Page 216 - Dark Matter:Women Witnessing Issue #3 - December 2015

that the world around me shimmers with aliveness, I am of it. There is no room for

thoughts of grandiosity, or for self-doubt. Making offerings is my way of reaching for that

zing of reassurance that can only come from the prickling, soothing excitement of

humble belonging to something so reassuringly vast. As a woman—a Jewish woman—

making offerings is one of the ways I participate in reassembling the jagged shards of

the shattered bowl of the world.

Waking before dawn I sleepily look for the first shapes to emerge at the far end of the

garden. The light before the light arrives on a palette of beiges and grays. Then I see the

silhouette of the giant Eucalyptus tree. I wrap a blanket around my shoulders, put on my

slippers and call the dog. No lights on yet, that would break the spell. I fill the kettle and

hear its first drowsy hiss. I catch myself thinking there might be time to make tea and

carry a steaming cup out with me to greet the sun. No! Mustn’t get distracted. I watch for

the suggestion of pink above the horizon. The dawn comes quickly and I don’t want to

miss it. Slowly, I hurry to the tree. I am excited. Like a puppy. Like a birthday girl. Like a

woman acquitted of yesterday’s sadness for the breaking world. For this moment, before

the tea, before the headlines, the light is fresh. When it suddenly blooms, so golden

against the tree trunk, I gasp. It takes me by surprise every time—as it should. The

chilled air curls around my neck and wraps around my ankles as the dark ground

releases its last shadows. And then suddenly there is warmth on my eyelids as I squint

towards the East. A faint warmth on my chest as I gratefully inhale. Warmth on my lips

Thank you for this day
as I smile and say, , and mean it.

Imagine! A chance to feed the sun! What an outrageous honor! I reach my hand into the

sack of cornmeal and pull out a fistful. It feels powdery and cool in my tingling palm. I