TZADIKIM NISTARIM --
Also called the Lamed Vev, two letters in the Hebrew alphabet that translate to the number thirty-six. In this violent, ugly, strife-riddled world of ours there are thirty-six men, the Hidden Just Men or Hidden Saints, who bear on their shoulders the burden of all our pain, sorrows and sins. The Tzadikim Nistarim move in obscurity, and are usually found among the poor, the downtrodden and the meekest among us, and are chosen for this task because of their righteousness, stalwart sense of genuine justice, and the true goodness of their souls. When one of these men dies, God chooses another to take his place. It is for their sake and for love of them that God does not destroy His imperfect creation. As long as the Lamed Vav serves humanity, the world will continue to plod on, but once one of them dies and God cannot find another worthy to take his place, the world will be destroyed. In Qabala, the thirty-six men of the Tzadikim Nistarim together combine to symbolize the seventy-two bridges, corresponding to the seventy-two names of God, that connect the concealed and revealed worlds of our universe. The scent is one of unadulterated spiritual purity, with a taste of the world's eternal pathos, and the joy of suffering with grace: frankincense, olive, spikenard, hyssop and galangal.
I sampled this last night before looking up the description, thinking something was really familiar about the fragrance.
Here's the weird dream that followed:
I was in an old city, everything looked dusty, monochromatic, and the sky was overcast. Architecture was massive stone blocks, almost Central American but for the lack of foliage. In the city was a palace or temple, where an oppressor lived and was claiming to be a god over the people.
Also in the city was a regiment of small, talking cats, and the object of this dream seemed to be getting the cat commandoes into the palace, via a series of hidden little doorways. There were also prayers to the Holy Spirit along the way to secure windows and doors.
At the end the oppressor flaked apart and was blown away in the wind, and all the clouds left with him.
Weird dream. And why the little cats, I thought? A few hours awake and I remembered the brain's love of puns: the cat's were in homage to that old martial hymn, "Onward Kitten Soldiers".
In broad daylight, I can say the scent is solemn and beautiful, and the olive note grounds the blend in a way that's more golden than dark. However, I've made a note just go to sleep with lavender sachets from now on.