How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living. Each day is the same, so you remember the series afterward as a blurred and powerful pattern.
There are in consolable moments of grief that cannot be repaired. Perhaps they help shape the lines in our faces, the changing shine of the eye, the bearing of the body. They are neither bad nor good. They just are. Most often in these openhanded moments, when we stop--when we allow ourselves to be momentarily suspended, fully present with one another, with no agenda--we may catch a scent of grace carried far beyond the ken of grief ad joy. After all, isn't that what we all want? To put our ear to the rail of the heart, to touch our own pulse, to be listened to completely by another, and to be, in that moment, known just as we are.
Sakti Santorelli, Heal Thy Self
Baruch Ata Adonai Elo-hei-nu me-lech ha-olam a-sher ke-d-sha-nu b- mitz-vo-tav, v-tzi-va-nu al s-fi-rat ha-omer.
Praised be you Adonai our God who rules the Universe instilling within us the holiness of mitzvot by commanding us to count the Omer. Today is the thirty-fifth day – five weeks of the Omer.