, thanking soul after soul for their travail, not their triumph. I watch him with grateful love in my heart.
—I Julian by Claire Gilbert
Reflection:
In this prosaic vision of the afterlife, Julian’s Christian God is reminiscent of Hestia, the ancient goddess of the hearth, hosting guests and personally engaging with each of them. God walks among the souls, as in Gan Eden, but now with gratitude and tenderness. Heaven is not as a celestial hierarchy of angels, archangels, serafim, and keruvim, but a space where shared food, laughter, and song embody the love of community and family, and of God. After death, we do not ascend to the foot of God’s throne; rather, God approaches us, offering personal connection and care.
The imagery of a banquet evokes the biblical scene of the elders feasting in the presence of God on Sinai. Just as the elders shared in divine communion, so too does Julian witness the intimacy of God's presence among humanity, affirming that the essence of divinity is love.
As the people partake in their welcoming, God the Mother moves among them, expressing gratitude for their efforts. God’s gratitude is unexpected— it is not for successes, but for the “service and travail” of life. This divine recognition transforms the sting of failure into something gentler, even sacred. As the Kotzker Rebbe observed, “The only whole heart is a broken one.”
In this vision, Julian’s relentless self-judgment that measures her worth by success loosens its grip. Her self-hatred is dissolved in the face of God’s love.
This passage invites us to find beauty and meaning in our efforts, even if we’ve always failed and never reached our goal. It reassures us that God sees, values, and cherishes us in our struggles.
Quote 7:
There’s no element of pride and direction and purpose left.
—Henry Kissinger
Reflection:
It’s a timeless thought: people and our society were better when we were young. However, even on a personal level, I do feel as if I’ve lost my sense of pride as well as a sense of direction and purpose. How I reclaim those things?
Quote 6:
The voice of Torah is a lion’s roar.
—me during a Tarot reading
Reflection:
I uttered those words during a tarot reading with Kesam. It is possible that the reading included the Strength card, which typically features a lion, and The High Priestess, however all details of the reading elude me (and Kesam). The reading had deep significance and I wish could recall the reason for my strange but fascinating statement.
Quote 5:
Balaam took up his oracle and said: Woe, who can live more than El has set him.
—Numbers 24:23
Reflection:
The quote from BaMidbar resonates with a sentiment often expressed by someone I admire. He frequently emphasizes that his dedication and hard work stem from a keen awareness of life's finitude. Like most people, I allow my awareness of mortality to fade from my consciousness most of the time. Understanding that KK’s motivation is rooted in such intense awareness makes me wish for a similar clarity. Given that this quote is from a source I revere, it is significant to me, serving as a reminder to seize the present moment and pursue what truly matters to me.
Quote 4:
The kirpan, a small knife[…] symbolizes the Sikh commitment to defending the rights of others to live without fear or oppression. It is[…] a symbol of protection[…] The kirpan serves as a reminder of the responsibility to safeguard others rather than resorting to violence. Furthermore, the kirpan represents the potential destructive power of anger. When a Sikh unsheathes the kirpan, it is customary to touch the blade to their forehead. This action signifies an acknowledgement that wielding anger recklessly can be as harmful as a sharp blade. It serves as a reminder of the need for self-control and the potential consequences of yielding to anger.
— Guru Kaur (from sikhnet.com)
Reflection:
I found this quote when researching whether Sikh women also carry the ritual objects of their faith. It made me consider again the purpose the ritual dagger in Hekatean sorcery. Hekate’s dagger represents her power to connect realms and Hekate Vrimo’s dagger destroys illness and evil, but I don’t understand the purpose of personal ritual daggers that we were taught to consecrate in Hekatean sorcery. This Sikh perspective suggests the dagger could be a reminder to defend the rights and safety of others, a symbol of my ability to protect myself, and a reminder of the destructive nature of unchecked anger. This last point resonates with a debate I had with Jason about my belief that such anger and resentment can be disempowering. The dagger might also be a reminder of the need for self-control and an aspiration to diminish ego.
Quote 3:
One who calls [himself] a Sikh[…] shall rise in the early morning[…] and meditate on the Lord's Name. Upon arising early in the morning, he is to bathe[…] in the pool of nectar[…] At the rising of the sun, he is to sing [and] to meditate on the Lord's Name. One who meditates on my Lord[…] with every breath and every morsel of food[…] becomes pleasing to [the Lord].
— Guru Granth Sahib (from Wikipedia.com)
Reflection:
The daily routines of religious groups interest me because I’d like to emulate the ways of a spiritual life. I like how this routine is presented, not as a rigid schedule, but as a way to cultivate gratitude, joy, and awareness of the divine.
This quote made me recognize that my current practices are already adequate. Perhaps I could consider my morning shower a spiritual practice as well. (I wonder what the “pool of nectar” in the quote refers to. Is it an actual body of water or a figurative body of water, such as a mantra or prayer?) While I often rise before sunrise to be aware of the cycles of the world, the Sikh practice of rising three hours before dawn is too extreme for me; it would decrease my social interactions.
This quote is also an additional spur to daily meditation; sunrise does seem like an appropriate time for that.
Quote 2:
And Moses went up, and with him Aaron, Nadab and Avihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel. And they saw the God of Israel and beneath His feet was like a fashioning of sapphire pavement and like the very heavens for pureness. But against the elect of the Israelites He did not send forth His hand, and they beheld God and ate and drank.
—Exodus 24:9-11
Reflection:
I first encountered this verse thirty years ago during Torah study at Temple Beth El in San Mateo, California. One woman was deeply struck by the phrase “under his feet was like the very sky for purity.” This quote highlights the ineffable nature of God by refraining from describing Him. I wonder if the phrase “ate and drank” is meant to be taken literally or metaphorically; could they have been nourished by the vision of God? In the Torah, consumption of meat is contingent on sacrifice at the Tent of Meeting or the Temple, implying the requirement to atone for taking life, even if it is needed for sustenance. The Temple's design mirrors Mount Sinai, with the holy of holies representing the mountain’s summit and the Outer Court symbolizing the foot of the mountain. However, what strikes me most about this quote now is the apparent informality of the interaction between the elders and God in this verse—they beheld Him and ate dinner. Then again, “breaking bread” with another held great significance in that era and locale, and later, eating of the sacrifices was a kind of communion with God.
Quote 1:
This shimmer of moonlight runs through the work of the Romantics, appearing in some of the least likely places. Traditionally, Druids were regarded as sun-worshippers, but when Vincenzo Bellini wrote the nineteenth century’s most famous drama about them, his opera Norma (1831), the libretto by Felice Romani made the heroine stand in a sacred grove and invoke the moon, in the most celebrated aria:
Chaste goddess, who silvers these sacred trees,— Ronald Hutton (The Triumph of the Moon)
Show your face to us without a veil,
Bring peace to earth as you have brought it to heaven.
Reflection:
Light is awe inspiring and indescribable, and yet this aria manages to evoke one of its magical effects with a rarely-used verb: "silvering the trees." Ronald Hutton offered this quote when considering the significance of the moon in modern paganism.
Once as a child, I stood outside and began singing to the moon in the daytime sky. As I sang, I had this odd thought: “Witches weren’t bad. They were simply singing to the moon.”
It’s interesting that the Romantics seem to have brought Judaeo-Christian values to their paganism; as far as I know, ancient pagan deities were not invoked for peace. However, in the closing of the Amidah, Jews pray, “May the One who makes peace in the heavens bring peace upon us and all the people of the world.”
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