The Eternal Jew’s Tale, #149, Batkol’s Journal, 5

In this episode, against good sense, Batkol decides to go looking for Lilah again.

The Eternal Jew’s Tale
Nineteenth Era, Part 5, ~1425 C.E., back in Genoa

And so ended my first trek to Lilah bat Eve. My mind was swimmin’ in shock and outrageous blasphemies, and voices of the dead, and freedoms unknown. Like an eagle I soared in her wilderness, and there were our Lor soarin’ beside, lookin’ thru my eyes into my heart that was drunk on a Torah that Lilah had writ.

Reina Shirin lived with us for about a month, tryin’ to find a stumble-free path in a new life. Moody and quick to anger and flash, and then flagellate herself no end. Untrustin’ us as untrustin’ herself, and hatin’ to be dependent on us, and we, like levees tryin’ to contain the flood of all her inner storms. I can’t say her steps grew steadier in that scant time, but we had hopes that she might find a better life as she boarded a ship to the Balearic Isles.

Truth be told, I’m afraid to return to that Lilah bat Eve and the raptures she weaves, reckless, ungoverned, and animal hard, and animal lonely, and animal scarred. The trail disappears approachin’ her hut, and beyond, it’s a *tohu and vohu* path. And who knows if the Lor be there to empower her or devour her, and if her soul be she-wolf wild, or if she walk by angel light.
*-* Berraysheet/Gen. 1:2: formless and void

Nor can I speak to Saadia Mishan about this woman on the other side. How he’d respond I can’t decide, but I dare not light a fire in him that could flare out against this rare shoot.

Today Reina bat Shirin left, and strange to say, my doubts have dispersed, and a powerful urge is wellin’ up in me to trek back out to Lilah’s hut, to cross that river to the Lilith side.

Batkol’s Journal, part 5
The Lesser Yikhud,* The Sorceries of Lilah bat Eve

* Hebrew: union, merging, divine or human

I want to walk thru Sheol’s* vales and listen to the dead confessin’ their deeds: to hear the braggin’ and agonies, the sexual exploits, crimes and deceits; to learn the secrets, that boil and burn, that lovers withhold buried in the heart; and to see the khashmals** inside the soul, the divine powers hidden of old.
* place of rectifications after death; ** Kabbalistic term: angelic beings or electricities

But upon her heights I lose my way. Be this a punishment for crossin’ the line, followin’ my heart into forbidden things?

First I were troubled, then annoyed, beratin’ myself in my growin’ fear. Now moments of panic and I sits myself down to pace my breath in a slow prayer*.
* Psalm 107, vv. 4-6

In breath They wander in wilderness;
Out breath A desolate path;
In breath A settlement no where found;
Out breath Hungry and thirsty too.
In breath Within, their soul is faint.
Out breath They cry to Adonai
In breath And are rescued from anguish and distress.
Out breath But I am not rescued at all.

Quake and panic all confused, I start to run, then stop, so lost. Where to go? What to do? The sky darkens, plink and plunk, drops of rain on cheek and arm. Then harder rain and gusts of wind and thunder rumblin’ over the hills, then flash of lightning, thunder cracks and downpour washin’ over me. Soaked and shiverin’ I sink on a stone and my panic passes with the storm. Then from my throat like a shofar* blast,
“Help! I’m lost! Help me! Help!”
And that’s the real psalm I pray all day. A heartless silence the lone response.
* horn made of ram’s horn or similar kosher animal

Saadia taught me I must find a stream and follow it down and ever down, and that should lead me back to the coast. But now the dusk and now the night, and I curl me up to try to get warm, like a helpless child afraid to sleep.

Mornin’ my skin all prickled and scratched. I pick up the bludgeon I found yesterday and begin to look for a deep ravine, where I should find a rivulet. Hours, slippin’ and bumblin’ down slopes, then scramblin’ and draggin’ my sorry ass up. And now and again I howl out ‘help’ and listen, rapt, expectin’ a response. The squawk of bird, the creak of branch, rustlin’ leaves, my pantin’ breath, my thumpin’ heart, my useless thoughts — that’s the stuff of what I hear.

Sleep in a patch of sun for awhile, which soon declinin’, I search for a cleft that might provide protection at night. I end up hidin’ in a pile of leaves at the base of a boulder. Best I can do. My knotted muscles and rumblin’ gut ain’t enough to keep me awake. I guess whatever beasts there been, decided I smelt too bad to eat.

Third day. Hungers and fears. Bruised and battered. Hard to move. Red ants crawlin’ over my hand. Lick them up, bitter on my tongue as I try to crush and swallow them. Come to a little trickly pond. Crawfish hidin’ under a rock. Crush it and eat, then another one. Blackberry patch. None of them ripe. I stuff my mouth and just about puke. Stand of mushrooms in a thick shade. I pull one up.

“Don’t eat that!”
a beast or tree behind me declares. Just about dirty myself with that. Whirl around. Fall on my butt. And there she be, Lilah bat Eve, just lookin’ down with a kind of a sneer or a pityin’ frown, and kind of disgusted and kind of amused.
“Been followin’ you since a-fore las’ night. I doubt you survive even two more day. My hut ain’t terrible far. Let’s go.”

Hobblin’ along like a hamstrung bear. Night comin’ on and there’s her hut.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the next episode… descent.