Series: Be'erot, Love & Relationship with God.

Synopsis: Avram's transition into Avraham and the emergence of Yitzhak and David, as a process of oscillation between personal fulfillment and the loss of self into the seamless unity of all.

Episode Transcript:

What I want to share with you is the first meeting of G-d and man. Everything unfolds from there and comes out of the way in which G-d first contacted us and it's His first meeting with us in Creation outside of Gan Eden. See, after man was created, the first contact that G-d has with man is to take him and to place him in the Garden of Eden. He took him and placed him in the Garden of Eden. And the Rabbis are not satisfied with the simple sense of the verse which sounds like He took him physically, and they explain that what G-d did was He seduced man; He spoke to him. It was His first speaking to him, and Rashi tells it that He took him with beautiful things, beautiful speakings, and tempted him to go in to the Garden of Eden.

(What's the word?)

Piteyhu l'hikanes. And as we know, man bought in, and he went into the garden of Eden. And were it not that he had chosen that, so then G-d would not have forced his hand. And then, when it says, Vayanichehu b'gan eden, so, that's where he actually puts him down physically into the Garden of Eden and literally rests him there. So, the beautiful thing to connect to is that way in which G-d here has renounced His all-powerful presence to become One who seeks to arouse; meaning, that there is no use of power here, there is only a desire that's expressed and when that desire is expressed, so the arousal of man that he should accede. But in his acceding, so then he acts as an independent agent. To me, this is mamsh the entire Torah in a nutshell.

And the next verse, which has G-d commanding man, and telling him—it's almost an ironic verse—because, it says, "And then G-d commanded man, telling him You can eat from all the trees in the Garden." And only in the following verse, He says, "From the Tree of Knowledge you cannot eat." So, it's almost the first command is, You can have everything. It's all here for you. And only after there does G-d delimit what it is that he cannot have.

So, if you remember, last time we were with Avraham Avinu, and the root of all in the consciousness of oneness, which is the great blissful pleasure of the at-oness with the ground of being. And this is Avraham's path of oneness. And it's called in the Chassidic literature, based on a verse in Shir Hashirim, which has G-d knocking on our door, saying Pitchu li, achoti, ra'ayati, yonati, tamati. Open the door, my sister, my lover, my dove, my percfect twin. These four levels of calling G-d to us begin with the level of achoti, which is that which is the knowing of the perfect, seamless onenesss with His being. And the Rabbis idenitify Avraham Avinu with achoti, my sister, with the verse, Acchot lanui ktana, v'shadayim, eyn la. We have a young sister and she has no breasts yet. And the midrash says that this is Avraham. Because Avraham in his most primal position is the sister; meaning, in the language of the Chumash, the connected one, the at-one one; in Hebrew, achot is taking two things and drawing them together. Ichui is the language of that. So, he's the sister and she has no breasts. And this has to do, as we saw with Yitzchak, has to do with the ability to nurse, by the awareness of there being another to whom I give, which is the origination of atah.

Now, the truth is, Avraham passes through two pathways; first being Avram, and then becoming Avraham. Now it's important to note the difference. Avram means quite the opposite of what Avraham is. Avram is supernal father, being the one in which all is at one in perfect equivilation, hashva'ah, in perfect equivalency. He has no outward turning; he simply is—as we explored aspects of Avraham in the context of anavah. That's Avram. But then G-d changes his name to Avraham, the place he does this is with the introduction of Yitzchak into his life. If you remember where it's told to him that he will have his son by Sarah, so there G-d changes his name and tells him that his name is Avraham, which means the father of many nations—Av hamon goyim. Avraham is the one who becomes outwardly-turned and is then able to nurse. He so to speak receives his shadayim, his ability to nurse others. And in that, Avraham becomes the gilui of the hey, which is the five ways in which we become able to speak, gutteral, labial, palatal, if you know then whatever they are, but there are five.

Hey becomes his opening and the aperture outwards, which begins with the world of binah, which as we learned is the first hey of G-d's name, which as we learned with Yitzchak is the world of the root of Yitzchak, which is the turning out l'hotzi davar mitoch davar. The eym habanim s'mecha, the joyous mother of children, who will later become Leah. But Avraham becomes invested with this aspect of Yitzchak when he gets the hey, and therefore is told that Yitzchak is going to be born of him. That hey, which is the breath, the power of breathing, really, which emerges from the seamless wonder of unity, now becomes the ability to breathe. And all of our in-breath and out-breath, all of our ongoing experience of leaving and coming back, of reconnecting to our source and going back into it and then drawing from it into our separate unique reality and existence. That breath is the letter hey which is only there added to the name of Avraham to introduce the power of giving, the power of relating to. And it becomes the final letter of the words atah, which is a word descrbing Avraham in a verse that says, Atah coehn l'el elyon, You are the Cohen to the supernal G-d, that verse which is in a chapter of Tehillim, which is describing Malkitzedek and Avraham, is interpreted by the Rabbis as atah cohen l'el elyon, You, Avraham, have become the Cohen to the supernal G-d. But in becoming the Cohen to the supernal G-d, you have become one who now has the power of giving, by virtue of incorportaing into your being the power of atah, of you-ness there being an other that will be seen by you. That you experience as other by knowing the boundaries of your own independent, individuated exisistence and the reverence and honor for that of an other. This is Avraham's transition form Avram, in which he is simply the chochmah, the bitul, the abnegation, and the ayin, which is turning towards the keter of seamless oneness to become the one who will now have the possibility of doing chesed, of doing chesed, by incorporating into him the power of gevurah, and of the binah, which is the outwards turning. So that it's perfectly appropriate that at the time when he's told of the birthing of Yitzchak, and of course his brit milah, etc. (sic) that he is also given that hey which allows him to turn outwards.

But the amazing thing about breath and otherness which we were exploring last time is that it requires a space, an empty space, which is distance and creates a world of longing and of need. And the most primal need that we have is one which we experience every moment is of breath. Breath is the ongoing reminder to us of our separateness from our source of being. It's the ongoing embodiment of the separateness of our source of being. You may be able to breath slowly, or cease breathing for a certain amount of time. But in the end, you'll need to renew that activity, and in that being ongoingly reminded of the distance between you and your source. And the experience as yourself as other. It's the constant reminder of our death, and it is for the Rabbis, more than anything else, the indication of whether one is alive or dead. They determine whether someone is covered by a pile of an avalanche and who has his face exposed. The way you determine whether you continue to act to rescue him or not is by holding a feather to his nose, and just like like was blown into us through our nose, so when that nose ceases to exude life, and that interaction which is the indication of separateness ceases, only then have we been confirmed as being dead. There are all kinds of issues of halachah in this. But the point is that is the indication of death, because then we would have gone back to our oneness with the source of life. But as long as we're here, we're breathing in that ongoing interraction. And this is why so much of the kabbalah revolves around the length of the face and the length of the nose.

This is, in a sense, why G-d says to Adam HaRishon, that you will eat from the bread of the ground by the sweat of your nose, basically. Zayat apecha toch halechem. Because now you've made a rupture, and therefore the kind of work you'll need to do will be different than the work that I had originally intended for you. You will be met with the world as antagonistic with you, rather than a world which will cooperated with you; a world that has thorns and thistles, and not just a world in which you speak the will of G-d through the mouth of prayer and it rains, and what grows is what you need and you pluck the fruits and they are yours. But the indication of that is in the nature of the nose and what happens with the nose.

(Laughing) I have a tendency to make these things comic, but I'm going to restrain myself. But the whole issue is around arich anpin and ze'er anpin. But the point is there. This, by the way, is why we wish people health, asutah, when they sneeze. Basically, it's will you get a next breath, that's really where it comes from. It comes from us—labriut and gezuntheit—it's in the midrash, in the Tanchumut from the first century. Because we don't know if you'll get a next breath. Will you get back to the in-breath? On a very real level, we experience it this way. The out-breath is the loss of self to, and the in-breath is the taking back of life. This is why so much of intuitive thinking happens in what I call ithe wisdom of the out-breath. That's how I experience it. I wonder if that's how others experience it also. But the intuitive messages I get come when I breathe out, and I feel it in my throat. That's how I experience it. So I started calling it, when I notice it, the wisdom of the out-breath.

(Just to remind myself so that I would have a name for breathing out.) Breathing in already encourages the activity of the logical mind, the working it out, of the side of individuation. Breathing in, out. The hey, which is the hey of breath. Now the Chumash describes that the first breath—ruach elokim mrachefet al peni hamayim—that there's a breath of G-d, the wind, the spirit of G-d that hovers above the depths and the Zohar says that the ruach elokim mrachefet is the letters of met rapach, the death of the rapach, which has to do with the breaking the vessels—I think it's mistaken, because there is too much light and vessels broke.

That's a very negative way of looking at it, and I have a more positive interpretation, and that is when the greatness—there's a consciousness of the oneness of G-d, which is a consciousness which a vessel as a vessel cannot hold, and when the glory of that vision is seen, then the vessel must give up it's vessel-ness. That's the real breaking of the vessels, they must give up their vessel-ness. And they do, and they die, that's the kiss of death, which the Tzaddikim are zocheh to. That's the real shvirat hakelim. And as long as the ruach elokim is mrechefet, as long as the spirit of G-d, the wind of G-d is hovering, so then the kelim are broken and the letters mrechefet are met rapach. That these rapach nitzotzin, these two hundred eighty-eight sparks which get dispersed when the vessel loses its vesselness, live in death, and then they're drawn by the breath of G-d, back towards Him, so in a sense, every time we're breathing, so we're breathing toward that; we're breathing from that. So that there will be that reunification, which is done b'tikkun, whereby we are able to live out our lives as independent entity, as atah, and as we once talk in kissing G-d, by the breath which is breathed out, and breathed in, breathed out, breathed in.

So in a sense it's Avram's transition into Avraham which gives him the power of creativity and the second stage in the love of G-d, which we know from the Rambam, which is a lover of G-d is one who not only lives in the bliss of the connectedness to Him but also has great desire to spread this pleasure among others. As the Rambam teaches, It is the way of a lover to desire to share that love with others, to spread it, to spread it. That is the second side of Avram when he becomes Avraham, when the element of distance and gap and chasm between myself and other and myself and G-d becomes revealed. That is the bechina of tzimtzum and the side of din. And as we've seen, the great irony is that it is the side of din that love originates in its manifestation. It's the side of chesed in which love is rooted in its oneness, but it's the side of din when love becomes manifest in the experience of distance and longing and desire, that is the hey, the breathing out, the hey which becomes ahavah, which simply means, av hey. Father who has two heys. Supernal source, it's the hey of the out-breath, the hey of the in-breath. That's what that word means.

So it's from the vantage point of Yitzchak that Avraham learned love, and it's Yitzchak himself that becomes a lover of another living human being, as we saw in the tragic story of Avraham and Sarah, that it is not until Yitzchak that there will be a man that will love his wife. When he greets her after the story of the camels, and sees her, and must see the camel rather than her, in order that he see the gap—as we learned about camels—that he see the withdrawn aspect of life, which is gemilah, which is the weaning from the at-oneness with the mother, which is when he looks towards Rivka coming on the horizon, if you remember the humorous description we once gave of that where she's coming up on the horizon out of an entire Torah reading that has so much to do with camels, which literally means the ability to separate and wean—that is that animal is so important there—he looks and he sees not Rivka, but he sees camel. So if you're seeking the romance of this story, you're disappointed.

But that's because they don't know that the secret of love is in appreciating the distance and the difference.

And so he sees camel and that is what his own reality is. Being, as we learned, of his being the first man who became camel—Vayigamel—first man to be weaned, and first man to experience the distance, from Avraham's form, breasts, so to speak, and then he sees her, as a camel. And then only after that can see her, from the gap, the chasm he sees here. This is so crucial for appreciating marriage; this is so crucial for appreciating relationship with G-d. And the nature of how he's made a world in which in order for there to be love, there must be gap. And there's only a gap in order that there should be love. Always be appreciating that.

I had this with a couple I'm working with just working with them in their coming to gradual realization that she pushes all of his buttons and he pushes all of her buttons, mamash. He shows no appreciation, typical male issue, men feel like it means giving up power and control if they show appreciation. He shows none. He's also a very intellectual kind of person. And even after I did an intimate conversation with them of reflective listening in which she expressed her desire for that and how much of her worth depends on that, all he could say was I hear you, and then he violated all of the rules of the conversation, But I don't understand you. He's so separated from her. How could it be that your sense of worth depends on me? He, on the other hand, experiences her as always incarcerating and isolating him. And she does. She won't let him go out of the house. Perfect match. He's unappreciative, she holds him back. So in asking her, what does this remind you of? This experience of his face and what this looks like. Her parents were so unappreciative. She was always giving out, and they were never willing to acknowledge it at all, They would always demand more. And in asking him, he said, My father used to hold my hands behind my back and beat me. That's what it means to be held back for me. So they were totally frightened by this because it was completely inappropriate. And I looked at this truly and honestly with conviction, I hold it as a perfect shidduch, because the calling of marriage isn't the calling of shalvah, contentment and only the aspect of at-oneness, that's achot. That's brother and sister, we're siblings, which is beautiful, and I don't belittle it, because it's there in a couple at its root. But the love will only will come when the severence happens. And the severence only comes in the most intense and fearful relationships when each of them is actually standing opposite each other and push all their buttons. How are we going to bridge this gap? It's the biggest one there could be. But in the transition to realizing the power of knegdo as the origin of love, the power of otherness that I am separated from my source and in human life I'm separated from my other and we've built up an opposition. Now we can begin. This is the truth of what the Rabbis meant by, greater is the ba'al tshuvah than the perfect tzaddik. Greater is the one who has experienced distance than the one who is always at one with. Because of the fierceness of the love. The power of the love to overcome the chasm and reach out of one's self to reunite. And there's a whole psychology of this that is a completion of what they hadn't done when they were children, what they hadn't done when as children, and there's already shifts with them and I know other couples that are also realizing this. And just noting that and realizing that. So he can offer her that, not necessarily because he understand it, but because he accepts that as her reality. And out of love he offers that. She the same. And then they unite in a deeper unity that underlies the apparent and overt differences.

This is the way it is for us and G-d all the time, It's the in-breath, out-breath. It's Avraham's hey. And Yitzchak coming to this consciousness in the akeidah, when his source of Life was drawn for him, when he was told in that dramatic moment, I am no longer with you, you're a dead man. Only by virtue of that trauma was Yitzchak able to fully realize and embody the life of one who could then love. So there is a very deep thing in that verse of kol dodi dofeck, pitchu li ra'ayati, see that next level of my beloved, my lover, is the level of Yitzchak, the hey, of binah, of the entrie left side which ends with the Cohen of Aharon, who is the great lover of people, that's all on the left side.

But it requires that for there be a reah, that there be ro'ah. That's one of the deep secrets that people don't really know how to look at and usually ignore. And that is that the word in the verse that teaches us to love one another V'ahavta l'racha c'mocha, this re'ah has the same root as ro'ah which means evil, and in Arameic is the word for desire. Ra'avah. For will and desire. But you can see how obvious the reason for that is. Because, as long as we're caught only in the sense of a submerged personhood that lives in the oneness as the life of love, so we cannot appreciate what it is to be V'ahavta l'racha c'mocha, which is to experience the source and the root of evil which is in the absence of one-ness and connection and in the space which is made that I should have the independent existence and ability to face G-d and say to Him, no, I'm not going to do your will. It's not for that power, just like if it's not for that power of woman and man with each other, then there is no place for love. They may be a beautiful ezer, but the ezer without the knegdo, which is the creative possibility for there being love, will not be there.

And one of the great and crucial realizations that we have in our relations with others just as G-d has lived that through us, is that the more we give space—and not just give space, which is ceratinly a part of it—but actually invest in the realization of the one with whom we live and love, even if that otherness seems to take them away, (sic.) so then the more possibility and depth of love there is. And this is exactly how G-d's first movement with man occurs. I will not put you in the Garden. It's all you, it's for you, it's up to you. I desire that it be for you, in the very best possible way. That's all I can give you, And I desire that you will be close to me. But I will not take you to the Garden. But I will tempt you. And I will seduce you, And I will show you my great desire for you. And only once that is established can I command you, telling you it's all for you. And only if you become the very greatest manifestation of you, of atah, will there will be the love that I've created this world for.

It's the great paradox of living. A living G-d embodying the very thing which He is. Because lo and behold, the verse right after that, so G-d says, It is not good that man be alone. Just like he said of Himself. It is not good that I be alone. That only in my creating of a chasm, of a roah, of an emptying did I arouse in myself this desire for other and the relationship of love with him, so too will be with him. And so, right after G-d says that, it says, Vayatzar elokin, G-d narrowed down. In the verse it means he created, but he narrowed down—it's the tzimtzum happening—he narrowed down and paraded in front of him all of the animals that he should have desire and longing for a partner. But because the root of love must be in one-ness, it can only come by someone who will be born of him.

(What's coming to mind for me, even the word temptation has so much baggage in our world, and I think of the snake and the next step, which I think is implicit in what you're saying, is the fall and the whole thingw ith the snake, so that was just built in for the sake of love?)

I'm always wary of giving too positive an interpretation to that story but there's no question that what we live and the consciousness that we live needs to see as what indeed was meant to be, because that is what we've been given to live. And yes, on a certain level, the irony of that story is that a complete separation from the consciousness of G-d as being all, could only come about by sin, by violation of G-d's will. Because as long as the act is one which is a continuation and a flowing out of G-d's will, so the establishment of man's otherness cannot be complete, and the ultimate expression of that in word, which actually means the same thing as rah in the aspect of it being emptiness is chet. Chet means missing, something that's missing is chet. So the creating of the chasm is an act of chet, it has to be, because if it was the acting out of what G-d had asked for, so it would not be the standing in otherness. It would have been something that He gave them. Your independence cannot be granted you. Your independence can only be established.

This is the great suffering of all parents of adolescents. And they have to know that. And there has to be room for that. It doesn't have to go to the extent that some adolescents go; it doesn't even have to be stepping out of the observance of the mitzvot. But no question that there has to be some establishment on the part of the child of his independent reality, which is going to involve excatly what the verse describes, al ken ya'aoz ishet aviv v'imo, therefore the child leaves his parents. And the parents experience that to a real extent as a chet. There is an aspect of parenting, which can tell you, having experienced two daughters getting married. There is a reason parents are crying at the chuppah, and it's not just joy. They're leaving. And that leaving leads to sort of a parental meltdown. That's the crying. The Maharal says that we're embodying our experience when we cry. We're embodying the experience of loss, and so we exhude something and drop it away with our tears. We embody that loss. So parents embody the loss of the child at the chuppah. When she's like, walking out on me. As much as they're going to keep a home like yours, and it's walking out, and they have to and that's why the verse must insist that al ken ya'aoz ishet aviv v'imo. It didn't have to be that way. Yes it does, if you want to get to reacha, then you have to leave achot. You have to leave the sibling parental nest in order to become a reah and step out and to live you life, al ken ya'aoz ishet aviv v'imo vdavak b'ishto, and draw unto his wife, which we're onto now. The reah, because of her separateness and otherness, Vhaya lo basar echad. Then they become one flesh. Only if they are willing to travel and traverse the experience of otherness, both from parent and from other. vdavak b'ishto menas there's an experience of otherness to which I'm joining and clinging to. And then, very profoundly, and in the context of the parshah that talks about Cohanim, the Torah tells us that there are people that a Cohen is allowed to become pure to and people that he is not allowed to become pure to. And the way the Torah tells about it is the following. It says, Tell Aharon the following. He is not allowed to come into the death of another, except for sh'eroh hakarov eilav, his closest flesh, his mother, his father, his son, his daughter, and his sister. So how do you read the verse? One way to read the verse is: Except for his closest flesh: his mother, his father, his son, his daughter, etc. The Rabbis say, You got it all wrong, man, you're still living in achlut. I'll tell you sh'erao hakarov is. I'll tell you who his nearest flesh is. It's his wife. Nearer than all of them. Because they have traversed the exterior of separateness to a deeper unity which has only been made available to them by virtue of re'ah. By virtue of gap.

This is why Yitzchak must be born of Avraham's and Sarahs' barrenness. They experienced ariri. They experienced being barren, also is the same word in opposite. They experienced the barreness and having a great longing and desire for trial. At least from her. But only then can they become sh'eroh hakarov elav, only then can they become the basar echad, the one flesh. Which is the nearest, which cannot be had with anyone else. Because there is no one else who is ezer and a knegdo. And so it is with us and G-d and sowe embody that very act of His and His own way of being in our loves.

So they needed to traverse eating from the Tree of Good and of Evil. And of rah. So there could be reacha. But the temptation of the snake took them to an extent that they didn't need to go to.

(Is it really the language of temptation with the snake?)

Although the Torah doesn't call it that, except later. She describes it later, hanachash ish yanik. Different word. He took me away. But what I want to say is that the temptation of the snake was an extent which was beyond what needed to be, into the world of nichush and imagination. Of which the offer was, you can go to the full extent of this. The full extent, that you don't need to relate to the reality that G-d's given you, and you can become creators of your own worlds, totally disconnected and totally distinct from Him. That's how Rashi describes it, You'll create your own worlds, which is become, like now, that we have such a work to bridge the chasm between truth and falsehood, between what we imagine and what is real, that getting back to the level which is the pre-sin level, that's not the chasm that we need to be bridging, the chasm between truth and falsehood, what we imagine and what is real, the chasm to be bridged is the breath in, the breath out, standing in the full personal realization of the embodiment of the will of the One who made us. By free choice and actualization and becoming likened to Him and becoming creators ourselves, but creators in joining Him and in oneness with Him. And not in adversity to Him. Being an ezer knegdo. So this became the fullest extention of ezer knegdo in eating from the Tree. That make sense?

(So that phrase about no breasts was applying to Avraham?)

Right.

(Amarta she Avram v'Avraham hayu hafachim?)

Lo hitkavanti she hem afachim. Chalila v'chas. Lo hayu hafachim. Avraham haya hitpatchut shel Avram. Avraham is the evolution of Avram. They are not opposites. This is what's so important. The evolved self and all of the midot, and all of the character traits that evolve, must evolve from Avram. Must evolve from the humble experience of the anavah that we talked about last time in the context of matzah. From there, everything then evolves. So that my giving is not a giving because I am in need of but rather it is a sharing of the ground of existence. My withdrawal and control is creating the possibiliyt for love and overcoming the chasm between us. By coming to full and profound self-realization. It's not like one is now supposed to be mushy about it. It's real intense and invested in. All of my desire for harmony is not because I am afraid of reality, but because I am rooted in the ground of being. All of my ability to overcome comes from there, and my ability to acquiesce, and my desire to connect. They all evolve from that. See, really there are no opposites. The Zohar says that the eye of atika is one eye. There is one eye in the bliss and pleasure in atik, of the consciousness of at one-ness, there is only one eye. There is no three-dimensional vision, and there is no right and left. There is only one eye. Because in the depth of all, there is no opposite. But nor is there manifest love.

(So is the halachah that he can also go to the death of his wife.)

Yes, halachah l'mayseh, Cohen is allowed to go to the burials of his wife. It's a mitzvah to [inaud] and that is because the Cohen's contact with death must always involve his unification of life. So if the Cohen goes to the death with an other within which he doesn't have a manifest expression of nearness, so then he's only in the gap. So he has a mitzvah to go to the burials and become impure by death to go to the burials of only those with whom he has a relationship of and achoti and ra'ayati.

(Do you think in the future you can continue something [inaud])

We must because there is yonati and tamati. (Laughter) And it's quite interesting because they reverse in the verse, and yonah—I want to confirm this—is David, and tamah is Yaakov. Taamati is the twin, which we saw with Yaakov, with G-d's twin in being able to be alone in the organismic connection. And the yonah is the one who is able to glance into the eyes of the other and remain fully at one in connectedness in looking in the eyes of the other. That's how the Zohar describes it, that the Yonah never tires of looking into the eyes of her mate. Which truly means that identification and identity come through the eyes. It's like you see, Who is this person, that's why we shy away from our eyes being looked into, now, it's inappropriate because it's too much exposure of self, in the looking into the eyes, but the yonah never tires of looking into the eyes of G-d and G-d looking into her eyes. That's David, the eyes that are always able to look and never ashamed of the personhood that is looking, because in the very depths of that personhood we are one. We are connected. That's why you have to be careful also about looking into eyes and creating context, spiritual context with people looking into each other's eyes, it can be very, very powerful and very connecting and can take things, if it's with the wrong people, into exactly the wrong direction. It's very exposed, very open and very real. And it's David's joyous life in his eyes when it says, eneich brechot b'cheshbon. In Shir Hashirim it says that your eyes have become like wellsprings and pools that are within the cheshcon, the accounting, which is to say that you're in the counting, you're in separateness of counting and of being numbered. But your eyes are like the pools—that was David, if you remember, the ma'ayan mitgabeir. Like, your eyes remain connected to the pools of existence and the joyousness of life that flows fromn there, and then that's the final level of yonati. But they reverse in the verse because of a secret that we're not yet to explore.