This Silent Sunday morning began with a misread. As I considered various sources of spiritual inspiration and practice ideas to bring myself into the day, I honed in on a series of kundalini yoga kriyas (movement sets). My half-open eyes tried to decipher the title of one in particular: “Hearing Ezra and Esther”?
Because this was a compilation of kundalini yoga practices, I determined that “Ezra and Esther” must be “Earth and Ether.” (The name of the kriya in question is: “Healing Energies of Earth and Ether.”) My fuzzy reading turned my aim from practice to inquisitive research. I pulled out my graduate volumes of biblical concordance and interpretation, and set out to discover why Ezra and Esther had been called before me.
As I delved into the underpinnings of each story—one primarily historical and the other a seeming biblical anomaly—my inner questions continued: What was I supposed to gather from this unexpected theological research? What in my own life could relate to the substantial earthly tasks accorded to Ezra and Esther?
Despite the wealth of bible-related tomes on my shelves, I am not prone to consulting the Bible: Rarely is it my source of inspiration or comfort. The books do, however, remind me of a time when a lack of confidence was assuaged by a kind and wise seminary president. In response to my concern that my lack of biblical knowledge—pointedly, that I had never opened a Bible—would limit my ability as a potential student, he assured me with calm certainty that it could be to my advantage.
I thus ventured into graduate school, found that the studies fed my soul, and emerged with the highest academic honor granted by the seminary. This portion of the tale is itself another reminder that all is ephemeral: After graduation and the subsequent beginning of a doctoral program, i fell apart. The epic that began in doubt, bolstered courage, and led to success and more success, culminated in a crushing defeat.
Why tell this story? The nature of the tale represents the journey of all human beings: No life is as it seems to observers. Further, the academic version of my experience of joy, blessed work, dismal failure, and hopelessness sits on my shelves in those books about the Bible.
Alongside the biblical volumes reside the writings with which I am more familiar, those that I would say characterize my spiritual beliefs, philosophies, and direction. These are comprised most notably of the works of Paramahansa Yogananda, a plethora of yogic teachings, and a slew of Eastern religious studies.
Yet, this morning, I was compelled by way of blurred vision to consult those volumes dedicated to specific Bible books: Ezra and Esther.
From there, I tried to insert my answer to “why” I had been led to these stories. Immediately, I thought of the current situation concerning my mother’s passing and the money and property to be shared by me and my siblings. As it turns out, “Ezra” most often is read in relation to another book, Nehemiah. There, perhaps were my siblings: The two whose task it seems is to restore, rebuild, and uphold principles and traditions.
While Ezra was more Job-like in his insistence that God was to blame for struggles and misfortune, Nehemiah was more prone to undertake his work with the wisdom and grace that God likely intended. Very much in line with the mindsets of my brother and sister…
But then why Esther? This correlation was more subtle: The actual Bible book is seen as a bit of a mystery, with regard to its inclusion at all. Whereas Ezra and Nehemiah may be seen as periods of biblical history (post-exilic stories), Esther’s tale makes no mention of God: Her narrative is one of feminine power in the face of an oppressive society.
To me, though, the book as an outsider resonated with my own sense of floating on the outskirts of family.
At this point, I began to wonder if my interpretation was too self-centered. Perhaps “Ezra and Esther” had a greater meaning in store, one that would speak to the universality of that which would truly signal a message from the divine realm.
I continued to flip through the pages of the now 8-book-high pile before me. As I perused, I was repeatedly stymied by the pages of an “interloper”: Esdras. Each time I moved to find Esther, Esdras foiled my search. Finally, I deigned to give the book some attention.
Lo and behold, Esdras is the expanded form of Ezra! Further, the narrative put forth in Esdras is of an apocalyptic nature: More than an historical piece, it explores personal enlightenment and evolution, by way of angelic vision. Finally, I seemed to be on the track of an explanation for my unexpected introduction to Ezra and Esther.
After several hours of reading and contemplation, my sense is that I needed yet another lesson to be cognizant of the sometimes subtle obstacles toward clear interpretation, if not spiritual discernment. When one’s circumstances flow too freely through the reading of a situation, the interpretation is partial, at best: Most likely, that which one is meant to see and learn will be marred, if not altogether inaccessible.
Once again, I have been reminded that interpretation can be led astray by preconception and perception. One can so easily become bogged down in earthly tasks and relationships that their role as propulsions toward divinity can be misinterpreted as strife designed to trip up or limit.
As I emerge from this Silent Sunday’s pre-dawn call to intuit, investigate, discern, and decipher, I am left in a state of deep calm. The tensions of wrangling with inheritance; the self-loathing of past missteps; the unsettledness of wondering what comes next… All have been, are, and will be gifts of information and opportunity.
Special note: The aim of today’s writing is to offer fodder for your own contemplation and discernment of Meaning. In the piece, I address the interpretation of what I considered a divine cue: As such, the tale reveals the connection between Interpretation and Discernment, both of which require culling and clarity.
To that end, I include the following short meditation. It may be used anytime you need an open, flexible mind in pursuit of insight.
Begin seated with your hands on the knees, palms down. With eyes closed and gazing to the Third Eye, breathe in deeply through the nose for 4 counts. Exhale through open, rounded lips for 6-8 beats. Repeat 3 more times for a total of 4.
On the fifth breath, inhale through the nose as long as you can, counting the beats; exhale through the nose for at least 4 more beats. Repeat one more time.
Then, bring the left hand to shoulder level, palm facing forward and elbow bent in to the side, as if taking an oath. Curl all fingers into the palm except the index finger: Extend it straight up.
With the right hand remaining on the knee or thigh, turn the palm to face up. Touch the middle and pinky fingers to the thumb tip.
Now, breathe naturally, yet fully. As you sit and breathe with these mudras, you connect the mind to Universal Wisdom (index finger), while fostering discernment and intuition (middle and pinky, respectively). Remain here for 3-11 minutes.