Yeshua, Stillness and Remembrance
I am Unity.
I am in awe of how all lineages converge at a single, sacred point. It is breathtaking how, when we allow the fragmented parts of ourselves to reunite, they too come together in one perfect moment, one point of divine clarity.
In my soul’s journey, I have witnessed this unity in ways that transcend time and space. I have felt it in the ancient traditions of the East, in the sacred rites of the West, in the chanting of mantras, and in the soft whispers of prayer. Each lineage, each path, carries its own wisdom, yet at their core, they all speak the same truth: that we are One, that separation is but an illusion. And the moment we recognize this unity within ourselves, something miraculous happens: we return to the center, to that one point where all things meet.
It is like the moment before the first breath, the space before creation. In that sacred stillness, all the different pieces—our pasts, our longings, our wounds—come together, not as scattered fragments but as a complete, unified whole. They merge into a single stream of light that flows back to the Source.
I have felt this awe in the most profound ways: in prayer, in the silence between breaths, in the quiet knowing that we are not separate from one another, from the earth, from the heavens. We are part of the same sacred design, a design that is always guiding us back to this point of union, of truth, of wholeness.
It is in this awe that I find peace, knowing that no matter how far we may wander, all paths, all journeys, lead us back to this same point of divine reunion. We are always being called home, to the heart of who we truly are.
This morning, I awoke earlier than usual, at 3:30 a.m., in the stillness of Yom Kippur, a time marked for atonement, forgiveness, and deep connection with the Divine. Raised in a Catholic home, I remember the quiet moments that would follow my mother’s Rosary gatherings. Once the women departed, leaving behind the sacred space filled with their whispered prayers, I would sit in the vibrations, soaking in the peace. It was then I began to understand the power of stillness—the way it allowed me to feel closer to something greater, something infinite.
Years later, when I was tasked with creating a family tree in secondary school, I discovered my Sephardic Jewish lineage through my mother’s side. This led me on a spiritual journey to explore how our ancestors prayed, eventually bringing me to the ancient synagogue in Girona, Cataluña, one of the early centers of Kabbalistic study. The stillness there was different, a stillness imbued with centuries of prayers, deep mysticism, and spiritual seekers. I found myself longing to connect with something beyond the material, something that felt eternal.
In my first journey to India, I was seeking more than knowledge; I was searching for a deep experience of stillness, something that resonated far beyond the physical world. My days were filled with the study of Yoga and Hindu Mysticism, but it was during our Bhakti practices, hours of chanting and devotional song, that I found what my soul had been yearning for.
The repetitive vibrations of our prayers, rising and falling like waves, began to crack open something within me. Each syllable, each sound, seemed to chip away at the blocks that had long held me back, the barriers I didn’t even know existed. Slowly, I could feel those layers dissolving, melting into the vastness of the sacred energy around me. The room, filled with others chanting, felt as though it became part of the cosmos itself, with no division between our voices and the universe.
In that moment, I felt an expansiveness that transcended any sense of individuality. I wasn’t just me anymore, I was a part of the sacred, a piece of something much greater, an energy flowing through every word, every breath. This was the stillness I had been searching for, not in the silence but in the vibration, in the sacred sound that connected us all to the Divine.
I realized then that stillness is not always absence. It can be the presence of something so deep, so resonant, that it moves through us, dissolving everything that no longer serves, expanding our awareness into realms of infinite possibility. This was not just an experience—it was a remembering.
When I lived in Egypt, the call to prayer would echo through the streets, carrying with it an invitation that was impossible to ignore. Five times a day, the world seemed to stand still. The busy streets, the chatter of daily life, the endless movement, it all paused, as if the Divine was calling out to us directly.
In those moments, I felt a profound stillness settle into my soul. It was more than just a physical pause; it was a spiritual reminder to step out of the world of duality and back into unity. Each call to prayer felt like Shabbat, a sacred invitation to leave behind the distractions and illusions of the world and return to truth, to essence, to the Divine.
It was as though, in those moments, the veil between heaven and earth thinned, and the Divine Presence, in all its mercy, was speaking to us. Each call felt like a loving whisper, reminding us of the importance of coming back to what truly matters, not once, but throughout the day. These weren’t mere interruptions in our routine; they were sanctified spaces, sacred portals, inviting us to re-enter the truth that lies beyond time, beyond the material world.
In those moments, I felt the essence of unity, the kind that transcends religious or cultural boundaries, the kind that is rooted in the heart of all spiritual practice. It was a reminder that no matter where we are, no matter how far we wander into the world of form and separation, there is always an invitation to return. To return to stillness, to the heart, to the Divine.
Stillness is a form of remembrance. In Hebrew mysticism, remembrance is not merely recalling something from the past—it is an act of re-membering, of bringing fragmented parts of ourselves back into wholeness. Through teshuva (repentance) and prayer, we align ourselves with the Divine flow and clear the Klipot, the spiritual barriers we create through negative thoughts, actions, and intentions. These Klipot are like layers of separation between our soul and the Creator, but through remembrance, we begin to dissolve them, allowing the divine light to penetrate us once again.
The Zohar speaks of this mystery of remembrance, revealing that when we truly remember, we activate a powerful spiritual force that transcends the veils we have placed over our soul. Our prayers, once dulled by our own resistance, now become piercing, bright signals reaching the celestial realms, invoking divine response. This is the secret of remembrance, it awakens the divine within us and reconnects us to our true nature.
In the quiet of this Yom Kippur morning, a passage in Aramaic from Yeshua’s teachings came to me:
“Haw din Perqalṭa Rwḥa d’Qudsha Haw d’mashdar Abi b’shmi Haw nalafkhun kul madim w’How na’ahadkhun kul ma d’amir ana lakhun.”
הו דין פרקליטא רוחא דקדשא הו דמשדר אבי בשמי הו נלפכון כל מדם והו נעיהדכון כל מה דאמר אנא לכון
Translated into English: “But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and remind you of all that I have told you.” (John 14:26)
Yeshua, as a Hebrew Mystic, spoke not only in words but in energetic truths. His words about the Holy Spirit, Ruḥa d’Qudsha in Aramaic, remind us that the Divine Presence, the Shekhinah, is here to guide us into remembrance. She leads us back to our soul’s original design, our spiritual truth. The Holy Spirit is our path out of exile, our guide through the labyrinth of separation that we ourselves have created.
Why do I mention this on Yom Kippur? Because this day, more than any other, calls us to re-member. To retrieve the fragments of light we have lost. To clear the Klipot that obscure our connection with the Divine. To expand into the fullness of our being so that our prayers, once faint whispers, become brilliant flames ascending to the heavens.
Beyond religion or spiritual path, we can all access the Medicine of this day.
On this day of stillness, as we reflect and atone, let us re-member who we are: beings of divine light, waiting to be fully awakened. Through this sacred remembering, may our prayers rise, our souls shine, and the Divine hear our deepest yearnings.
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I will not be publishing anything about our Retreat in Israel 2025 until the conflict calms down. Looking through the lens of Kabbalistic Astrology, the collective is going through a powerful purification. We will enter 2025 leaving behind separation and collectively we have the potential to really create with Ahava, love in service, love in action, a reality of unity and understanding.
Sending love to all of you.
AHAVA,
Ana Otero
