Expanded awareness and the voices of other creatures
יום אומר. יום ליום יביע אמר ולילה ללילה יחוה דעת. (תהילים י״ט ג)
The Day says, “Day to Day utters speech, and night to night relates knowledge.” (Perek Shira 2:1, quoting Psalm 19:3, translated by Slifkin and Varady)
Day says: “Day to day, ‘Let the promise of speech bubble forth’; Night to night, ‘Let understanding be revealed.’” (Same source; my translation)
I was home alone with my new baby. She was about six weeks old. I lifted her from the changing table, held her in my arms, looked at her, cooed at her, rocked her gently. My baby was healthy and beautiful, and I was calm and happy. But wait—Did I hear a sound, a creaking sound in the house? Like the faint sound of rustling leaves I heard 18 years earlier just before the window slid open and…No, no the house was quiet. No one was breaking in. But something called me to a 360 degree circle of attention. It pulled me out of my quiet bliss and woke up all my senses. I panicked a bit: What is going on? Who is here? How do I protect the baby?
Then I looked at my baby—and suddenly I knew. She was here! A switch had flipped inside her. She had made a leap in her own cognitive development. She was reaching towards me in thought and feeling with her first glimmer that I was someone separate. Her awareness expanded, and when I felt it, mine did too.
Funny thing, isn’t it, how another creature’s awareness can touch ours? Draw us into a meeting, change our sense of who we are, before we understand what is happening?
It’s not just people who draw us in to a different awareness. So does the quiet shade under a tree. A bright and fragrant flower. A spring rainstorm. A barking dog. Dawn. Sunset. Night.
Each of them, I imagine, has its own unique awareness, shaped by its own unique physicality. And when each awareness touches ours, we respond—whether we understand what is happening or not.
The creation story in Genesis hints at this web of awareness with one little preposition: “to.” It’s spelled with the Hebrew letter ל, lamed. And it’s used so delicately that many people miss it. On the first day of Creation, ויקרא אלהים לאור יום ולחשך קרא לילה
We often translate these words as “The Creator called the light ‘Day’ and called the darkness ‘Night.” And that is a valid, everyday language-based translation. But the First Day is not an “everyday” kind of day. It’s a mythical day. No human being observed it, but all are invited to imagine it. So, we use every detail the language offers to help us imagine.
A helpful translation is, “Creator called to the light, ‘Day!’ and called to the darkness, ‘Night!’” The Creator addresses them directly, as beings capable of hearing, or receiving in some way, a message. Perhaps to say, “You, light, will be known by some in this emerging world as ‘Day.’ They will feel your unique way of being through their own physicality. Their own rhythms of growth and rest. And, darkness, they will feel you as ‘Night.’”
Psalm 19:3 also uses that little preposition “to.” Day calls to day, passing along the message. Here is how people experience you. When their awareness meets yours, speech will bubble forth from them. They will be active, creative, testing things out in words. Night calls to Night, too. “Here is how their consciousness will change when you reach out to them. They will integrate and understand. What was hidden will be revealed.”
Bubbling forth and drawing in. Speaking and reflecting. Trying things and learning from them. And then trying again. A human cycle of deepening awareness, where each step slides into the other.
Much like day and night. The end of day is the beginning of the night. The end of night is the beginning of day. To whom does dusk belong—to day or night? To whom does dawn belong? To night, to day, or to the cycle? Maybe that’s why Day sings not just about itself, but about the cycle. No wonder the Zohar says that night and day are a single light, with two ways of shining forth. It’s an image of our own dynamic spiritual consciousness.
Sometimes expanded awareness bursts forth, like a special gift, like the one my infant gave me. But more often, awareness comes through trial and error, mistakes and reflections and re-tries. This is how we learn Perek Shira—not just the text, but the song of creation. We begin to hear tiny notes of other creatures’ songs. At first, we might not recognize them. But little by little, we attune. And our world becomes larger.
Many thanks to the students in my Perek Shira (Song of Creation) class at Or Shalom for our deep discussion of this verse earlier this week.
