Help Always Comes
Esa einai el heharim, me'ayin me'ayin yavo ezri? I will lift my eyes up to the mountains, where does my help come from?"
You've been singing this song for some years now, quietly but out loud, usually while you're walking outdoors alone. It is a prayer, a plea, and a reminder, all at once.
Where does your help come from?
Help always comes and is always present and available, if only you lift up your eyes to the mountains, to the sky. If only you step outside the door, step outside of the small confines of the mind when it is drunk on fear or lost in the dense fog of uncertainty, and remember that you are held as part of something vaster and infinitely wiser than anything you will cook up on your own.
Death is always lurking, calling us to live, live fully, live now. Don't be like death, skulking in the shadows, in the corners, standing in the doorway, on the threshold. Step into the room. Step into your life, your body, this very moment that has been waiting to celebrate your arrival. Be the living.
This place, this place that feels at once completely new and deeply familiar, what will you call it?
It's the same mountain, you know. The one and very same mountain you've been scaling your whole life. There have been other difficult traverses, ones you weren't sure how to scale and even doubted you'd survive. But here you are, here you are. In this moment, you have everything you need. Will you believe me?
Where will your help come from?
I wish I could tell you, love. I don't really know the answer. But I will stay here with you and remind you of this: Look up at the mountain. Keep climbing and help will keep coming. Don't give up now.