And the Surrealism Continues.

And right when I thought the world is my oyster and the universe was being so merciful, I am presented with another challenge- perhaps the hardest yet.

I left the desert to go visit Gilad's (a distant cousin I stayed with in Jerusalem) parents in Tel Aviv, for a few days, before heading out to Ireland. I had met them once before, they are 66 and 87. So, I was set. Just three more easy days! I could see the mist, I would soon be out of the American fortress they call Israel! Soon! So soon I would be free from Hebrew and spitting people on the street and bent-head religious fanatics. Soon I will be out of the intensity! Soon I will be sipping a Guinness and watching talented traditional Irish musicians! 

And my trip ended the way it began. Kinda. Nechama, Gilad's mother, and her husband Hillel, have an adopted daughter. She is mentally unstable (probably skitsifrenik), obsessed with the Backstreet Boys, and violently hates all other boys ( I believe she was raped by a 16 year old when she was 16, from what I picked up talking with her). Essentially, I felt super uncomfortable after a violent screaming outburst directed at me. I needed to figure out how to leave. Its never simple. Nechama was very excited for my visit and felt she had to supervise me (she is a hyper-worrying individual). To make matters more complicated, my great-grandfather supported Nechama's family over the course of thirty years in order to help them move from Poland to Israel in 1948. She felt indebted to me. She made me the same cake my great-grandfather had her make for him on one of his twenty visits to Israel. So, I had to figure it out. I talked to Nechama, she got upset, and essentially wouldn't let me leave. I'm not going to go into the details of how I left, I just did, and went to a cool hostel in central Tel Aviv. 

I woke up at 6:30 this morning to a tremendous storm. Wind and rain. I walked down to the front desk to get my pack and toothbrush, and started talking to this 6ft. 4inch young fair haired Australian guy wearing tight green pants, pink socks, an eighties ski jacket, and a neon headband. He had just got back from the clubs. Huge smile; hilarious and charismatic. He was chatting with the receptionist, and then we headed together to get some pizza for breakfast. We went back to the hostel, he went to bed. But before we got back he informed me he thought there was someone else staying at the hostel from Crested Butte. Ya right, I thought, its just the drugs and music wearing off. I met Nechama for lunch, went to the beach for the window of sun, got soaking wet in the rain, and went back to the hostel, were, I ran into two guys, one with a CU hat on. I started talking to them:

Did you go to CU?

Ya.

I'm from Colorado.

Where abouts?

Crested Butte. (the two guys look at eachother).

What? I'm from Crested Butte. Whats your name? (Guy in hat)

Jackson. (the two guys look at each other again and start laughing nervously a little) 

My name's Jackson (guy in hat again).

We then just stared at each other for a minute. I broke the silence:

Did you graduate from CBCS? (right, rather funny asking that question in Tel Aviv!)

Ya, in 2005. (then I realized that I was sitting across from someone who had done the same infamous english assignments from Pat O'Neill and hung out on third and elk and then here is someone with a accurate mental image of so many people we both know, ya, weird.)

Do your parents still live there?

Ya, my dad is Mickey Cooper.

So, there I am sitting with Jackson Cooper who did birthright and now is travelling around with some friends. Wo. 

Wo. I am looking back on my month in Israel and seeing a lot. It feels like one big dream. The memories or like that of a dream. I got thrown harshly into people's lives and tumbled around in each for a while, each one spitting me out a slightly changed person. I cannot know what lies ahead (internally I have a better idea externally), but I suspect that it won't be a turbulent as my last month. A month drenched in homesickness, balance needing, balance finding, synchronisity, wisdom, pain, big dreams, people, loneliness, togetherness, on and onward.

O, I just remembered an interesting conversation I had at the desert with Leon, the volunteer at the lodge, a very talented trance/world/electronica digital dj who was born in Israel to English parents. He is a stocky, tall, guy who resemble the Dude. He acknowledges the similarities, just picture the Dude without sunglasses and shorter hair and a little more energy, not much, just a little and you have Leon. So, we are talking about Judaism. Leon doesn't like Judaism, he is planing to come to America.

Me: Why don't you like Israel?

Leon: It is full of Arab hating dirty people. I want to go to America man. I want to get away from Jehovah (he begins laughing, as do I)

Do you identify more with English speakers?

Ya, Israeli's are all spun up, it the military that does it. The only way Israelis know to get rid of it is to turn to drugs. And I like Americans man, I like em, I'm gonna WWOOF across america and start full moon trance parties all across.

A few traveling israeli yogis/hippies sit down.

Then, me and Leon began to determine how Jewish I am.

Leon: Did you get Bar Mirtzfed? (he has the most peculiar english/israeli accent)

Me: No

Did you get your dick chopped? (i start laughing again)

Ya, I got my dick chopped, did you.

Ya, I got my dick chopped.

I turn to the guys who just sat down.

Did you all get your dick's chopped, I ask.

Ya, they all start nodding their heads and laughing a little. They then admit they got barmitzfed too. We continued to talk about Judaism, and we all agreed that it generates a lot of fear in a lot of people. The religion turned to politics, and Leon shares a story about sitting at a desk at his parents farm near the Gaza border, working on a dj mix on the computer, presumably smoking a joint, when out of nowhere a bomb comes down, scaterring all the things in his room around. He uses his hands to illustrate the surprise and swaying that ensued. 

Its crazy man, he says, it really shakes you up, and the people down there really hate Arabs, (he laughs a little, putting more wood into the potbelly stove we are lying around) ya, they really hate em. 

Check out my link to Leon's site filled with free mixes, super good, I suggest the Celtic High Ways, under the chillout section. Click "free mixes" on the left hand side of the page, and on the right hand side of the next page click chillout. http://celtic-dj.com/.

So, I have seen the spectrum of Jews- from Leon to Simcha. I have seen this holy land ( M. Franti- "Every bit a land is a holy land and.......") and seen the people who live here and seen the humanity and the inhumanity. 

Tomorrow is my last day in Israel. To be continued......................

The Desert.

So, I have been all over the place. A quick overview of events first: I went to the Dead Sea for a day- wonderful, intense, beautiful, death like. I then went back to Bethlehem for a few days, and then Jerusalem, three different beds in three different nights, not quite knowing where I would be the next night. Now, I have landed! I am staying at the most beautiful desert lodge in the Negev. No electricity, really good people, desert everywhere, sun, stars, food! I am coming back into my body and re-recognizing how beautiful it is to be alive and human now! Wow! I have been here for four days, will stay a few more, and then head to Tel Aviv before flying up to Ireland.

Personal emotional stuff: realizing how much I love America! Wierd huh? It must be Israel. Because America was definitely not agreeing with me when I left. No, I'm realizing, how, as Leonard Cohen put it, America is "the cradle of the best and the worst." It is. I love the people. I do. Most of them! So, my "tribe" (not the jews, well, them too, but hopefully ill just take the good qualities!) is being pressed into me along with realizing that the "tribe" extends much further across the globe and that the earth is so connected with joy and that these emotions and spiritual truths are universal and timeless. I met a new life friend. Her name is Ayela. She is a very amazing person. Some connections are so right on and beautiful that all you need is one new connection to propel you out of any emotional shit you are in and open up your eyes (don't worry mom and dad, we are just friends, and she is 26). Anyways, life is good in my world. How are all of you? I heard its snowin in the butte!

O ya, and my camera, ipod, clothes, journals, gifts, and all kinds of stuff, too long to list, got taken by some religious kids on the street in Jerusalem due to my carelessness and laziness. I saw the kids who did it, there tzitzis flapping in the wind! I am learning a lot, common sense for sure! Ya, it sucks when your shit gets taken. All i can do is bless and release, and learn my lesson. Below is a new poem too. Also, here is a link to some pictures that a volunteer at the place and myself took with her camera. http://picasaweb.google.com/alwaysjackson/BlogDesert#slideshow/5441425860114793890

I'm alive.

The Great Joy is Free!

Laundry, wet, colorful, soapy your hands

In blue buckets of my dreams

Around and round: splash, swirl,

Of my days, I wring each separately 

And hang them, each to dry.

Our moon is in the fiber of each grain

And filling your pipe full with sand 

You smoke in the man, in the woman, 

In the moon, in the music!

In the desert.

The crow, dive deep! Into the star

Beside the cliff

Swing low, see far.

And may each flash flood 

Renew your faith

Give you solace

Fierce eyes and strength.

Then I slept, and

In the morning

Came upon my laundry, stiff and dry

Strung from two cypress trees

There were no other trees,

Just these two, in the middle

Of the desert.

And a pair of weathered red shoes

Had been tied together, by the laces

And thrown up onto

The same string

From which hung my laundry

Flapping in the wind.

The people, we starve

We laugh, we cry, we sigh, and die and starve.

And always we move under the sky, everyone

Alive today and each human who has ever died.

May you see the faces! The young, the old!

As we dance, may the beat be strong

And rumble and tremble and sway and boom!

And in movement to the beat of the earth

May we each take an item of our clothes

Tossing them, one by one,

Into a blue bucket

Of clear ocean water

And washing them together.

And hanging them all up to dry

On one long string before

Returning to the other plants, the other animals, 

the other stones, the other planets.

The great Joy is free!

This, is a beautiful thing.

New Poem and Pictures

~Here is a poem and a link to new pictures. I will post soon with some new stories to share~

http://picasaweb.google.com/alwaysjackson/BlogBethlehem#slideshow/5437449580546608786

Blue Ink

Standing in the sparkle and intimacy

Of a Byzantine church

I have not a reference point.

I have no memories to make

This any more real, or less

I am by myself

In the bowels of the universe.

And laced with the anxious tremor

Of not knowing where

To lay my head tomorrow night

I am

Writing this poem

On the back of my hand

In blue ink

For all the world

To see.

Palestine.

I can only laugh a little thinking about the tossing around I have gone through since the last update. So, I will start where I left off. I was dropped off at the farm by Hannah, Karen and Todd's daughter. I went from listening to soft hip-hop-pop and talking about fashion to shitting in a compost toilet pretty quickly. Those of you who know me well will know which I prefer. Anyways, the farm was incredible. I was greeted with the most delicious tea by Merav, the very pregnant woman who lives at the farm with her partner Bolen. Bolen is a giant frenchman who is crazy. He stomps around and has long hair and smiles hugely and has a raging sarcasm. Also at the farm were three american volunteers. One guy, named Noam, is 19. He is from Queens, and has been studying permaculture (it is a permaculture farm) for about seven months. Also, this really wonderful eco-activist named Shy was building some sort of secret greenhouse experiment on the farm. Mysterious. It was so nice speaking english. Especially with like-minded americans. Americans are a breed of their own. We can't deny it. I realized then that the foundation of my life and life path is honoring and dwelling and seeking those deep relationships where you can really drop out and drop into conversations. It is through these relationships that you learn about the world and yourself. It is life. By the second day the  lingering isolation  was finally fading, I was feeling good. Then, of course, the feather ruffling arrived. It turns out that it is an insurance liability for me to be there due to being under 18. I had to leave. So, I did my general next step sooner; to come to Bethlehem, and volunteer at a Kindersorf Children's Village here. I did enjoy the farm. Eating fresh happy healthy colorful food and being in your body and in the earth all day. 

I crossed the wall in the afternoon. The wall is not a security fence, it is a wall. Full blown and towering. I got through without a problem, and was hit by a mixture of homesickness, relief, and a strange sense of foreignness. Palestine (I am going to call it this, okay?) feels like a separate country. Israel feels like America, Palestine feels like a true other world, another country. My contact came to pick me up, and I was taken to the house of the director of the village and his family, dropped my bags, and then was taken to Bethlehem by a German girl who is working here for a year. She is twenty and speaks perfect English and is nearly fluent in Arabic.

We went to visit friends of hers who own a souvenir shop in the old city. She told me they would offer us tea, and we could stay for a bit. It was four when we arrived, and we left at nine. Long story short, I began talking with Mike, one of the shop owners, about Israel and America and food and life and Palestine. He is a fair skinned (he looks irish, actually the shop was adorned with irish flags, the other shop owner had visited there, an auspicious sign) Palestinian who speaks perfect english. I like him a lot. He is completely Palestinian, born and raised here. He has a thin reddish beard, curling nose, and wheres a tan leather jacket and cowboy-esq boots. Anyways, we were offered another cup of tea and the conversation was moved to a back room where we were joined by two other Arabs, a spanish independent journalist, and the other shop owner. We talked for hours. I felt at home.

My first impressions of Palestinians: There is hostility, because I am american and because I am not staying here for long. It comes in the form of a superficial kindness and some head nodding and sorrow eyes at the words "american" and "a week". There is a rawness to the air that is energizing. Also, more value is placed on relationships, so the hospitality is immediate, but the kindness and openness comes in stages.  It is nice because you then stay curious. Also, the dress and machismo is really similar to that of Mexicans. It is rigid on the outside, and I do feel some animosity. I am listening, and my eyes are being opened to the people. The immediacy of people and moments does not translate to a sense of knowing which side is right. Rather, it imparts a sense of humanity. Everyone is a full developed person. Each one has a story. So, I am learning the grievances and rationales of both sides, but that is nothing new. You can read all that online. What you can't get is the sense that really nobody is right and nobody is wrong (well, actually maybe someone is right?!). What I am getting is all types of persons who want love and family and have emotions and hardships and work to stay alive each day and laugh and cry and then will die at the end of it all. This is a great big family, humans, we are part of all things, and bouncing around like this has widened my sense of person and thus personality. The fact is, people on both sides can't do anything except be people, and really that is what they want to do the most.

Right now, I am sitting in Abu Tamer's house, the director, with a head-high from various sweets and a strong cup of Arab coffee. I am looking at an already smoked hookah pipe, and two girls and their mom lounging in pajamas and flipping on the TV from Arab MTV to Princess Diaries(yes, the one with Ann Hathaway). The house is very small and crowded. I am sharing a room with the older son, who is my age. He is shy and quiet and kind. Perfect. My plan is to stay here doing some serious journalism until Saturday. I will then head to Jerusalem to hopefully see a few people, before leaving early sunday morning with one of the women I met at the farm to go to the dead sea for a few days. I will keep you all posted.

love,

jackson

p.s.

you can view all the pictures from the farm by visiting this link http://picasaweb.google.com/alwaysjackson/Farm#slideshow/5436733522778933394

Akko

.Heading my mothers advice, I went out and did something today. I took a bus to Akko. The legendary walled city home to countless battles, Turks, Crusaders, Egyptians ect., has been built on and then torn down for centuries. Filled with underground tunnels, crumbling walls, laughing kids selling fresh squeezed pomegranate juice, minarets, citadels, fresh caught fish on display in the market, and a roaring sea, Akko was quite the city. The pictures best describe it, check out the link below. When I returned to my extraordinarily generous hosts, Karen and Todd, my face was covered in salt. I had been soaked a few times by fifteen foot waves breaking on the walls...........................

Link to the Pictures..............

Photographs

Here is a link to pictures I took over the last week. 

http://picasaweb.google.com/alwaysjackson/OldCityAndTheSettlement#slideshow/5433989886323781698

Update

The morning after I arrived at Simcha and Beth's I became very clear that I shouldn't spend more time with them. There hospitality was so nice, but I felt extremely uncomftorable living there. I felt as if I was in jail and being around super religious people also makes me uncomftorable. There was no animsosity leaving, they viewed it as a "god sent message that I should spend shabbat in Jerusalem" and I thought it was the right thing to do, and left gracefully. Before I left I took a walk around the security fence. It shook me up, it was heartbreaking, and the confusing emotions that come with living with settlers whom actions I had been, and still am, adamantly against, combined with a human face being put on every side and realizing how complicated it really is made me feel like I had to leave. I needed to, and I did.

Simcha dropped me off at a bus station on the outskirts of Jerusalem. I had been up since three a.m., due to jet lag, and tiredly stumbled across the highway with my heavy pack to the bus stop. I got there, and waited for about a half an hour, and then realized that the bus station was no longer working, no buses were stopping. So I stood up and began to walk in search of something or someone who could help me get to the old city of jerusalem. My plan was to try and call my other relative, Gilad, who is a college student, and see if I could stay with him. If not, I would find a hostel in Jerusalem. I was not worried, I had two good ideas, and could always fall back on Simcha and Beth. 

In Israel everyone looks American, and half the people speak English, about 10 percent of whom speak it well enough to have a conversation. I met this kid and he told me how to walk to the station to catch the number 6 bus to the old city. I walked over this giant highway bridge and found the stop. I got on the bus, and then, realized, I had no idea where to get off, and no one could help me.

There is a sense of "i am better than you" in Israelis, and Israelis (at least Gilad) acknowledge that. Sometimes people won't speak to you in English, even if they know it, and you need help. (Gilad showed me this song, he thought was great, check it out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=naHbB15Eav8 it is very popular in Israel). Other times, they are helpful and kind. Jerusalem, also, is a very intense city. The feeling that at any time it could explode is palpable. There is massive tension obviously between Palestinians and Israelis, but more so, the tension comes between the ultraorthodox (simcha and beth) and the secular jews. Anyways, the weight of the city was begining to get to me.

Somehow, I just hopped of the bus at the perfect stop, Ben Yehuda St. It is an outdoor pedestrian mall swarming with Americans, coffee shops with free wifi, and on fridays, the day I showed up, live music and street performers. So, I made my way to a bench, took off my pack, and sat down. I was tired and weary and realizing how homesick I was becoming. I had no idea where I was going to stay that night, and was overwhelmed. I sat feeling emotions I had never felt before for a few hours, and then went to use my computer to call Gilad. He didn't answer the first six times I tried calling him, which only added to the isolation and weariness. I was surrounded by joyous people having a good Friday and yet completely alone and isolated, my streak of finding English speaking people was horrible, and my pack seemed to be getting heavier. 

Finally, I got a hold of Gilad. His English is great, once he starts speaking it for a few days, but on the phone then he couldn't completely understand me when I asked to spend the night at his place. He finally said sure, but wasn't very enthused or happy about it it seemed. He was confused, as was I. I then got an email from Beth, telling me that Moshe (not Mosha) the ultraorthodox jew I met on the plane, had called to invited me to shabbat at the Kotel (wailing wall) with him and his family. I was also welcome to spend the night at their place. I thought this would be better, and I could give Gilad a break, so I called up Moshe to tell him I would love to join them. I then went to get in line for a cup of tea, when a kid walked up, who looked American (baggy shorts and a sleevless t-shirt, big sneakers). He then began to talk to me in hebrew, fluently. That is the thing, you never know what language will come out, it throws you off and is super trippy. 

"english" I say pointing at myself.

"o english, sweet." he says in a perfect american accent.

It turns out he is American, going to high school in Israel. I sit with him and his friends listening to them talk about girls and getting shit-faced and then stumbling back to the yeshiva where they live. The whole thing was surreal. It seemed like a very long time since I had left home, and was completely present in each moment, engrossed in what was happening, and though exhausted, super alert.

And the day goes on.

After three different taxis not knowing what I was telling them, I got in one who did, and he took me to Moshe's. I was greeted warmly, and changed into my sabbath attire, white shirt and jeans. I was then shown my bed and I was sleeping right next to Moshe in a crammed little room. I then got a really bad feeling from Moshe, I was creeped out. I don't know why exactly, but I definitely was. It was too late to find a hostel, and everyone closes early on Friday, so, I call Gilad. I was shaken up. My feathers were being ruffled. He is confused, saying I can stay there of course, but is confused. I tell Moshe I'm not gonna stay, but I still go to do shabbat at the kotel with them. 

Here is a little map of Jerusalem. Moshe lives in an ultra-orthodox community about a forty minute walk from the kotel. Where I was, Ben Yehuda street, was the only place I knew, and I knew it was near Gilad, and also forty minutes from Moshe. I couldn't take my backpack because you aren't allowed to carry anything on Shabbat. 

So, we take a taxi to the kotel, and due Shabbat. It was a cool and beautiful, though super intense, people weeping, exulting, singing, swaying, chanting. Powerful, but not peaceful. We then walked back to Moshe's son's house. Along the way, I was talking to Moshe's son, and he told me about how he had found a tremendous amount of cocaine in his backyard in Baltimore while building a tree house with some friends when he was nine. I didn't pick up the whole of the shared remembrance between Moshe and his son, but what I think happened was cocaine was found again at the tree house or something and the whole scene escalated and one of the gang kids got shot near the house, though it was nice suburbia Baltimore. I then had massive swaying dejavu. We got back to the house, I changed, and took my pack. Avraham, Moshe's son, pointed me in the right direction. Jerusalem is built on hills, steep hills, so I began to walk up and up this steep hill past all these ultra orthodox that stared at me; for I was doing work on the sabbath ( I was sweating and breathing really hard.) I walked for about thirty minutes, and finally flagged down a rare taxi cab (only Muslim cab drivers drive during the sabbath). He took me to Ben Yehuda street, where I found some drinking American kids, who pointed me in the direction of Gilad. I walked for another forty minutes, relying on the kindness of strangers to point me in the right direction. I finally stumbled into Gilad's apartment at about 9:30. He, his girlfriend, his roommate, and his roommate's girlfriend were sitting down to a nice dinner. They were laughing, Neil Young was playing, and I let out the biggest sigh I have ever sighed in my life. So that was day one.

The days that followed were full of new emotions. I became homesick like never before. It wasn't horrible, but it was definite suffering. I still am homesick, though now it is more of a hollowness in my stomach than an all consuming emotion. I miss you all!

Gilad's hospitality and kindness was incredible. I am so blessed to have had a nice bed in a nice place with good people. Over the five days I spent in Jerusalem I mostly wandered the Old City, visiting the sites and just walking and wandering and not speaking which is quite the meditation (i had no one to speak to, which added something to each passing emotion). I was so overwhelmed, my system being shocked. It was hard to take it all in. All I wanted was mercy. 

There are three main holy sites in the old city. The Dome of the Rock, the Wailing Wall (kotel), and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I found each strikingly diffrent. The Dome of the Rock and Temple Mount were the most peaceful. So beautiful and peaceful. The Kotel was the most intense, the most emotional, and the most overwhelming, and the Church was the most merciful. I spent a lot of time in the church square taking naps and just being there. I ate great humus (another thing the Israelis like a lot and have to steal from the Arabs whom everyone knows make the best humus.). I saw incredible people and smelt wonderful intriguing smells, but all in all Jerusalem was weighing on me. Israel as a whole seems to be really heavy and overpowering and clashing, but Jerusalem is Israel amplified a million. Gilad told me that, and I see where he is coming from.

I also had some fascinating conversations in the Old City. One of which was with a man selling sim cards in the old city. He first began telling me about Islam, trying to convert me. He gave me this pamphlet on Islam, with blurry black and white pictures of people illustrating the proper way to pray. I listened. He then started talking about how bad the Israelis are, and how this is his land and the occupiers will die. I asked him what the best way to get rid of the Israelis was. He said an Islamic Army must rise up and kill all the Israelis and all the Americans occupying Afghanistan and Iraq. I asked him if it could be done peacefully, he said it could not be. I asked him if he really thought that would happen. "It is coming my friend," he said with a smile,"it is coming." (When I told Gilad this, Gilad was a commander in the army for 5 years, he just said, "they are babies, they will never grow up".) He then went back to Islam.  He told me that if I have a mind, I will choose Islam, for if I don't, I will go to hell. I asked him what hell was. His English wasn't great but essentially he told me that I would be put in a little room with no windows to spend eternity. I left and then went back passing the antique shop (see pictures in above post) where I got my mom a great gift. The owner, an older man, was standing outside, and said hello to me. I said hello back, and asked him to show me how to pray with the Islamic prayer beads my friend Sam had loaned me for my trip. He happily showed me. We then went into a conversation about Islam and religion. He was so warm and kind and told me that each religion is good and that all Islam does for him is give him basic rules by which each human should adhere, the ten commandments. It doesn't matter what religion or lack of religion you practice, but rather that is what works for him and makes him fell good and content. He told me that doing this is just as good for yourself as any one else, and that it is a basic simple thing. I told him about myself, and what I was doing. He sent me on my way with a pat on the back and a "god bless you my son." I definitely felt blessed. 

Two nights ago I got the most homesick yet. I felt miserable. Also, my plans to work at an orphanage in Bethlehem fell through that same day, and I was supposed to go today for week. I had to leave Gilad's, and had no idea where to go. I was overwhelmed, tired, sad and lonely and I did not want to start bumming around Israel solo. So, I emailed some friends of friends who live in the hills in the north of Israel seeing if I could stay with them for a few days to regroup and figure out where I am going next. They said sure, so that is where I am now. It is beautiful and green here and my hosts are wonderful and it rained all day today so I just wrote. They are American too. Ahhhhhh. I also heard back from an organic farm in a beautiful spot, Nahalal, and am going there Sunday to WWOOF (volunteer) for two weeks. I will stay here until then, doing some day trips around the area.

It is all a sea! It is all an adventure! I am learning a lot, gaining inner strength, my travel legs are forming, and i'm keepin on........................

Heart Songs

My heart songs 

are found in hollows and open spaces;

like when I wandered the souq with all the homesickness

Swaying my stomach to the left and head to the right

And I broke over, in two at the waist at two travellers, laughing,

two-gather

The home-spun loneliness of my life unravels outward to infinite

And walking those nights only hearing Hebrew or Arabic

Through walls of the Old City, a little drunk and inward quiet

I leaned upon stone, and realized

relationships of common language give life the most meaning

and that mercy can be as bare as knowing,

that you could be in one of those relationships, now, if you so chose.

The ancient progression unraveling to infinite

Showed me heart songs and mercy

And there is nothing my heart songs respond to more than

Feral thumps, the taste of grass, raspberry seeds, the thought of your mother's caress while homesick and afar,

mist, dirt, wings, jazz

Writing or warmth

The thought of infinity and idea of change

The feel of a neck or the base of a flower pot.

I went to the place where Jesus was crucified.

Seeking mercy, I napped my hours into the church square

awaking beside a woman talking quietly to herself

A diamond of blue chalk at her third eye

A police officer asked her

If she was a Christian

Yes

Where are you from?

Texas 

And in her accent I heard a friend as she, too, once had spoken with that same accent, kindly mocking, saying

She is a southern belle.

I laughed a little and felt at home,

Both of us on quests and both speaking English

I had not heard English in a long time and was washed over 

with mercy thus becoming 

merciful

I thought of saying:

I am a weary traveler and seek mercy so I ask for you to share a meal with me

I did not, she kept

Talking to herself laughing sometimes and then 

Carrying on her conversation

So I sat next to her for an hour

thinking and watching

For the right salutation 

for when she finished.

She got up moving to the alley out I moved slowly not wanting to disturb

asking for nothing save the perfect ending to the poem

I had begun hearing.

a man was painting

I observed

Standing like his elbow my eyes his

brush

I will ask her, I must, and I will give her

time

and then she came sitting back down

all the spaces around her 

Were full with people, so I could not too sit and wait again.

And I laughed for it was the perfect ending 

to the poem.

Each person,

Be it the Christian woman

Be it the boy carrying pomegranate juice he squeezed for ten cents 

Holding the brimming cup with giant grin 

or the disdainful man

chewing loud hurrying to receive the juice

or a quiet old woman 

praying within the shouts and whispers of the Muslim Quarter at noon.

Each person, each animal, each tree, each rock, each molecule of water

Every one's quilt unravels to infinite 

between the word and answer  

between the subtle and the gross

through heart songs spun in home places and revisited afar

I am spiraling around

and around.