Taya Mâ

immerse in embodied reverence

corsets & synchronicity

A part of me really wanted to go to Burning Man next week, even though I knew it wasn't aligned. My specific desire was for corsets & synchronicity. I made clear intent to embrace these things at home instead, and said no to multiple tickets offered me, with a vague sense that if I passed on them, that $ would be spent in a much less delicious way having to do with my car.

On my way home from the farmers market today - dahlias and massage - I somehow stopped paying good attention, no phone involved, and strongly hit the car in front of me. The driver got out, as did his back-seat passenger, an elder blind man. All seemed well except my bumper and the back-seat man who was understandably upset, concerned that he'd have whiplash. We took lots of time exchanging info.

When the back-seat man gave his name I recognized it as Russian Jewish and said Oh, I know folks with that last name. He was confused - its not a common name. Turns out he is a dear cousin of former congregants of mine. Three generations of them attended High Holiday and Shabbat services regularly with me for a decade in the DC area. I was blessed to lead a re-burial ceremony for their great-grandmothers, funerals for both grandfathers who I knew and so enjoyed, including the patriarch of the family - a phenomenal human who was an intellectual/activist/organizer imprisoned in Siberia during the revolution - and bar/bat mitzvahs for the two grandkids and most of their closest friends. I remember clearly when the granddaughter got her first blood.

I am so glad to meet this person in the family of those who became my extended family, and who lives only a mile from me. I haven't known so well how to weave what was with what is. This moment reminds me yet again how much is woven beyond my perception, in right time. My desire for serious bass & sensory magic has been replaced by a need for soup and sweet contact, hopes for a tea date with this man who I rear-ended, a sense of continued wow at the mystery and great gratitude to the Weaver.

© 2017 Taya Shere

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