I read randomly the other day and met, in the interminably fleet way of guestbook faire-la-bis, a young wiccan called Mary.

In yet another fit of thoughtful contemplation and staring at my oddly charged-for-whtever-strange-reason altar, I am once again considering conversion to Judaism. Why? Because I am reading The Seventh Telling by Mitchell Chefitz, and remembering that it isn't really all about orthodoxy.

I wrote, at length, in essays last year about the value of search vs. finding, which lesson it seems I promptly forgot. What do I care, Abraham or author J who worte the Torah? A Creation Story is a creation story is a Creation Story, and this is good. Tov Meod, in fact.

Although when it comes to it, I suppose that I do not have to convert in fact. Which my own dieties think is tov meod in and of itself. What I love about Judaism though, is that it is a religion in which one asks. Rabbis are always asking why. Why this phrase in the Torah, and not that? There must be a reason, for Hashem is not random, they say. Why this letter here? In the Torah there are no mistakes. If it looks like a mistake, it is really an opportunity to see something a different way.

The only wrong thing in Torah study is to decide you've found the Only Way, because then you have decided not to look at part of God's creation. How can you have seen everything?

Every time I think that I have discovered some new truth, or uncovered something that was hidden, or realised a new epiphany, I take a break. I set it down and go to get a coke or something, or play mindless cards, or watch a movie. So the thought can digest, you see.

Then I look at it again, later, when it has had time to age. Right away I usually have questions, concerns. The one I dwell upon most is: How will this change the way I go to the bathroom? That is to say, is this something I have learned that will change the way I live to the fundementals, to the very necessities, or is it a pretty piece of erudidity that makes life more plesant to think about, but has little substance in the real world? Or is it something in between, or something else?

The questions never stop, but sometimes I abandon the thought and move along. Or adopt the thought as close as I can and move still along. This is why I am typing up my old English Journal. I want to see if all the Great Things I Realised then are still dwelling in my philosophies. It's been mixed.

I no longer despise structure in essays.

You see, last year, I discovered Reason. Reason seems to have stayed with me, at least, to a large extent. But I have yet failed to make it sing to me completely. I imagine this is because I am in love. Always, and exponentially.

It is very difficult to be peaceful, when one loves. I think I should like very much to be peaceful, for a little while, anyway. Peaceful and loving.

Until the next cognitive thunderbolt rocks my world.

<<agé chose>>

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