I tapped a tuning fork on the table, and placed it to my ear. More than hearing it, I felt it. A chord plucked within me. It entered at a level that made me wonder what other sounds wanted to introduce themselves. It reminded me of the prayer I recently heard, spoken in a tongue unknown to me. I had no idea what they were telling or asking of God, but I could feel what they were saying, the words riding on the energy that was rushing out.
Preaching to the limit of his vision, the young rabbi’s resonant voice was crystal clear.* The kind of sound that carries. He knew there was not time for more parables…just a wild and beautiful truth. Doing all he could to share the image nested within his heart, there was something present within the words. Like a mother delivering her child, a beautiful thing was born as he spoke. “What message will remain after I am gone?”, he thought. “What seed can take root?”. Passion rose up in him that needed to be let free. The intimate sweetness of his sound, like honey wine on my lips. I can taste his words swelling in my mouth, overflowing in my heart, and spilling into my blood stream.
Words reserved for intimate friends or lovers, he pulls them closer, whispering “we will live, work, and love, shoulder to shoulder”. The kind of language that makes people fall in love, and then consummate it. And in the most altruistic of moves, he declares the sacred nature of giving ones life for someone else. When we listen, the water wheel of love turns and flows to all thirsty things. The trees and grasses and flowers of the field burst forth. How stunning the color palate of spring, and of what blooms within us. New growth abounds and abides, like the love of a true friend.
