What is it about intimacy that makes my spine stiffen, just a little.
And who am I kidding - there are times when my spine is so stiff that my body would crack in half at a gentle puff of air in my general direction,
I've been thinking about this since I chanted Torah last week - the part where Moshe stands naked before God, after all the calf and the murderous rage and the towering anger, after the breath of forgiveness and the work of second chances - Moshe stands and pleads: let me know you; let me know I have found grace.
Such power in those simple words. Such intimacy in the cry.
Let me know you.
I once hear that "intimacy" can be read "into me see." Normally, I eschew those trite and sacchariney pronouncements. Trust me - if you stick around a 12 step program long enough, you will hear some kind of anagrammatic saying for just about anything. Most of them are cute, maybe even thought-provoking once. Sadly, they get bandied about far too often, so that they lose their meaning. For me. I'm sure that, for many, they are veritable life preservers, and many cling to them through the storms and rough waters of recovery. I'm sure I've treaded water with one or two of them myself.
See into me. Know me, warts and all. See me - and don't head for the hills, appalled at what you find.
So I stand, a little breathless, a little scared, like a deer in the proverbial headlights - so ready to flee, to hide. But for this, for the fragility and openness of these days of counting, I stand before you and ask to know you, to know that I have found grace.
For the omer, days five and six