Hidden One

Although I feel certain that I want to become a kohenet, I have trouble visualizing what that would mean.

My awareness of Shekhinah is still vague and hard to define. I feel ecstasy when the Torah is processed around the shul and, during the singing of Lecha Dodi, I see a glorious woman approaching. Shabbat and community have helped me sense the Divine Presence, but I do not yet really know Shekhinah, in the way that I know Hestia.

So I pulled some cards from The Fountain Tarot, asking how I can meet Shekhinah. I received the Nine of Cups and The High Priestess.

What was immediately notable in these two cards were the containers, cups and a crescent moon throne. In one, vessels have been overturned; when I first turned this card over, I momentarily saw the man's smiling face reflected in the water that had spilled from his nine cups. In the other card, a stern, emaciated woman perches awkwardly in a crescent throne; when I turned that card over I was repelled.

In The Fountain Tarot, the Nine of Cups is called Shared Happiness and The High Priestess is called Veiled Wisdom. Reversed, the Nine of Cups suggests giving up material things in favor of a spiritual quest. The High Priestess asks that we pause at the beginning of a spiritual quest to reflect on our paths.

The first card feels very feminine despite the central male figure. It’s as if his waters have broken—he’s birthed something new. The woman in the second card is rigid and controlled. She holds a scroll but does not invite us to look at it. Is she a guardian of the threshold? And if so, why is the full moon hidden behind the veil, inside the shrine?

It surprises me that my longing for Shekhinah would be represented by a bearded man giving birth. Nor would I expect Shekhinah, or her priestess, to be cold and unapproachable. (Or am I the rigid seeker—and Shekhinah the laughter that greets me in other people?)

Contemporary Goddess imagery is usually exuberant, showing abundance, compassion, strength, love, comfort. Even fearsome goddesses are appealing.

http://blog.onlineprasad.com

Surely Shekhinah has those same traits and yet, I found, many years ago, that my experiences in a goddess circle weren't replicated in Rosh Chodesh groups. It took years of journeying with Judaism before the idea of Shekhinah began to speak to me. As Judaism changed me and how I see the world, it also reshaped my relationship with the Divine Feminine—making her feel harder to find.

A friend pointed out that contemporary goddess followers are generally rejecting traditional religion, but that doesn't seem to be the case for Jewish women exploring the feminine divine. He's right. Shekhinah is woven into the fabric of Judaism and those who seek her aren't rejecting our culture, although we are looking to the more remote roots of our culture.

My experience of her is constrained—she is hidden in our texts, and that’s mostly where I’ve been searching. (The experience of being in nature... I can't give that a face or a name.) Contemporary goddess worshipers are free to choose from many goddesses—finding figures who resonate with their needs and interpreting those myths in light of their own experiences. But where can Jewish women find Shekhinah's stories?

Jews are commanded to care for the widow and orphan, but a solitary woman's place in Jewish society is precarious; she is invisible. Shekhinah has been invisible, a neglected widow, hungry, restricted by convention. She feels like a bound woman—a kind of spiritual agunah.

Because Shekhinah is not a goddess but a Presence, I seek her in our tradition and in my lived Jewish experience. Perhaps she is the reflection I glimpsed in the spilled water of the Nine of Cups. Perhaps she is the invitation behind the veil in The High Priestess card. Am I willing to reach toward her—and then wait, patiently, until she chooses to reveal a smiling face? Or some other face? Will I recognize, when I meet her gaze, that she has always been everything? Will I come to know her stories… or simply sense her as a presence in our Land?

Almanah

by Joanna Powell Colbert,
available at gaiansoul.com

There is a poem by Hunter Hall, All Hail the Runners, about the ages of a woman and about regaining one's own voice.


When I was six, I believed that when I was old and gray, I'd be allowed to speak up and no one would slap me down. That's not the case, but even so, I love being old!


So I was disappointed when my friend Aaron recently called me middle-aged. Is that what I am? I did the math and yes, if I assume that I'll live as long as my mother, then I am only middle-aged and won't be old until March 2021.

But there's another set of labels available.


Years ago, when I heard that phases of the moon, the faces of female divinity, and the stages of a woman's life were divided into three: maiden, mother, and crone, it seemed to me that there should be a fourth phase/aspect. Why doesn't the dark moon count? We know it's there even if we can't see it.

Later I read that M. Esther Harding had also thought that the goddess and a woman's life has four phases. More recently, Donna Henes wrote a book in which she declared that the stages of a woman's life should be divided in four: maiden, mother, queen, and crone. (The names could use revising.)

According to that system, I am in the "queen" phase of my life-- the first quarter of it. I'll be in the middle of my queen phase in 793 days. What will I accomplish between now and 12 October 2017? Can I become empowered?

And will I be a wise crone on 23 November 2048?

Why do I love being "old?" Because I no longer berate myself for being too stupid to figure the world out. The world cannot be figured out-- anything that complicated can't be real. So, all I am responsible for is being myself, following my heart, choosing whether to stay safe or to do what’s right, and appreciating my friends.

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Even for those who've had their voices stolen,

the true act of love is not to speak on their behalf,

but to help them steal their voices back. 

- Rhyd Wildermuth

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Almanah