I'm waiting tables at a small restaurant/pub/brewery by day and running food for a fancier fine dining establishment by night. At Scholar's Inn (the latter) last night one of the gentlemen that washes dishes asked me if that was a prison tattoo. He was referring to my right forearm. I don't think he could see my left one, but there's a tattoo there too. I have two new tattoos.
Upon taking to heart the Hebrew words Shalom and Shekinah I decided to take them into my flesh as well, a covenant of sorts, a permanent reminder.
The Hebrew language as a whole intrigues me - it's longevity, the elusive nature, fertile stories that have been told and carried with it. It isn't impossibly elusive, but it seems to be that, in order to interact with it and receive it's fullest impact and meaning, a person needs a hefty propensity toward imagination. This is true of all spoken and written words, but it's easier to forget with the language one uses everyday, and easier to remember (for me) when the language is backed up with countless generations of tradition and utility, and a touch of sanctification.
So the simple, stolid nature of the Hebrew script, and the fervent, florid meanings of the Hebrew words got under my skin.
Shalom - peace. A wholeness to hope toward. A desire for unity. A desire for unity at the expense of hatred, not at the expense of diversity. I reach out my right hand to the world, to my neighbor, and with it an extension of peace; remembering that all children, women, and men are my kin.
Shekinah - presence. The divine dwelling amongst earthen vessels. Linguistically this word is feminine, and carries with it an image of God, who is every bit as much Mother and Beloved as Father and Lover, wandering the dusty wilderness of this earth and these relationships that we belong to. Dwelling amongst us, wandering with us. I reach out my left hand to the world, to my neighbor, and with it an extension of presence; being present to those who are around me, and receiving their presence as a gift. Both necessary to who we are and who we are meant to be.
O Thou, far off and here, whole and broken,
Who in necessity and in bounty wait,
Whose truth is light and dark, mute though spoken,
By Thy wide grace show me Thy narrow gate.
(Wendell Berry)
