The Storytellers Goddess Part 11

And so it was that Ottar that night won the argument with Angantyr.

Never more, while those men lived, did poison for weeds or insects spoil the soil and water of that place.

Things were different in older times, the old ones say, and some are sure that such wisdom is never more to be heard from the Great Sow Mother.

But there are those who swear that on a Friday night, especially a Friday of the sacred number thirteen, the wisdom of Freya, the Great Sow Mother, can be had by those who call down Her chariot of light drawn by Her sleek black cats whose eyes wink slow as the stars.

Shekina (shuh-KEE-nuh) Keeper of Wisdom (Hebrew People) Introduction

People who are uncovering psychological and spiritual truth experience the power of knowing something in the body not just in the head or even in the heart. Jewish mystical writings, called the Kabbalah, used the word daath for the insight that is true because it is accompanied by great feeling. Daath is the knowledge that comes from the union of conscious and unconscious minds, a kind of knowing that is a deeply erotic experience. Daath is the word used by Kabbalistic writers to refer to the union of G.o.d with His Bride, the Sabbath, or the Shekina.

The Zohar, the princ.i.p.al book of the Kabbalah, says, "[On the Sabbath]

all is found in one body, complete, for the Matronit clings to the King and is become one body, and this is why blessings are found on that day."

Shekina, meaning Sabbath, is the name for the Feast of the Full Moon, which once celebrated the menstruation of the Great G.o.ddess. Originally honored once a month, Her holiness came to be observed once every quarter moon (once a week). The Friday evening that began Her honor was the night in which the husband of the home made love with his wife, recapitulating the union of the G.o.d and G.o.ddess. The following day, Sat.u.r.day, was devoted to the postcoital reverie of washed perceptions and the leisurely depth of feeling that should not be disturbed by mundane doings or materialism.

Patriarchal influence, however, lessened interest in the power of love between the male and female deities within and outside of humans.

Consequently, the Sabbath became more an observance obsessed with the minutiae of the law, and the Shekina, once G.o.ddess of Babylon and then of the Jews, went underground.

Her light still glows, however, in the holiness of pa.s.sionate love, and the braids of Her hair are suggested in the shape of challah bread.

Study of the Torah, said to be Her outer garments, can be symbolized in erotic imagery: like a Bride within Her curtained chamber, the Shekina must be courted with the heart, soul, and entire being of those who would know Her wisdom and joy.

Silver candlesticks, white candles, and challah bread all help me to call the Shekina. I wrote this story from the point of view of the young ascetic in me who is still waking to the peace of her own body.

Sections of The Wise Wound by Penelope Shuttle and Peter Redgrove were invaluable for my understanding of the Shekina.

The Door to the Soul Once a young man asked himself these questions: Who am I? And how am I connected to all others? He wondered and wandered and asked the questions again and again. He yearned for the answers.

One day he approached a teacher and asked, "Who am I? And how am I connected to all others?" The teacher said, "Study will answer those riddles."

"What must I study?" asked the young man.

"Study the thousand and one books," said the teacher.

"It is through your study that you will gain wisdom."

So the young man piled the thousand and one books, some dry bread, and some candles on a cart. Then he took himself in cap and shawl, with paper in his shoes for warmth, to a small house at the edge of a town.

Inside the house, at the desk he sat, day after day, reading the thousand and one books.

"Who am I?" he wrote on a paper.

"How am I connected to all others?" he wrote on a second. Outside the trees turned fiery and lost their leaves. Inside, the young man filled page after page with learning from his books. He stopped only to swallow a little of the dry bread and sometimes to renew his candle or to drop his aching shoulders before him on the desk to sleep. The young man's wrists grew thin and his eyes burned. The thousand and one books stacked themselves around him in wobbly towers, and the pages of his writings heaped themselves before him like a fence.

One night a freezing rain beat in a torrent against the walls of the house. The young man pulled his shawl tight about him, but he felt the damp like a knife in his back. His feet were numb. The marks on the page before him began to swim. Suddenly the young man let out a moan and flung the book toward the window.

"I don't know!" he yelled.

"I DON'T KNOW!".

At that very second the rain outside halted and a howl of wind blew up.

It clattered the panes and then, in a rush of power, ripped open the catch of the window. The room was filled with the shock of cold air.

The candle blew out, and the papers on the desk spattered apart and lifted like the feathers of some giant white bird.

The young man staggered to the window and wrenched it shut. Then turning slowly and looking across the room, he drew back to see that a small light had formed on the other side of the swinging doors that led to the next room.

"How can that be?" said the young man.

"There is no one in this house but me."

The young man felt afraid. But the light glowed so softly. After a moment, the young man followed the glow to the other side of the doors.

The pale light went on before him. This time he had to part a curtain to enter the next room. Still the glow went forward, and the young man found himself walking through room after room. He had not known the house had so many rooms. Was it possible he'd forgotten them? Had they been here before?

Finally the light drew him to a tightly closed door. He pushed it open, and the light settled on a bed in the small room.

The young man breathed out as he saw the light falter, then flare up, and then turn before his eyes into a beautiful Woman.

The Woman's skin was dark and Her hair curled about Her face. Her garment was like the shadows of leaves. She looked quietly at the young man. The bed on which She sat was covered with quilts the color of sh.e.l.ls. The walls seemed soft as clouds.

"Who are you?" asked the young man.

"I am your Soul," said the Woman.

"I am the Shekina. Eat and be full."

The Woman turned and lifted to the bed a great tray laden with a feast.

The young man felt ravenous. Fruit of every sort filled the tray. He fell to it and ate his fill.

The Shekina handed him a cup of steaming broth. The young man felt the warmth seep into his bones.

"Bathe now," said the Shekina.

Around him the young man could feel hot, lapping, was.h.i.+ng water.

Afterward a towel folded around him held in the sweet heat.

"Now. Come. Sleep," said the Shekina. She helped the young man into the bed.

For six days the young man clung to the Shekina, wrapped now in the deepest sleep, then awake and gazing into Her eyes, and then holding Her completely as he could. And then again drifting into the lovely snow of sleep.

On the seventh day, the Shekina rose up and kissed the young man on his lips. Then Her skin seemed to melt and he could no longer see Her features. She faded again to a glow of light. The young man lay unable to move, his breath caught in his throat.

The young man didn't know how long he slept after that. But the next time he opened his eyes, the sun was s.h.i.+ning. He gathered up the pits of the fruits he'd eaten and went outside. There in the soil he planted a garden. At the center of the garden he placed a stone. On the stone he wrote these words: "I am one with all. All is one."

Years pa.s.sed by. The seeds of the fruits grew into a mighty orchard.

The young man was no longer young. Now he was an old man who carried his grandchildren.

Always on the seventh day, the old man lit the candles and whispered the story of the calling of the Soul.

"Come, Shekina," he would say to the breeze that flickered the candle flames bright.

"Come, Shekina, come. Fill this garden with Your rest."