Al ha't'vilah
The creek was an interesting place yesterday. I had it to myself for a number of hours, and so was able to splash around in what water is left, to my heart’s content. I erected some stone monoliths at a number of points in the water’s travail.
There is a glade of willows, which cling to a wide shingled square in the shade of the rock walls of the hills which border it. Someone had been there before, and done similar things. I added to a single Stonehenge-like doorway of square rocks barely six inches tall. There is a strange druid-evoking stillness under the trees. The water trickles from shallow pondlet to shallow pondlet. Winged creatures dance across the waters silent surface. The wind from their wings leaving delicate ripples which mirror their swiftly beaten advance.
The first pool deep enough to bathe in is just below the tree line. There are step-like stones which allow a considered descent into the velvet coolness of the water. Light is dappled through the willows odd – as if intoxicated, and seeing visions – sway, above. I start at the top step, and enjoy the sensation of coolness welcomed into the deepest tissues of my feet. After the hike down to the junction with Alder Creek, they were joyous to be released from the confines of sock and boot.
The next step finds me submerged to my mid-calf, as I sweep the silt that has accumulated on the ridged surface of the granite with gentle under water swats of the stone. The wave I dispel wafts the silts silk away, and I feel the ridges true and strong on the sole of my feet. My breathing is deep, and I am conscious more and more of the water, and less and less of the rattle in my mind of the week, and all it’s works.
Finally my feet are firmly imbedded in the rounded gravel of the floor of the pool. I wriggle and massage my feet into the stones. Their gentle rotations scraping away the rough skin of a week spent heavily on my feet. The water now reaches to just below my navel. I stand in silence as the water gently caresses my legs and sacrum. My genitals float in the water – free of the confinement that is forced upon us by clothing.
I feel the relaxation flow up my spine and then as it sweeps its way across my shoulders to my arms where it sends a tingle of pleasure to my fingertips as they gently cast circles of movement in the current, as if playing a piano: gently tapping out adagios under the shimmering surface of the water. The symphony of birdsong, trickle of water, and of wind in leaves rising and falling in tempo. As above us, the willow conducts all.
This pool I chose to bathe in, vs. immersing myself. I splashed the water on my body, imagining the sadness I witnessed, and felt this week purge from the muscles. Face and neck, arms and chest. Face and nose, arms and thighs.
As I stood beside the pool, shaking the water from my spiked hair, and rubbing it out of my beard – then stroking the newly moist in shape.
At the shallow end of the pool is a low “v” of rock, the portal to the next descent and pool. Someone had previously attempted to slow the escape of the water to the lower pools, and so I added to the attempt. As I turned and assessed the individual stones, finding them snug places to nest together. I have often wanted to learn more about how to be a stone mason, particularly when it comes to building walls and fences. I once saw a program on building stone walls in England on Blue Peter, I think. I still have real snaps of the show in my head, and the precision that goes into building a stone wall. The evaluation of each stone and the finding of the perfect fit.
My efforts will hardly hold much flow behind it, but it looked quite impressive, to my eyes at least.
There is, however, the perfect Bor Mik’vah. The grey granite has been sculpted by the ravages of time and water, there is a sweeping descent from one pool to the next that for some reason has ground out a pool that is almost perfectly cylindrical, and perfectly carved with the ultimate goal being the core of the planet. The water enters from one narrow erosion-carved channel, and spills over the lip of the pool from the opposite side. It is approximately an arm-span around, and 7 feet deep. When entering it is necessary to sit on the moss lined stone lip at the edge of the pool, slip feet first into the water, and find the rock which sits in the middle of the floor of the pool.
I have taken to immersing myself ritually at this location. I can really only do this when alone, for the distraction of spectators is unwelcome.
I stood in the water for some time, allowing myself to just relax, and to allow myself to be completely focused on the act of mikvah. Once I feel my breath fill and exhale with the minimal of awareness and that I have now acclimatized to the water temperature (which is always much cooler than the upper pools), I can then go about the immersion process.
Three deep and full inhalations, three deep and full submersions. Three times allowing myself to loose physical contact with all but the water. Three meditations for renewal and healing. Three gasping and urgent breaths taken once I have placed my feet back on the gravel paved bottom of the pool, and raised myself out of the water, again to breathe.
The words of the blessing spoken aloud, the trees waving their witness that there was none of my body that did not undertake the immersion.
There is a glade of willows, which cling to a wide shingled square in the shade of the rock walls of the hills which border it. Someone had been there before, and done similar things. I added to a single Stonehenge-like doorway of square rocks barely six inches tall. There is a strange druid-evoking stillness under the trees. The water trickles from shallow pondlet to shallow pondlet. Winged creatures dance across the waters silent surface. The wind from their wings leaving delicate ripples which mirror their swiftly beaten advance.
The first pool deep enough to bathe in is just below the tree line. There are step-like stones which allow a considered descent into the velvet coolness of the water. Light is dappled through the willows odd – as if intoxicated, and seeing visions – sway, above. I start at the top step, and enjoy the sensation of coolness welcomed into the deepest tissues of my feet. After the hike down to the junction with Alder Creek, they were joyous to be released from the confines of sock and boot.
The next step finds me submerged to my mid-calf, as I sweep the silt that has accumulated on the ridged surface of the granite with gentle under water swats of the stone. The wave I dispel wafts the silts silk away, and I feel the ridges true and strong on the sole of my feet. My breathing is deep, and I am conscious more and more of the water, and less and less of the rattle in my mind of the week, and all it’s works.
Finally my feet are firmly imbedded in the rounded gravel of the floor of the pool. I wriggle and massage my feet into the stones. Their gentle rotations scraping away the rough skin of a week spent heavily on my feet. The water now reaches to just below my navel. I stand in silence as the water gently caresses my legs and sacrum. My genitals float in the water – free of the confinement that is forced upon us by clothing.
I feel the relaxation flow up my spine and then as it sweeps its way across my shoulders to my arms where it sends a tingle of pleasure to my fingertips as they gently cast circles of movement in the current, as if playing a piano: gently tapping out adagios under the shimmering surface of the water. The symphony of birdsong, trickle of water, and of wind in leaves rising and falling in tempo. As above us, the willow conducts all.
This pool I chose to bathe in, vs. immersing myself. I splashed the water on my body, imagining the sadness I witnessed, and felt this week purge from the muscles. Face and neck, arms and chest. Face and nose, arms and thighs.
As I stood beside the pool, shaking the water from my spiked hair, and rubbing it out of my beard – then stroking the newly moist in shape.
At the shallow end of the pool is a low “v” of rock, the portal to the next descent and pool. Someone had previously attempted to slow the escape of the water to the lower pools, and so I added to the attempt. As I turned and assessed the individual stones, finding them snug places to nest together. I have often wanted to learn more about how to be a stone mason, particularly when it comes to building walls and fences. I once saw a program on building stone walls in England on Blue Peter, I think. I still have real snaps of the show in my head, and the precision that goes into building a stone wall. The evaluation of each stone and the finding of the perfect fit.
My efforts will hardly hold much flow behind it, but it looked quite impressive, to my eyes at least.
There is, however, the perfect Bor Mik’vah. The grey granite has been sculpted by the ravages of time and water, there is a sweeping descent from one pool to the next that for some reason has ground out a pool that is almost perfectly cylindrical, and perfectly carved with the ultimate goal being the core of the planet. The water enters from one narrow erosion-carved channel, and spills over the lip of the pool from the opposite side. It is approximately an arm-span around, and 7 feet deep. When entering it is necessary to sit on the moss lined stone lip at the edge of the pool, slip feet first into the water, and find the rock which sits in the middle of the floor of the pool.
I have taken to immersing myself ritually at this location. I can really only do this when alone, for the distraction of spectators is unwelcome.
I stood in the water for some time, allowing myself to just relax, and to allow myself to be completely focused on the act of mikvah. Once I feel my breath fill and exhale with the minimal of awareness and that I have now acclimatized to the water temperature (which is always much cooler than the upper pools), I can then go about the immersion process.
Three deep and full inhalations, three deep and full submersions. Three times allowing myself to loose physical contact with all but the water. Three meditations for renewal and healing. Three gasping and urgent breaths taken once I have placed my feet back on the gravel paved bottom of the pool, and raised myself out of the water, again to breathe.
The words of the blessing spoken aloud, the trees waving their witness that there was none of my body that did not undertake the immersion.
posted by simpletruths at 17:11
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home