A Human Experence

   

The south of Israel, yes that is spelled correctly, the south of Israel.


After an hour drive with two wonderful women, a ten-hour flight - on which I was


the only one in economy class who could lye down, a 12-hour stay in Frankfort -


eight of which were spent people watching and walking the snowy wind blown streets,


another four hour flight - with a cartoon movie about a vampire rabbit, a twenty


minute and fifty minute train ride - on which Rona and I slept A LOT!, a forty five


minute bus ride - trying to stay awake in order to not miss my stop, a five


minute car ride and a few meters walking I arrived in the house of Jeffery and Yohevet


Gordon - the parents of Rona, Sheer and Nariet Gordon - and here, after a small


snack and some tea, I layer down on a cushy bed and preceded to enjoy the  wondrous


and amazing dream state of sleep for the next twenty hours. I don't believe I have


ever slept that long in one stretch...it is a liberating feeling to skip a day in


order to sleep, I highly suggest it to anyone who has never done it...and to those


who have as well. That's the big picture, now...Frankfort was very interesting,


they all speech such good German there and they dress so European...:). The museum


was filled with things from the US and the highlight in the cathedral was an organ


(the musical kind) that took up a whole wing of the structure, magnificent, if only


I could have heard its voice! Perhaps I'll randomly be there again on some Sunday


when wind is blowing threw its pipes and an organist is at its controls.


Flying, walking, passport stamping, money exchange, phone calls, a little waiting,


hugs, words, and two train rides proceeded without to much excitement...or if there


was any my sleep deprived, jet lagged, pot of mush that is constantly trying to


trick me into thinking it is the center of my world didn't notice it and so it must not


have happened (in truth the whole world fell 30,000 feet below me and when I hit


it again I was in one piece)


At the bus station with Rona I had my first falafel...or my first Israeli falafel,


ohhhhhh, and this was just one at a bus stop, I can't wait to try one from a good restaurant.


It wasn't just the falafel that was so good, it was the eggplant (which is in the


nightshade family along with patatos, peppers and tomatos), the humus, cucumber and


tomatoes and the HOT pepper (after Baja nothing is accually as hot as it is touted to be),


YUMMMMMEY!! my tong verbally exclaimed and after dealing with the shittiest airplane food


it has ever encountered; my tummy was pleased with the situation as well. Food


is good...or good food is good and my whole body smiled...until it decided it wanted


to sleep and realized my brain wasn't going to let it have it's way until the body


got us all to our destination. Conflict can be harsh, especially when I'm left as


the negotiator. I protested but it seemed my body designated this roll to me at birth and


so I was left with no choice but to negotiate. We reached a compromise and everyone


involved worked together for the good of their own goals...we arrived, we slept.


So here I am in the south of Israel, did I mention that? I'm still grasping that


myself. This is the farthest away from my little patch of land currently called California


as I have ever been, 8000 miles or so...16 million foot steps, that's no small number, there are


six zeros behind that 16, I'd write it out but all those zeros might freak someone


out. It's safe here, there are guards at every corner and they check all the bags whenever they get a chance...


I haven't found to many smiling faces, but it feels safe (I've only


been here two days). I did catch a ride hitchhiking back from a hike I did


today and the man was so nice, he didn't smile either. Yochi and I walked in


the nature preserve, En Avedat National Park, that is the backyuard of their little settlement


(or town), Midreshet Ben Gurion. The walk started at the rim of a canyon and descended


into and up a canyon defined by sheer lime stone, chalk and sandstone with layers that undulate


in and out as though they were a snap shot of the sea on a windy, swell filled day.


Vultures with wings like pegasis smoothly patrolled the upper rim while Ibex scoured clean


the vegetation of all its green leaving only the gray blue hue of the saltbush


to contrast the large spectrum of tan soils. Further into the canyon

small date palms and random succulents told us stories of the unseen

abundance of ground water until we reached the first of a series of

springs that babbled its own stories to the cottonwood trees and

cattails that suround them. As a tour bus unloaded, this is a VERY


popular spot for Israelis, Yochi and I decided we would like to stay a ways in front


of the forty five to sixty middle school kids whos echoes resembled a car lacking


an exhaust pipe and so we left at a fast pace to hear the stories of the next spring up the canyon. Along


the way we slowed our pace to take in the beautiful plumage of a diversity of birds


from tiny finches and quail to large ducks and something resembling a sand piper.


Water Striders rippled the surface of the placid cold water of the upper falls.


Pigeons, called cliff doves here, cooed and flew into and out from the caves and


crevices that gave texture to the smooth sandy stone. A generous stream of water


flowed from the spring some ways above feeding a floury of flora and fauna; water


- it gives freely of itself and asks nothing in return, and thus gathers all without


discression. Water - dazzles the eye and quenches the senses, water dances and


sleeps,


water gulps and sips, flows and finds equilibrium, it is the obsession of a fish


and


the distruction of a mountain, water holds the space of love and hate for water


gives life and water takes life both it does freely and without question. Water


is power. Water


in the desert is life in all its profound and metaphorical ways. Here, at this waterfall,


water, once again, has transformed that which could not be transformed. Beauty dances


in many dances, here it is in the form of


sparkling droplets of cool clear water.


...


...


Water was the most exciting thing that happened to me today.





   A lifetime...or a week later...





...I'm in the north of Israel in the snowy mountains on the border of Syria where


the water that holds life in its grip flows strong for the south. Fields and orchards


stretch to the edges of the Syrian Rift valley where mountains start their accent


to snowy peaks and the volcanic plains of the Gulon Heights - oak trees, rolling


grass lands, thickly scattered stones, sink holes, light purple, pink and deep deep


red flowers dot the spacious green - where thick chested wild boars root, snort


and stampede about, cows languidly meander wondering what all the fuss is, small


rodents and snakes hide from the watchful eyes of falcons and hawks and crows and


scattered rain clouds. Drifting on light shifting breezes smells of cow pies and


goat peas come and go tangling like dreadlocks with negative ions, moss and fresh


mud. Strolling threw the not so stereotypical middle-eastern scene Rona, Nadav (Rona's


semi-kind-of-boyfriend) and I made a gallant effort, although at times we weren't


sure which side of the fence we were supposed to be on, to avoided the fenced areas


posted, "CAUTION: MINES"; we decided to hop from rock to rock as much


as possible. In the oaks and rolling plains where the above scene sank threw my


eyes into the plethora of my being we spent the day wandering and laying around


eating and playing music. Or at least Rona and I played music. Nadav is quiet and


reserved and a lot of what I'm not, he is, however, sensitive and approachable unlike


a lot of Israeli men who tend to be macho and aggressive feeling and don't have


a very warm or friendly feel about them (a broad stereotype). It has been good to


meet males - Nadave, Uval, Jonathan and three or four others - who have, once again,


shown me the limitations of stereotypes with their kind and generous ways. For them


I am thankful.


   Friday and Saturday are the weekend here and Sunday is a workday (called first


day). Friday night starts Shabbat and most people go home to have big dinners with


family and friends, in this way there is a similarity to Latino culture. It is at


these dinners, and a few others I have been insistently invited to, while group


conversation is afoot that I do a lot of watching and listening and noticing all


the ways people communicate aside from words and see all the colors and taste all


the tastes, feel all the temperatures and absorb all the delicate yet pungent smells


of humus and tihena, cucumber, tomato and carrots, spices like coriander, cumin,


garlic and turmeric. Soups and meats hold the bottom layer of the oloclyne (don't


try to look that one up :), baklava, figs and dates hold the top, slowly compressing


their way down throughout dinner until the sting of sweet sugar overpowers all other


senses creating a kind of madness; the sophistication of tea adds the only thread


to sensibility. The food holds a subtle quality, not in looks but in flavor, that,


like a down feather, wraps the mouth and tong in a way I have never experienced in


the US...the carrots are divine! I think I am folding in a new dimension to my culinary


habits.


   Days earlier and just a wee bit to the south in the National Park of En Geti;


the desert of the Dead Sea west of  Jerusalem. The bus ride was a little over an


hour with an elevation loss of four thousand feet until we reached the -1,349 foot


elevation of the Dead Sea. The plains stretching east of Jerusalem drop steeply


into valleys and cliffs just before plunging into the salty, oily waters of the


lowest piece of land and water on earth. Perhaps at this depth the sea too has light


with a smooth sensual purple quality to it and it's just all that water covers


it up; perhaps I have and have forgotten but I don't believe I have yet filtered


such a quality of purple translucency threw these eyes. It rose from the distant


water line and filtered threw its royal tinge the mountains of Jordan until fading


into the homogenous blue sky. Some oil pastels melted smearing all over this canvas


in ways even a child's imagination wouldn't think of...well maybe a child's


imagination...maybe the imagination of oil pastels, when melted, oozes outside the


lines and everything swaps hue, like turning the tint knob on a TV screen.


   Hiking, eating, reading, hiking, music, listening, music, music, listening, eating,


music...sleep.


   Note: Time didn't actually happen like this, this is a phenomenon that belongs


solely to literature and film and in the deep passages of these brains of ours...for


this I am glad.


   And yet a few days earlier before the purple haze and the

pastels were still in their box and happy to be in a solid state,

before -1,349 feet below sea level, before Jesus Christ and before

Jonah got swallowed by the whale...Jerusalem. Now this is a city with

some history and herstory and chrismasstory and honicastory and

mossasstory. It is the plot of and paper for a whole lot of lifestory

and deathstory and faithstory and warstory and tears and the story of a

whole lot of power and control. It is channeled into so many different

filters, so many different realities...so scattered are the rays that

it is hard for me to get a good look at it. I grew up with the Hindu

story, I am Jonah, I saw it, I had some great soup...I'm not sure what

else to say.





   Tomorrow I travel to the Red Sea, to teh Sini, to Egypt (sounds so mysterious).