When Yakov Speaks

When Yakov Speaks

Fall 2016

I am so confused at the moment. None of my life’s lessons are helping me. I don’t know how to trust anyone or anything right now. I try to listen to my intuition, but even it does not know the way. I wait for signs and read the synchronicity but even those seem baffling. I don’t understand anything right now. Nothing makes sense. It’s like death, but I don’t know what is dying and what is being born.

Autumn Fog.

It’s all wrapt up in grief and time, and holding on and letting go. “Don’t stay where you’re not wanted.” But I don’t know what to hold onto or what to let go of, or to hold onto nothing and to let go of everything. I think I have it figured out, but then it slips through my fingers, and I am lost again. “When in doubt, wait it out.” I don’t know the message, I can’t find the purpose. Wrapt up in responsibility, sacrifice, and joy. How to know when joy should be sacrificed, and to what end, and if ever, and for how long, but what is joy? When does sacrifice yield joy? Does it ever? Is it real? How do you know the difference between self-sacrifice that destroys you or self-sacrifice for higher purpose? How much do you sacrifice, for how long, if ever? Do you never? What does that accomplish? I do not know the way.

Autumn Fog.

I ask the question and wait for the answer but when it comes bearing fruit, it is transformed ever deeper and yields more questions without answers. Dead ends. What do you trust? And risk. I am methodical. I plan. I do not take risks. I do not make snap decisions, and yet that has yielded no better outcome. When do you jump? Do you jump? Where do you jump? What is jumping? I wait and wait, and time does not discriminate. What is time? What if there was no measure of time? How much time is time enough? How much time is wasted time? I walk in fog, exploring uncharted territory. No beginning, no end.

Autumn Fog.

I am looking for a box, so I might open it, and read the message written there, but what if it is a blank scroll? Is there a box? Didn’t I craft a box long ago? Who has taken it away? And safety. And experience. And joy. And why? The autumn and the quickening. Do I allow it to rejuvenate, once again, or do I snuggle under crinkly leaves? Rest.My hair is tired and wet with the fog. Is there time enough? Is it time? Cruel trickster, where are you hiding?

Tell me Yakov.

Rebbi Yakov Leib HaKohain responds: I’m flattered that you ask me. I’m reminded of Alice Toklas who asked Gertrude Stein on her death bed, “Gertrude, what is the answer?” To which Gertrude replied, just before she expired, “Alice, what is the question?”

You really do drive a hard bargain. I love you, Yakov. Thank you.

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