She recognizes that the predisposition to belief is deep within us. I would suggest that the predisposition is more than cultural, that something fleshy in our brains is hardwired to affirm a transcendent reality. How else to explain the almost universality of belief in the absence of evidence.
A predisposition for belief, but, for Schulman, as for some of us, an impossibility too.
Lao Tsu told it best: The way is nameless.Of these commonplace, earthly things she remakes the temple, that place of worship of her Jewish heritage:
The real cannot be seen. Still I make lists
of miracles, and never mind eternal.
Here, lilies unfurl in rocky soil;
a papery plant blooms into silver dollars;
grackles bob in a ring like a holy synod.
Earthly, but so was God's roll call of itemsCommonplace, yes, but evincing the eternal mystery. Lilies. Grackles. An eyelash Moon slipping by a gleaming planet in the morning sky. A line of marching ants streaming across the countertop. The hummingbird at the feeder. Not the God who speaks from the burning bush, but it is enough.
to build a chest for the Law: acacia wood,
brass rings, indigo curtains, names of things
transient but fit to hold all that endures.
I would eavesdrop, spy,
and keep watch on the chance, however slight,
that the unseen might dazzle into sight.