Integration

Somewhat dissatisfied by my Sukkot experience of shaking the lulav in a not very mindful fashion, I went online to read more about the meaning of the plants and fruit that form the core of this ritual.

The lulav (palm branch) is flanked on either side by branches of myrtle and willow. According to one rabbinic video on the subject, myrtle leaves are shaped like eyes, willow leaves like mouths, and the lulav itself is like a spine, straight but flexible. The etrog (citron) represents the heart. We can choose to use each of these parts of ourselves for goodness....or not. Does our heart lust after things and people, or do we open our hearts to other people? Do we choose to see the good in others or to use our eyes to find flaws? And, most importantly, can we integrate these parts of ourselves so that we're acting as a whole individual, not a person who feels one thing yet says and does another. Had I been more aware of the symbolism at the time that I joined the etrog to the lulav and waved them in six directions, I might have felt more open to the experience and to imbuing it with my own meaning.

Integration is something for which I strive. In a popular culture that encourages us to act from our heads, not our hearts, that appeals to our material lusts rather than spiritual needs, and that treats the body as an entity distinct from mind and soul, it is very easy to disconnect from one's true self, to dis-integrate. I don't believe that is an exaggeration or overstatement - people can and do fall apart when they can no longer hear what their heart and soul are trying to telling them. Yoga is a means by which I am trying to link myself back together, to bring all the seemingly disparate pieces of myself into a coherent whole and to learn to act from a place that is located between my crotch and my clavicle, not above my neck. For decades I gave my head veto power over what the rest of me wanted to do, and it's about time that my decision making authority be transferred to a more appropriate place: my heart. But first I need to flex my heart muscles some more, because after years of being ignored it has atrophied somewhat and isn't always in a position to override my highly trained brain.

One of my main heart-head struggles has had to do with my level of observance of Judaism. My heart is increasingly inclined to observe the Sabbath in some fashion, not necessarily strictly adhering to Jewish law but also not doing things that explicitly violate the Sabbath, like working. Having had a retail business for the last few years which relied primarily on weekend, and especially Saturdays, for selling, I've found myself with a conundrum on my hands, especially with the holiday sales season approaching. In American culture, Saturday is a much busier shopping day than Sunday.

Yesterday I decided to do an event at my studio, but started it late enough so that I could attend Torah study at my synagogue and stay for the shacharit (morning) service, one of my favorites. But leaving synagogue mid-way through the morning felt unsatisfying, and the fact that I didn't open my studio until 12pm meant that fewer people came. Both experiences were compromised.

And I was somewhat bewildered, in an amused way, by the fact that I (presumably a single individual) had had such a diverse day yesterday, beginning with the study of the Book of Ecclesiastes ("Vanity of Vanities, All is Vanity!"), followed by the intense chanting of morning prayers, to the sale of my jewelry (in which I felt Ecclesiastes' sense of futility), to attendance at a highly frivolous event celebrating marshmallow Fluff, during which a college friend treated me to chocolate ice cream with Fluff, boosting my blood sugar levels to heights not recently experienced, and ending with an outing with a new friend to hear the band Sol y Canto, whose lead singer also attended my college, perform.

I got home close to midnight and all of us - the studier of Torah, the chanter of prayer, the businesswoman, the friend, the Fluff-lusting inner child and my Latina persona - went to bed.