…And let the hurt things out.
That’s what woke me this morning:
….You know without a doubt
Go and rub my head
And let the hurt things out
The kernel of a song. My third “good one.” That’s how they come, in my dreams. They wake me up, I write them down.
This one came in a gush of tears. I grabbed my voice recorder and whispered the snatch of song along with its tune and arrangement (they all come as a fairly complete stubbed-in piece to be completed while awake), collapsed back into bed and hours later I am still crying.
Last night I was up till I couldn’t stand it any more, IM’ing with a friend back in Jerusalem. His wife died not long ago, he’s still young, he’s got a bunch of kids…..he’s so, so lonely…..he just wants someone in his bed to keep him company and drive away the chill grey of the dawn. Will I come back and just be his friend and warm him? Oh, he knows I’m old and sick (he’s young enough that I am old!), but we are such good friends and…….
I know, I know….don’t worry, I am not offended. You know that I can’t do this for you….Yes, I know.
I have acted this role for so many, many people over the years.
I have been the Temple Prostitute, the Holy Woman who heals through the balm of Sacred Sex.
How many souls seared with the pain of loss, loneliness, lost-ness, have I soothed and set back on their way, smiling and breathing, with a word of thanks and freedom in their step?
I am glad for them. I am grateful that I have been given a role in their healing. I watch them go, and I don’t let them see. Don’t look back, for I am naught but a pillar of salt tears.
What about me, I ask my Creator. What about me? Do I get a reward here, ever? Or do I die alone, knowing that I have helped….is that my reward?
I’m sure that my reward will come, but not in the form that I would dearly love to have. I haven’t merited that. Not this time around.
I am of the lineage of Dina (Deena), daughter of Leah, the thirteenth child born of the loins of Yaakov (Jacob). I will tell you more about her in my next post, G-d willing.
But for now, this soiled dove must tuck her head under her wing and weather the cold alone.