Windmill and Crows, San Francisco

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Meditation on Moses

It is damn near a Full Moon (99% and gibbous).  Before today, I inhabited Martha and Thom's house and courted their cats while they went for a few days to Mt. Shasta.  I guess the mountain must have been in my subconscious as I had this meditation on Moses (him again -- must be the Hierophant in my last Tarot reading):

Another Meditation on Moses

     After his anger subsided, Moses went back up the mountain for another long while and returned with the ten commandments.  Words from the tablets he had broken the previous time sometimes troubled him and tumbled through his mind with the sound they made in their breaking; sometimes, certain words pressed into his mouth like little pebbles rolling at the sea’s edge, begging to be spoken,  but he could not speak them.  This was the broken language resting among the broken rocks at the base of the mountain where he had received a great inspiration. 

     Some clever ones thought there might have been something else written on the original tablets, but, having given the people the list of ten moral precepts, Moses never answered if anyone asked what the other words had been.  Of course, he remembered the words the Wonder of the Plenum had hammered out of his soul, but he would never repeat them. 

     His throat often ached to speak them, but his sorrow over the people’s stupidity forced him to embrace the broken pieces as his own disillusionment. No use to offer to any others an understanding they would lose or betray.  Just give them some rules.

     His only hope was that if any searched for the deepest meanings they might find a wholeness that would cause them to see the words from the lost sentences little by little fitting together -- the breaks and confused loss of that clear vision healed, pieces of the old, broken compact falling into a new vision of wholeness.

     That was his great and private loneliness and vanity, his waiting for someone to reach the peak of understanding he had reached, able to hear not only the ten moral precepts, but also the language of the lost tablets that he had broken (was it truly by accident?) that might free them from static precepts -- words of origin that would allow them to flow free -- but he saw those meanings could not be given or spoken, had to be earned, could only be self-taught.

     Each of you must be a Moses, he thought, which even he was not.