Am I a Cliche’?

I am a cliche'. 

I pull my sourdough starter out of the fridge each Thursday morning since quarantine and then set it on the counter. It lies there idle. Flat. There is no sound. It's dead. I feed it. Flour and water. Slowly it begins to spring up. I hear the bubbles buzz and hum. I see the mass of goop rise. I add the starter to water, flour, and salt. It is a sticky substance. It looks pathetic. I leave it alone. I give it time.  It begins to rise. It is synthesizing. I pull it. This way. That way. It rises.  A transformation. I pull it. This way. That way. I roll it. Emerging is a beautiful shapely dough. There is a new form and consistency that each time astounds me. Each time. Each week. 

Is it a cliche to say that like the starter. I rise. I shrink. I bubble. I deconstruct. I reconstruct? Or is it insightful?

Amidst the pandemic-like conditions of the 10 plagues in ancient Egypt, God pauses the narrative to inform Moses of Time. That the first Mitzvah is to count the Jewish months according to the cycle of the moon. Latent in our nationhood is this idea of waxing and waning. Rising and falling. 

Why the interjection related to Time during the height of the Egyptian darkness? That is the point. Just when the moon's light is so diminished that even the tiniest sliver of light seems to disappear. When life feels flat and dark, lifeless, and even deathly--- there is always a rebirth. There is a steady rising—a transformation. Eventually, there is a robust and full circular moon, glowing. 

Each phase is expected. Necessary, even. Holding space for, or having the courage to experience the inherent energy shifts of the highs and the lows, is how you feel alive. 

Making sourdough bread during a pandemic might be basic. Knowing that our lives mirror the cycle of the moon might be basic too. 

It is a cliche; it is life.