Let's Set a Trap!

Soul Friend,

Happy Valentine's Day!

In his poem, "It Is Unanimous," Hafiz writes:

It is unanimous where I come from.
Everyone agrees on one thing:

It's no fun
When God is not near.

All are hunters.
The wise man learns the Friend's weaknesses
And sets a clever trap....

Hafiz encourages all art

For at its height it brings Light near
To us.

The wise man learns what draws God
Near.

It is the beauty of compassion
In your heart.

 

Due to the tale of The Lindworm, the "beauty of compassion in [our] heart" is now inextricably linked to the particularly feminine art of embroidery. You may recall from an earlier post my obsession with this art form and its link to the above-mentioned story, an ancient tale of how the cultivation of a mature Feminine has the capacity to heal the wounded and toxic Masculine, resulting in the joyful union of the Divine Masculine and Divine Feminine energies.

In the story, the cultivation of a compassionate heart is likened to embroidering layer after layer of wedding night lingerie, a painstaking project which takes the maiden "a year and a day," mythological speak for a very long time.

Today, celebrating Valentine's Day, I am thinking about Love's cultivation of the beauty of compassion in my heart and in our collective heart.

I'm thinking about how compassion sets a sort of trap, doesn't it, drawing God near. How compassion evokes that spark of God that lives within each and every one of us.

Every being has a weakness for compassion. Compassion draws us in. It evokes a willingness to let the other come closer than we'd previously allowed. Even, and maybe especially, when we are most hardened, which is to say, afraid.

I'll never forget reading Corrie TenBoom's The Hiding Place as a young adult, how I was so inspired by her compassion for her Nazi prison guards, her refusal to dehumanize the men who were attempting to dehumanize her and the entire population of Jewish people.

Some of those soldiers were healed by her love. Corrie's own humanity was sealed by it.

Maybe you can name your own small example, a time when compassion offered or compassion received transformed you or another or a relationship.

I often think back to after Trump won his first presidency. We were invited to celebrate Thanksgiving with my husband's family— something we'd avoided for many years— many of whom were, and who remain, ardent Trumpers, and now Christian Nationalists. I was anxious about the gathering, authentically desiring to connect, but also angry and confused by my relatives' votes. I happened to be seated next to the most ardent Trump supporter and his daughter. I remember asking him what was bringing him joy these days, a question I often fall back on when I'm not sure how else to connect with someone. I'll never forget his answer. He told me how nothing was bringing him joy, how he was a slave to work in which he always felt behind, how the demands of family life were all-consuming. My compassion was evoked as he described his joyless existence.

I don't know if he was changed by that exchange, but I was. With a few vulnerable sentences (a man willing to shed his scales, as in The Lindworm), I was restored to a greater compassion, which is to say, humanity. I still often grow bewildered and angered by this individual, but when I do, I always think back to this moment when he let down his guard, and let me come close. His willingness for such intimacy restored me then and it restores me still. I reverence the brave Divine Masculine that lives within him (as it lives within each of us) which risked vulnerability in the presence of Love.

The myth of The Lindworm suggests that cultivating the kind of compassion capable of transforming a young maiden into a woman with an educated heart and a serpent into a loving king/husband is long and painstaking work. Consider the time, clear sight, presence, and patience required to create these samples of glorious embroidery from Le Monde des Arts de la Parure (The World of Arts of Adornment) in Marrakech.

Now, further, consider the delight from which they sprung!

One thing I love about the adornment created by the Amazigh people (the indigenous people of North Africa who have so deeply formed present day Moroccan culture) is that while the stitching for ceremonial outfits is particularly over-the-top, every day clothing was also worthy of delicate and ornate ornamentation. For the Amazigh, one gets the sense that there is nothing "everyday" about every day, that each day invites a celebration of awe and joy. That every day invites us to dress in layer upon layers of exquisitely crafted articles of allurement.

19th century Amazigh women, Morocco

Soul Friend, I think we can all agree with Hafiz: It's no fun when God is not near. How about we do our best to set a clever trap? A love trap.

I'm no expert. I have not yet learned the height of this art. See my meager embroidery class attempt below:
 

My attempts in love are not much finer. But listen to our dear Hafiz:

Hafiz encourages all art.

Let's do it. One little stitch at a time.

In Love, and for Love,