The Inner Voice
Sihara hears an inner voice: "On your own, you are helpless, lost and confused… Only the voice of the Master of Transcendence can remind you of who you are…”
Warriors of Transcendence, Part 33
“Open up,” she called. “Open up!!!”
I must know what to do, she tried to cheer herself up. The inner Sihara, the true Sihara, will speak to me. I will then know what to do.
“I…” she tried to say something, but her words were blocked and she forgot what she intended to say.
“I…” something negative affected her, but what?
“I…” it seemed that her inner voice was mocking her.
“And I…and I…” her voice echoed, more distantly now.
She sat down upon the earthen floor by the gate and listened to the voice of her heart.
“On your own, you are helpless, lost and confused,” said the voice. “Your inner voice, your strength, is not heard. It is silenced and swallowed up in the commotion. Only the voice of the Master of Transcendence can remind you of who you are and where you desire to go. Believing that you are capable of moving forward, means believing that you belong to him, that you are with him. Only then shall you arrive at your destination.”
“Is that the way?” she asked. She had been worried at first.
She hadn’t known how to proceed, how to choose correctly, until the voice encouraged her to toss the weight of responsibility from her shoulders.
“Without knowing?” She asked, “To surrender, and follow his voice? Is that the way?”
“That is the only way,” answered the voice.
Sihara smiled. It was the first time she had smiled in a long time. How good it felt knowing that she did not have to carry the burden of the decisions upon her own shoulders. The Master of Transcendence led the way, and she was his, with him, forever and under all circumstances. Sihara sifted the sand at the foot of the gate, and uncovered a hard, rough object. It was a key! Even before she tried, she knew that it would open every lock and bolt on the heavy gate.
Beyond the gate was a great torch-lit Chamber, made of stone. The floor was composed of smooth white rocks. Next to the wall, Sihara found a pitcher of water and some fruit.
Who left these for me? she wondered.
After feasting to her heart’s delight, she leaned on the wall and looked around the room. There were many passages leading out of the Chamber, each in a different direction.
“This place is full of mazes,” she thought to herself, amused, as if she were simultaneously playing a game with the dweller of the Chamber while acquiring true insight.
After a short rest, Sihara continued on her way. She observed the passageways and noticed that one of them was slightly more luminous than the others. She chose that path and walked for quite some time until she reached a third gate, made of transparent glass. The walls around it appeared as frozen waterfalls, with countless frozen droplets, some as fine as thread and others wide and curved. The wall was composed of changing shades of green, white and blue, with fine, intertwining silver threads. The intense beauty was so astonishing in contrast to the unadorned tunnel from which she had emerged that Sihara felt perplexed and began to retreat. As she did so, she noticed her reflection in the glass. A long time had passed since she had last seen her reflection, since she had last been in her home in the village. Now her hair was in tangled disarray, her clothing faded and torn, and she was covered with dust from head to toe.
A fresh scent caught her attention, and she followed it until she arrived at a small room to the right of the gate, where she found a well-spring. She immersed herself in the water and when she emerged, she noticed a white cape perched on a large rock nearby. Donning it, she saw that it was a perfect fit! Now she stood before the gate, waiting for guidance. Whatever would be, whatever she would experience, her inner voice would be there to guide her.
“What must I do now?” she asked confidently.
There was silence.
“I am waiting for a sign.”
More silence.
“It is I, Sihara!” she pleaded.
No voice was heard. Sihara touched the glass gate; it was cold.
“I want to enter,” she whispered, but to no avail.
She looked, she listened. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, but the gate remained frozen and sealed, as did her heart. Her spirit began to weaken, and she became impatient, restless.
“Someone must help me,” she said, “just as I have been helped until now. I cannot go on alone, so I have been told. Master of Transcendence, reveal Yourself to me! I need guidance.”
Silence. Why did her inner voice fail to help her?
Maybe it does not matter, hesitant thoughts entered her mind. Whether he speaks to me or not, I am in his Chamber and he knows where I am. She knew that she was his, even when she could not hear his voice. These thoughts comforted her and once again she placed her hand on the glass gate. This time, the gate opened up at her touch.
Sihara found herself in a large room. Pools of water surrounded by small, purple rocks were full of lively, colorful fish. Most surprising of all were the two Transparent Ones awaiting her arrival. They were short, charming and cheerful. Their inner, blue flames swayed as in a dance. One of them bowed to her respectfully, and the other, who was slower, bowed belatedly and bumped into the first.
They rolled onto the ground, giggled in embarrassment, then got up, straightened out their clothing and welcomed her in unison: “Blessed is she who enters the Chamber of Glory!”
“Blessed are those who dwell in the Chamber!” Sihara responded, holding back the giggles they elicited. “Now I am no longer alone.”
Sihara and the Transparent Ones walked together through the Chamber. With every step, the plant-life on the walls appeared to thicken, until Sihara found herself standing before something completely unidentifiable.
Is this another gate? she wondered.
Her path was completely obstructed by thick, twisted roots.
“Must I go through here?” she asked her fair-haired companions, as she pointed to the roots.
The Transparent Ones smiled silently. She attempted to touch the roots and move them, but they were as tough and as solid as stone. She found a place to sit and rested her head upon the vegetation. Silently, the two Transparent Ones sat down by her side, and their simple movements calmed her.
There is no rush, she thought. We can rest, look around, and wait.
As they sat there silently, she recalled distant memories of her childhood, old memories and questions, too many questions to number. Questions she had asked as a child, and questions from her adolescence, questions she asked in the village and during her journey, questions that pestered her ceaselessly. Forgotten questions, vanished questions. Questions of time: When will humankind see the blessings of their labor? When will the sick be healed of their diseases? When will lonely people find families? When will man lay down his weapons, and open his heart to love? When will dreams come true? When will Tzalaii return?
These questions are like leaves, Sihara discovered, and then questions of purpose followed: Why is man so impatient? Why are our burdens so heavy, beyond our strength? Why are people so unhappy? Why don’t they raise their heads to the heavens? Why is life so full of toil? Why does strength expire as the work never ends? Why does time pass by quickly? Why are babies in a hurry to grow? Why does their innocence give way to doubt and anger? Why is the Master of Transcendence so far away? And why is no one aware of His power?
These questions are like branches, she said in her heart, as she caressed the roots. And just then, additional questions, piercing, different than the others, arose from deep within: What is the goal? What is the purpose of everything? What is the meaning of life and death, despair and hope, desire and resignation, success and failure?
These questions are the roots, she knew.
The roots of the tree trembled at her touch and began to move. Sihara felt that the Master of Transcendence had heard her questions and she felt ashamed. “I did not mean to sound ungrateful,” she whispered.
“I know,” said the voice, softly. “Your questions were created by belief in the existence of the answers. Only the believer asks questions.”
The movement of the roots increased, and a path opened up, a path that led through the thick, twisted roots, and this was, in fact, the fourth gate. As she passed through the gate, a thought entered her mind: How wonderful it would be to see the great tree to which these roots belong and to see what gives them their sustenance.
A simple dirt path stretched out before her, as far as the eye could see. Sihara walked ahead, with the Transparent Ones following behind her. The winding path ascended, and a stone step was set in the path at intervals of every ten steps. Sihara kept walking and ascending, and the path went on and on.
The Transparent Ones by her side were as light on their feet as children, gleefully counting each step they took. Sihara, on the other hand, was tiring of the monotonous, winding road that seemed to have no end.
“Twenty- five…thirty- eight…forty- two…” counted the Transparent Ones, and still there was no end in sight, only grayish walls on both sides and a dusty ceiling above.
“Fifty- six!” they continued counting. Sihara felt her strength expire.
“Sixty- three!” they called out, full of wonder. Sihara’s spirit was almost dull in contrast to their joyfulness.
What are you so happy about? she yearned to ask of them, but she controlled herself.
Why should I ruin their good time? Let them continue smiling, for as long as they can.
To be continued.
***
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(With sincere gratitude to www.levhadvarim.com)
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