You are the dwelling
And the Indwelling Presence.
You are the tent
And its opening.
You are the pomegranate — full to bursting.
You are the bell. Empty. Ringing.
You are the space that keeps things whole.
You are engraved work.
You are this entire gathering — ויקהל
You are the accounting — פקודי
You are the parts being joined
And you are the joiner
It is up to you to adjourn the Tent of Meeting.
Make no mistake
Your body is not a temple.
You, who hears these words,
Who feels and fills the space you sit in —
You are the temple.
Your exquisite lungs, as they breathe This. Very. Breath.
Are the wings of Heruvim—
Hovering over and
Holding your heart.
Your heart, the joyous and eternal center
Of the arc of your life, is —
The Ark where the truest covenants are made.
Your mind, the Lamp:
The branching unity
Centered throughout your being
Seven shimmering Auras. Torahs. Shakras.
The menorah, your Mind.
You are not your mind.
The drape of skin
Blood-red when taut and drawn towards the sky
Capillaries, miniscule details, minutia of the eye
The rainbowing oils under the slick tent.
You are not what you feel.
The incense and what incenses you.
The scent of a lingering lover and the copper laver which resets.
Skirts in the marketplace and a mistaken face in a crowd.
Live in the sanctuary that is our life.
Live in the sanctuary that is life.
Live in One Place.
—Shir Yaakov Feit, 2013/5773