Intimacy

intimacy ~

Until recently, my best friend called me every morning for years and we shmoozed. 

Intimate as I went over nightly to her to carefully and caringly with love, put the drops she needed into her elderly eyes. Careful the little moist bubble that might form on tiny bottle tip didn’t take away from what was needed to heal her. Intimate as I pulled down a little her lower lid to form the pouch for the fluid drop, so it wasn’t wasted. For years mostly with precision, only two drops wasted. 

Intimate are the vessels we create for each other to pour and receive and hold moments, mitzvot and histories in our world,  intimate stories of soul’s essence, feelings, emotions, actions.

Intimate are the words we hear, read, react to, and speak and sign and write.

Intimate are the sounds shared for friends, with singing bowls in meditation, for comfort, or as a shomer for neshama after death.

Intimacy is what I experience as I say my morning prayers, and know that G*d's "Yisroel" in Shma is me, Gila Rena Tzohara, from head to toe.

Intimate are the sweet and intoxicating fragrances we inhale from the flowers in garden - gardenias, jasmine, citrus. Look deeply into the interior of the flower, the purple bearded iris, the Double Delight rose, and view their depth of colors created by G*d’s palette.  See how the petals fold, touch, embrace, unfurl and fade and die. Touch their texture.

Intimate is when I move a large leaf placing my hand within new green growth, between branches, to harvest a plump purple fig, remove it from mother tree, and see the space where it had been, the broken raw connection, and then gently I hold fig, and standing beneath the tree bring the fig to my open lips. G*d’s revealed gift in the form of fruit, and I am grateful.

Intimacy is what I witness daily watching the pair of doves on the fence or as they feed on the grass or in nest and protect each other.  And the view is intimate from my kitchen window of the small fast fluttering hummingbirds drinking from inside the exotic five feet tall, red-spotted yellow canna flowers. 

Intimacy is what I feel as I hold the hand of my little granddaughter or feel her hug pressed into me and when I'm invited into child's play.

Or share these heart-felt words, but with whom? With the one who asked me, “What is intimacy?” when I gift her my "intimate" art.  Feeling the joy for a friend who is marrying her soul mate, I create intimate art.

With gates to our senses, morals and with discretion, intimacy is not always allowed.

Intimacy is when our friend in the spa hears how one feels diminished when little thin light hairs barely visible appear ghastly, and she fixes tarnished self-image so we can face ourselves and the world and be the best we can be.

BlesSings for intimacy, 

Joy Krauthammer

2018. Elul, almost Rosh HaShana
This is the Elul season and Cheshbon HaNefesh time when every year my best friend, an older spiritual Christian woman asked me, "Don't you have something to ask me?" I laughed. She remembered before I remembered. I then asked, "Is there anything I have done to upset you in the last year? And if so, please forgive me."
 Her answer every year always was, "Nothing, you've done nothing wrong, nothing to upset me." 
That would upset me because I knew I had done something wrong! I would announce it! 

On all other holidays I remembered maybe before she remembered and I brought goodies.  Latkes and Sufganiot on Chanukah, and Hamentashen on Purim. Honey cake on Rosh HaShanah, and a Shofar in Elul. Shabbats I brought Mandelbroit, Rugelach, Challah and chocolate cake and maybe Middle Eastern deli salads on a bagel. My friend, obm, loved chocolate. 

On her Christmas I brought a gift, and also on Thanksgiving and Easter (for her great-grandchildren) and for her birthday, and if I traveled, and when tree fruits matured, and other days. May her soul be at peace in Heaven. I miss our intimacy. 

© Joy Krauthammer