Am I ancient?
I was at the blessing last night. The weather, as usual lately, was wretched. The leader forgot the music, so all we had was the crackling of the fireplace. The experience felt profound. It felt ancient.
That thought took me aback. How would I know what something ancient felt like? Why would it make a difference? I feel a certain willingness to do things that connect me to the distant past that I don’t feel when it comes to doing things as myself for today. Why?
Part of my attraction to orthodoxy was the oldness of its rituals. I seem to have a deep instinctual need for roots.
I can only be honest with myself. Perhaps this is my umpteenth incarnation. I cannot know, but I also cannot dismiss the possibility.