29 toward the Omer

chesed shebhod

I sit on the stone eating my lunch and try not to self-reflect. Inside, she sleeps. The daffodils smell stronger than I ever knew daffodils did. It’s not self-

reflection, God says, if you haven’t correctly identified yourself first. Okay then, I say. Action-reflection. If you haven’t separated yourself from your actions, God says, that’s just as bad.

Am I not my actions? I say. Am I my actions? God says. I don’t know, I say. All of my names are approximations, God says, especially the nominalizations

and the predicates. You seem to’ve largely avoided anthimeria, I say. When someone says my name in vain, God says, who becomes vanity—me, them, or the connection between us?