My Word

One would think that after riding up and down the same hills time after time whatever lessons there are to be learned would indeed be learned by now. Why would a fresh assault on the same strip of asphalt yield a new lesson and more curiously why would I find myself metaphorically covering the same ground?

I don’t think I have an answer for that. I just know it to be true. The lessons I have to learn I have to relearn repeatedly--maybe with a slightly higher consciousness than previously.

Today I found myself revisiting the issue of uphill versus downhill. I noticed that I was feeling rather pessimistic about this whole venture while peddling up, and a good deal more optimistic pedaling down. I must note that the exhilaration of flying down the road has been somewhat diminished now that I have felt at a lesser speed the sensation of asphalt tearing my flesh. I am a good deal more cautious and observant than I was in my blissful ignorance prior to my fall a few weeks ago. Reminds me of the Garden of Eden.

One thing I have utterly no explanation for is why I found myself quite spontaneously and at first unconsciously humming Adir Hu as I climbed Sand Hill Road. I don’t usually sing Adir Hu at Passover, much less in the middle of July! It must be something about the relentless repetition of the song that got into sync with my determined pedaling cadence. Later, with as little conscious effort as I made chanting Adir Hu on the way up the hill, I found one of the joyous Lecha Dodi melodies that I recently learned accompanying me downhill. It is not Shabbat, but it did seem in keeping with the delight I was experiencing.

Another strange anachronistic reference went through my mind on the ascent today. Suddenly I had thoughts of Kol Nidre and how we disavow in advance any vows we might make in the year ahead. I think that was originally intended to defend us from being forced to convert during the Spanish Inquisition. I’m not sure it applies to promises and declarations we make in the normal course of our lives. Nonetheless, in the darker moments of today’s ride, the darker side of my soul was searching for a way out of my commitment to cross the Negev in November.

Some of this may be in response to my taking on an assignment from the rabbi to write something about the ride for the September congregational newsletter. The deadline is not for a few weeks, but I got an idea about what I might say just before I was going to bed last night so I jumped on creating a first draft. The newsletter will be issued during Elul, so I tied my preparation for the ride to our annual preparation for the High Holy Days. It is only a stones throw from Elul to Kol Nidre. I will assume my subconscious made that leap as I found the reality of the bike ride much harsher by day than the sublime theory I had savored the night before.

Therein lies a fundamental truth. It is so much easier to make the declaration than to deliver the goods. I suppose that that is one of the incentives for making declarations. Without them there is virtually no way I would have continued my climb today as far as I did. It turns out that hard as it is to do so, I feel the power of my word propel me to take on more than my legs or lungs want me to. The power of my word--it is a mystery why it should have such power given that words are so easily uttered and the performance they commit me to is often so difficult. What stake do my words have in the game? Why would I or anyone else pay them any heed at all? This tells me to guard my tongue as cautiously as I now guard my cycling descents.