Julia Plevin

Mystery School

Julia Plevin
Mystery School

I feel like I’m learning to dance and I don’t even know how to walk. I’ve started doing weekly calls with a Shamanic Kabbalah guide and she’s teaching me things so fast that I’m having trouble grasping on to anything. She’s teaching me about the spiritual secret meanings of Hebrew characters that I can barely remember from my Bat Mitzvah studying days.

Why do I feel like I need to be investing in this learning right now? I have no idea. So much in my life makes no sense at the moment but this feels clear. It’s as if I have been waiting my whole life to come into these teachings. It’s on the edge of both my intellectual and spiritual capacity. It takes a lot to get me to that edge, but here I am. I love being on the edge – I need to be almost underwater with all of life or else I get bored.

I want to be a good student but I’m having trouble focusing. The excuses are plenty – I’m busy, I don’t have my own home so it’s hard for me to ground and focus…I asked if there were other books I could be reading in between our calls and she replied, “Not in English.” That’s when it hit me. Usually when you want something to exist that doesn’t exist, it’s a sign that it’s yours to do. That’s at least how I have lived my life. So I better start taking notes. I’m writing a book about this and I don’t even know what it is. The mystery is bigger and more real than I’ve given it credit for.

She sent me a package — CDs with chants and a card. It had a card and she wrote about some stone and special meaning of it. But I didn’t read it that carefully. Then on our call this week she asked me about the pendant. “Did you see the pendant in the box?” she said.

“Hmm, no…” I said, confused…maybe thinking I should pretend that I got it because we both knew what was about to happen.

“It was small. I was afraid it would get lost so I wrote about it in the card. It’s a pendant from the 1920s in Poland with Gd’s name inscribed in it. Do you still have the box?”

My stomach sank. I definitely didn’t have it anymore. I was in the car on the way to Ojai.

“Let me check when I get home,” I said. We both knew the unspoken truth. The mystery of it all. The disappearance. Perhaps I wasn’t ready for it or it didn’t want to be known. Maybe it was a way to get me to start paying attention.

I bought her book off of Amazon. It was a used copy. In preparation for the first of Nissan, I opened the book today and realized that the inscription in it — to someone else — was in the same handwriting as her card. I have a signed copy of her book. This felt like a sign. An omen. Something to trust in a world that is seeming more and more flimsy – the veils between are lifting.

Is it even okay to be writing about this? Sometimes things are best kept hidden. But I trust my impulse to share. I’m here as a translator between worlds to share my experience authentically. It’s all I can do.