Today I said Shalom—hello, farewell and peace—to the old Western Cedar with which I have felt kinship over these past six weeks.
My parting ritual each time, after sitting at her base for a while, is to pick up trash, often a piece of glass or ceramic that had shattered and buried into the soil surrounding her. The sharpness of the object felt so foreign to the softness of cedar bark, moss, or the pine needle carpet. And yet, it felt so familiar too. With each parting ritual, it was a reminder of the Lurianic story of vessels shattering amidst Creation, and through time, the joining together of the shards into greater wholeness.
My extraction of the shards in the old growth forest of Ludlow Falls was more than a physical act—it became the softening of sharp edges of fear and strain, sharp edges of anger and sorrow from the heart of my very being. It is a practice ancient and new. It is a practice that speaks of regrowth. A practice rooted in a magnificent intelligence of the One that invites us to remember stillness is the beginning of listening and creativity. It is a practice I feel called to — to continue the work for myself, with others, all the days of my life.
Reflections by Rabbi Kim 