The New Year 5778

I thought that the year, 5777 was crucial but the year easily slipped into 5778 and somehow everything seems different. And I am not the only one who feels this way. There is a collective consciousness concerning the eclipse and the subsequent change happening to the world; there is a subtle sense subverting reality, a shift overtaking the old warn way—a new way, a true way is appearing in each life. My life has not been so different. It began a few days ago. I had been rushing to Rosh HaShana—the Jewish New Year, which began a week ago.

I had been invited to spend the holiday with a group of people living off the grid in the southern mountains of Oregon called the Applegate. None of them were Jewish but they were interested and understood I did not feel comfortable among religion nor did I enjoy having the holidays by myself. However, I got lost along the way and did not arrive until almost dark. I thank the Creator for not having to spend the holiday literally on the road. We had a festive meal and I explained to them the meaning of dipping a piece of apple into the honey to provide a vehicle to taste sweetness for the future.

I took the the opportunity to also express the wonder of the apple being made in the form of God’s Four Letter Name YHVH by virtue of the ten seeds representing the letter Yud whose assigned number is ten. These ten seed are in five pods representing the letter Hey/5; the stem at the top is similar to the Vav/6 and the flower at the bottom had five flowers representing the final Hey/5. I also showed them the human body is in the form of the YHVH because when the letters aligned vertically they make the stick form image of a human being—the meaning behind, “Made in the image of God.”

Everyone was surprised by this simple knowledge and wooed by my presentation. I came in a ’86 Volva, which I parked down below next to the fire circle where we had sweated together a few day earlier in my first visit. That is when I met Rocky, an Apache Native American. I have always felt an empathy for my red brother, which I believe stems from me being born on this land and nurtured from this soil. Rocky is a big man with a weathered face like the red rock found in Sedona, Arizona. In his form and face I see a strong ancient man.

While I prayed and sounded the ram’s horn a hundred times, off in the distance Rocky beat his drum and sang his song. I had finally found my place in the world to say these holy prayers. I have lived in Israel and prayed at the foot of the Western Wall; I have prayed in sanctuaries and at the grave sites of saints—but I have never prayed with my brother who allows me to live upon the beautiful land. The sound of the shofar came out easily and the hours of prayer sped by having both ascended into a more spiritual time.

I am going back on Friday for Yom HaKippur/Day of Atonement.

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