Friday, June 16, 2017

Letter to Regina Spektor

When I read that Regina Spektor will be performing in Israel on August 19th, I became sad for a while, because I will be in America at that time (if I were here I'd be the #1 person to buy a ticket...)... And then I decided that perhaps I should write her a letter, to try to avert the feelings of missing out to a message of gratitude and appreciation. If anyone knows her address, please let me know.

Regina Spektor, 
Ever since the first note of yours descended onto my pitifully soft and sentimental heart with "Samson" when I was 16, I have fallen in love with your ethereal voice and all of your unique words, music and videos, sometimes surreal, playing along the lines of my own surreal and kaleidoscopic path of life. All the way from "Someday" and "Us," through "Blue Lips," up to "Black and White," just to name a few, including a short youtube excerpt of you singing Hanna Szenec' "Halikha LeKesaria," your music and art videos have been a part of my growing up. I am now 27, and your music still accompanies me through sorrow, contemplation, pain and love.  
When I was the nanny of a baby I'd sing him to sleep with Halikha Lekesaria, trying to imitate your delicate trills while trying to have the song be a steady landmark of Being-Here-ness, in the ever-changing, ever-continuous span of time and space; and when I hit confusing forks in the road (or open nomadic fields) and wanted to remember old times, I'd listen to "Samson" and let its beauty make me cry and rejoice -- although I listen to it less today than I used to, because it now makes me remember young love, which passed and gave way to a much harsher and unclear adulthood; and when I'd want to hear something fun I'd listen to "Fidelity"; or to give place to the quirkiness and arbitrarity of life, "Dance Anthem of the 80's." I'm an artist, too. An artist whose art is articulated more in the written word than in any other form, but with oceans of imaginations and creations still inside my head, which have not yet found a way through me to be formed in the real world. 
I read that you studied in Fair Lawn, New Jersey, which is where I lived until age five, when my family moved to Israel. I've lived in Israel since then, and just recently decided to travel to America for a while. And once I was already there -- 10,000 kilometers away from home -- I found out that you'd be coming to Israel in August, merely four months after I'd left! I couldn't believe it! I've been waiting for you to come to Israel for so long, and now you're making it there, but I'm not. I'm pretty bummed out about that ("mevo'eset" in Hebrew), and I keep imagining how lovely it would be to be there and see you on stage, and hear you sing your wonderful songs with your wonderful voice, in my own home country. Sometimes that in itself makes me wonder why I left for America. Because if we don't live for those escalated moments of spirituality and joy, then really there is nothing else. 
But since I won't be there, I cannot forever lament it, and must see it as not such a big deal, but... but... I really appreciate you and will miss being in Israel when you are. You are talented in so many ways. I do hope you'll come back to Israel again.
I hope that you have a full, cheering, loving audience in Tel Aviv, and that you'll enjoy your time in this special land. Don't forget to spend time in Jerusalem -- in my opinion one of the greatest (and most diverse) cities in the world. 
With thanks and appreciation toward a person who makes the world better by lighting it up with her talents, 

Friday, June 09, 2017


המילים קטנות, כפועל יוצא מהיותי קטנה,

אך הן נושאות על גבן אותי.
אני נעטפת סביבן, נשענת על עוצמתן.
המילים הקטנות שוחות
בתוך יםהשכל,
טיפות של מים,
שמזכירות הכל.
כמעט הכל מפחיד בחיים,
ומה שלא מפחיד - אינו מחזיק את כולי
ואני נושמת חצי-נשימות ואומרת
"כשאנשום עמוק אסביר לעצמי מי עצמי"
ובינתיים - רק אהיה.
המילים קטנות, כפועל יוצא מהיותי קטנה,
קטנת מימדים בעולם רם ונישא,
קטנת אמירה בעולם רם ונשמע
קטנת כוח אל מול
אלמלא המילה,
לא הייתי

Friday, June 02, 2017

Just a thought; you know how thoughts change...

Just a thought. You know how thoughts change...

Chapter 1: There are challenges that are socially accepted as worthy of drawing the support and encouragement of society, at the end of which one gets a standing ovation of pride and sympathy and “You made it!”, such as graduating from college or reaching milestones in military service, which both consist of hard work, persistence and devotion. And then there are personal hardships; as hard, challenging and risky as the above, but the sweaty, confusing, maze-like inflictions that are intrinsic in these paths are known only to the bearer of them. And as one walks them alone, huddled under the umbrella of the absurdity, abstractness and arbitrarity of one’s circumstances and mishaps, one finishes them alone (or perhaps never finishes them at all, but only gets to certain points which can lead to a resounding, albeit temporary, equilibrium of the senses and the mind), with no row of fans clapping and cheering, with only the solemn sound of one’s own breath, tired and heavy from the distances it crossed.

In the photos: seagulls flying over a beach in Monterey, California 

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

My heart tries to say:

Sunday, April 09, 2017

Friday, April 07, 2017

סתם מחשבות לא באמת חשובות

ייסורי מצפון ורגשות אשם הם חבילה שעוברת במשפחה שלי (במשפחת העם היהודי-אשכנזי?). עוד לא פיענחתי למה זה אחד הדברים שמחלישים וכואבים לי כמו בוקס בבטן (וזה אמנם פחות כואב עם השנים כי אני אדישה יותר עם השנים לקונצים של הגנטיקה ולחרדות הנטישה שלי), אבל אני יודעת שזה קיים ושזה היה קיים מאז שאני זוכרת את עצמי. זה עובר בינינו, זה מופקד בידי אחד ובידי כולם כאחד, כמו תפוח אדמה לוהט ובו-בזמן כמו כורסה ישנה ונוחה שלא מספיק שתרבץ בה בעצמך אלא אתה חייב לשתף אחרים. ואם האחרים האלו הם קרובי משפחתך אז מצוין, ככה תוכל לשחות במיץ שעושה לך נוח.

Friday, March 31, 2017

Speculations of the Consciousness

This is a wild speculation, based on real inspection and attentiveness to the little thoughts that line my heart. This could also be the symptoms of anxiety, which will pass, but in any case, this is what Miriam believes at 12 am on a Thursday night and then again at 9 am the next morning:

It seems to me that life is hard for me to grasp when it isn't the life I had between ages 0 and my early 20's. As if that was the life that was engraved (as if the brain was raw and moldable until then, and then the ability to change wore away), and now with every encounter my mind knows where I'm at but my consciousness doesn't sit right inside my body and there is a disconnect. The body is living a life, and the consciousness another. Or maybe the subconscious one and the narrator another. In any case, there are two entities not aligned and one of them seems drunk. You know that fleeing spot in the retina you see sometimes in your eye? Let's say that spot is Experience. It's as if the younger I was, the better I could look straight at that spot. The older I get (or the more anxious I get), I become unable to look straight at it, or it becomes hazy, no matter how much I try to focus. Like in Eternal Sunshine, when Elijah Wood's head cannot be spun around because his consciousness is not aware of what is behind it.

I always knew I connected to things deeply and strongly. Perhaps until my early 20's I brought into my heart everything around me; I opened my heart like a raw wound, and called it Love, and let every color of bravery wash in. And then the heart started sealing around it all: around the smells and the movement of fingers, around the sound of a voice, around the knowledge and words of being, around the stories I told, around the stories I was part of. And then my body had to let those things go, because I grew up, and had to move on, but my heart knew otherwise. My body let them go easily; my body said (October 5, 2014, on this blog:) "Change is scariest from afar. When it comes, you just live it. And that's what it is: Life", but my heart is still planted under the covers in a warm bed somewhere else, in another lifetime. Maybe back at age 5, or 9, or 11 when I was most scared. Or 18, or 20.

[I always imagined that if I was ever to rewake up in a specific moment in my past, and realize all the future was a dream, that moment of awakening would be when I was 8 (or 11?), in a very specific moment I remember, in the apartment my grandparents were staying at when they came to visit us in 1998 (or 2001). I must have closed my eyes right back then, and that moment was a moment of true Being: The moment to which I would return again if this were a dream, the moment at which until then everything was Real, and from then on everything was a dream. Or a nightmare, depending on how I would look at it.]

The older I get, the harder it is to let someone new in. Not physically, not theoretically, but subconsciously. I really wish Tal knew me since I was younger. That's what I want. That solidness, solid love from my childhood that will stretch into my adulthood. I want the person I'm with today to be the person I'm with at age 20. And it's so hard for me to fathom the fact that Tal will always know me only from age 26, an age at which my mind was no longer as authentic as it had been back then when I was young and vulnerable and new in this world. If I was with him at age 20, all levels of my consciousness would know that I'm with him, not just half of me.

Tal likes my writing and says I'm a talented writer. He suggested today that I could be like those great writers I admire, like Lena Dunham. That I can write a book someday. That maybe I can even try out different genres, like fantasy. Like that maybe I can write a whole full-length, amazing, unique book. That conversation was a pretty cool moment for me, a moment of Grounding, of being Within, and not just About. Those moments are sometimes very rare.

I'm feeling sick. It's really late at night and I'm bent over in my bed eagerly typing away at my laptop and my back is arching and aching and I'm thirsty and so tired that my head hurts. But I feel like I have to write this. And then not fall asleep for a few hours, thinking about this and about all other things that convene into me at this point in history.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017


 = to come out of hibernation

Thursday, March 23, 2017

The story is making me nauseous

It's not me anymore.
It's the one telling the story.
I can't go back to raw experience
I'm the story I'm telling.
The letters of my life have always typed themselves up
in front of me, preceding me,
being formed as a story as I bring them forth in action,
But now it seems they are all I am, they have taken over,
just words that come before me.
I speak what is already spoken in my head.
Words are uttered in me like the pulses of blood streaming
Maybe instead of blood
It's just a flood of words.
I'm so scared and I want to go back.
I want to just experience instead of being the narrator of the experience to myself.
Now I am just a narrator.
When did I start detaching from myself?
It's not me anymore.
It's the one telling the story.
She is my experience.
I am no longer anything.
I see the things I do through my eyes but I am not here.
I'm scared.
Sometimes I panic.
I want to be here.
Will I ever go back to being here?
Or will I always fantasize about it until I die, while being something else,
just a hovering consciousness?
It seems that slowly, since the day I was born,
I became infected,
And all that I have done, to be good
To be smart, to be sane,
To be true,
Have proved void of effect,
And that today,
Despite my wanting to be free and serene -- fuck, that's all! That's all I'm asking!!! --
My brain is losing itself... I hope just temporarily.

I don't know if it's anxiety
Or the beginning of a mental illness
But I'm scared.
I can't stop the deterioration and the detachment.
I'm hoping that a change of scenery will bring a change of mind.
Who knows.
Only time will tell if I'm going to become Crazy
Or Free.

And if my words prove to be right or wrong
Take it as devoid of meaning
Because it's not me.
I'm somewhere else.

Friday, March 10, 2017

Ages 16-18

I feel 16-18
And it seems to me that perhaps
Those years were the most now-concentrated, here-situated, dedicated years. Without trying to be, they were. Maybe because they weren't trying to be anything.
Everything after that is a blur.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

The arbitrary nature of love, the losing of the self, and the sadness I feel when encountering the lives of regular fellow human friends

*There's a long post here about how love is arbitrary and therefore our decisions are arbitrary and can never be right or wrong, and about the underlying fear of losing Selfness inside a relationship. It's a long post but I haven't written it yet.*

My birthday was last week.
I spent time driving/riding to visit dear friends around the country, I volunteered at a dog shelter, I made myself a birthday cake, I went out to a restaurant with my family. I also bought myself a birthday present and wrote myself a dedication in it.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Dreams, just for the record

Dreams, just for the record:

Take voice lessons
Make art - eclectic paintings, video art, portrait photography
Learn to play guitar and violin again
Record a song (write a song!)
Make a music video for the song
Live in a minivan in the US (coming up soon!)
Backpack in South America and in India
Volunteer in third world countries, teaching children
Write a book
Compile drawings of children from places I'll be around the world and make a book out of them
Own a house with a big big yard
Adopt animals in need and give them a good, free life in that big yard
Study in the Arava Institute of Environment
Run (or co-run) an important environmental organization
Study education and philosophy
Voluntarily run art programs for underprivileged children
Be part of an Israeli-Palestinian partnership program/school
Learn Arabic
Learn Russian
(Later addition, which I forgot:) Be at a Coldplay concert!
(And another one I forgot:) An art exhibition of my own


Friday, September 30, 2016

גירסה ב': השראה והתאחדות

"ממלא כל עלמין
וסובב כל עלמין
ומבלעדיו אין שום מציאות כלל."

...זה לא רק שספרים מרחיבים את תודעת ה"עכשיו", משמרים את הזמן החולף וממלאים את בועת ההוויה במשמעות, אלא גם ממלאים אותי אני עצמי הקטנה בהשראה גדולה עד מאוד!
השראה שעמה נלווה גם תסכול קטן.

ההשראה הינה כזאת:

ישנם אנשים מוארים בעולם, שרוחניותם ואהבתם לכול עומדות לפני המחנה כנד מים של מוסר וחמלה! הם מהווים מקור השראה ואור לגויים, לגויי העולם ולגויי היהדות, ביהדותם הבוהקת יופי, תום ויושר. בחוכמתם. הם שואבים מתוך הכתובים, מתוך ממדי הזמן, המקום והמעשה, מתוך הלב, משמעות ותובנות עמוקות, קו לבן וצלול של שגב שנולד מתוך התחברות הגוף והנפש. כדוגמת הרב זלמן שחטר-שלומי (הרב המייסד של "התחדשות יהודית" בבולדר, קולורדו, ארה"ב. איש דת, איש רוח, חדשן, למדן, מורה דרך ופורץ דרך. נפטר ב2014).

ואז מילותיהם יורדות אל המרים הקטנה... וכשאני קוראת פיסקה, מאמר או ספר שלם, המילים העבריות מקבלות משמעות, והן צרורות בצרור של עוד מילים ותובנות שמרחיבות את הדעת, וההשראה גדלה ומתעצמת ככל שהקריאה מתקדמת, ואני מאבדת את תלישות הזמן העכשווי, כי אני מתחברת לדעת שהינה רחבה מאוד, שורשית מאוד באמת הפנימית של כל האנושיות העכשווית והנפש התועה והתוהה.

ולמה תסכול? התסכול הינו כזה:

יש בעולם כל כך הרבה רוע, כל כך הרבה רשע וחוסר התחשבות ואדישות מוסרית. ויש אנשים שלא זכו לטעום טעם רוחניות פנימית, והם לא מממשים את ה"אור לגויים" (או אפילו "אור לעצמם") ואולי עושים אפילו ההיפך. ויש אנשים בדת שלנו ובדתות אחרות שהם מלאי שנאה וכעס, כלפי היהדות והמורשת היהודית, או כלפי דתות ומורשות באופן כללי. אבל הם לא קראו את הספרים או הרעיונות האלו! הם לא יודעים את היופי הטמון בטוהר של דרך הלב, של שביל הנתינה והאהבה וההשתוקקות לנאמנות לאמת הפנימית שכן קיים ביהדות! ולכן התסכול: אני מתמלאת עוד ועוד אור, והוא לצערי נשאר רק בגדרי, שאני כבר זכיתי לטעום ממנו; אני כבר נעשית רווייה! והלוואי והייתי יכולה להסתובב ברחובות ערי העולם, בנימי לבבות העולם, להלל ולשבח את הקיום ואת אנשי הרוחניות העליונה (מכל הדתות!), ולהציף את העולם באור לבן (התמזגות של כל הצבעים), בוהק, צלול של אמת פנימית ואהבה, של רצון לעשות טוב ולהוסיף טוב, אך ורק טוב, בעולם.


וההשראה של טלית השכינה שנעטפת סביב העולמות בטיפין-טיפין של ה"גירסא-דינקותא" שנמשכת איתי לכל מקום ולכל זמן שרגליי וליבי הולכים.
והשכינה של ערב שבת, שאין כדוגמתה, כשהשעה הכתומה בשמים מתחלפת בצבעי פסטל מתכהים, והשקט וצפצופי הרוח מבשרים את השבת. (אני לא דתייה, אבל הדבר הזה פועם בתוכי ברמ"ח האיברים של הרוח.)

והשראה גדולה מאוד מאוד יש בשירה הציבורית, במעגלי תפילה, ובבתי כנסת מסוימים. אני חשה נעלית, כאילו שתי כפות רגליי העליזות מורמות מעט מן הקרקע לכיוון השמים האינסופיים של הרגש.


והשראה גדולה מאוד אני חשה לנוכח עוצמת האהבה שלי ושל טל, שהיא בעצם הערכה גדולה מאוד, שמקור חיוניותה וצורתה הם רכות והקשבה מאוד גדולים. אני מרגישה שזה ניזון מהרכות וההקשבה שלו אליי, והוא מצידו חש שזה בא גם ממני, וזו גדולה של התאחדות מוצלחת: היא יוצרת ספירלה למעלה, או סולם, של תכונות טובות וערכים מאירי פנים, שהאחד מרווה לשני ומהשני. והלוואי ולא נפסיק לטפס מעלה מעלה ולהרגיש את הקירבה המעוררת-השראה הזו שהלב יודע להעניק לתודעה.

אני מוצאת את האלוהות (את אותו אושר מפעים) בקירבה הזאת אליו.


והשראה גדולה יורדת אליי ממראות של היומיום: מהיופי שלנו עצמנו, בשר ודם, בעלי אסתטיקה שמוסיפה חן בעולם, כשם שכל אדם יפה מוסיף חן בעולם ומייפה את המציאות.

הלב לא מוגבל להכיל השראה, רק הלוואי ויכולתי להפיץ אותה ברבים, לשתף מעט ממנה עם ילדי הדחי, עם נשות האלומה, עם גברי השיעבוד, וגם עם כל אדם מן השורה שדעתו בראשו.

ואם לא אוכל אני עצמי, הלוואי ונוכל כולנו יחד, להאיר, להאיר, להאיר.

*ממליצה מאוד מאוד לקרוא את הספר "קרבת אלהים" של הרב זלמן שחטר שלומי ורות גן קגן*


על הנתק בין זכרונות היהדות לבין היכולת המנטלית והטכנית ליישם אותםMIRIAM FALLET BUCKMAN·THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2016
ב"גירסה דינקותא" שלי יש תפילות ומזמורי שבת ויום טוב. הם חלק מהקנון הפנימי שלי, והם בדרך כלל נדחקים הצידה בנוחות, או מרומזים אצלי בקריאת ספרי קודש, ספרי הגות יהודית או בשמיעת ניגונים ביו-טיוב שממלאים את הבית הקטן שלנו בימי שישי בצהריים. אבל לפעמים יש בי צורך להתנגן בהם בצורה יותר קונקרטית. הלב מתעורר אליהם כשחג או שבת מתקרבים וצליליהם מרחפים לאוזניי, כמו תבשיל חם שהניחוח שלו מרחף מחלון בית. הם הונחו במדף צדדי ולא מרכזי בהוויה שלי מכמה סיבות: כשהתחלתי להיחשף לעולם החילוני, מצאתי עושר אחר שבא במקום זווית הראייה הדתית. ובנוסף לזה, הדת (והילדות) היו מלווים תמיד בהרבה רגשות שליליים, בהרבה כעס, מבוכה ורצון למצוא ייחודיות שתשחרר אותי מכבלי הפטריארכיה. התודעה שלי דחתה אלימות וכפייה ועימה גם היכולת לראות את הדת בתום של "דברי אלוהים חיים". עם הזמן, עם ההתרחקות, מצאתי את המקום המתאים לי בתוך רקמת הסקאלה הדתית.
אבל כשאותו ניחוח ישן בא אליי, או אותו זיכרון רוצה לחיות, או אני כמהה לאותו רעיון מתוק של קהילתיות יהודית, אני מוצאת את עצמי לא מוצאת את הדרך או המקום להשתלב ולהשתליו בו. בבתי כנסת אורתודוכסים הנשים יושבות מאחורה, ואני שם מתוסכלת מול הציפייה שארגיש מרוממת מקולם ומגבם של גברים מולי שמנהלים את תפילותיי ומבקשים שאפנה לבורא העולם בלשון זכר, כאבא. ובבתי כנסת אורתודוכסים אני גם לא יכולה לשבת עם בן זוגי. אבל גם בבתי כנסת שבהם אני יכולה לשבת עם בן זוגי, לפעמים הוא נדרש להתלבש בצורה מסוימת, לחבוש כיפה, כחלק מהרציונל של "לכבד את המקום שבו אתה נמצא." אבל אני נעמדת מול הבקשה הזו ושלוותי נעתקת (בניגוד לרצוני; אבל אני חייבת לתת לזה לגיטימציה ומקום), כי אני רוצה - חייבת - לבוא איך שאני, כמו שאני, מי שאני, בלי להצטרך להתכסות במלבושים אחרים, כדי לתקן את הכפייה, כדי לתת דרור לחירות שבי, כדי להרגיש את החיבור האישי שלי ליהדות.
כן מצאתי מקומות בודדים כאלו, בירושלים. קהילות שמתקרבות למה שהייתי רוצה לחוש. כאלה שאתה בא איך שאתה, שר ומשתתף איך שאתה רוצה. אבל לצערי הם עדיין לא לגמרי "זה", ואני גם לא גרה במרחק הליכה או רכיבה מהם. לצערי מקומות כאלו הם נדירים, הם נמצאים רק "פה ושם" ברחבי הארץ או העולם. כשנהיה בארה"ב ארצה מאוד להתחבר לקבוצות תפילה כאלו, אם אמצא.אני מרגישה את הנתק והתסכול הזה ביתר שאת היום ביום כיפור. אני נזכרת ב"כל נדרי" וב"ונתנה תוקף" וכמעט בוכה, כי אני כוספת לשמוע אותם, אבל אני בבית. אני קצת לבד, אני לא חלק מקהילה.
כנראה שעוד לא מצאתי את המקום המושלם בתוך מארג היהדות. אני תמיד בחיפוש. אולי עוד אנשים מזדהים עם התסכול. אולי לא.*(תוספת לאחר כמה זמן:)אני מרגישה רצון ונכונות לקחת צד אקטיבי בסיפור הזה ולייצר ערבי שירה ותפילה כמו שאני רואה ברוחי.אני מדמיינת את זה מחוץ לבית שלנו, במושב, בחורשה. אני רואה מחצלות פרושות, אני רואה אנשים יושבים פה ושם, נשענים על עצים. חלק הביאו כלי נגינה, חלק את קולם, חלק את רוחם, ואנחנו כולנו שרים ביחד.אתם חושבים שדבר כזה יכול לקרות?

Thursday, September 15, 2016

How Strange

September / אלול

How strange that a person can live so many lives in one lifetime.

And how strange how every present moment of the past is only a memory, and nothing more.

My body was in so many places

My body experienced pain and fear and helplessness and terror,

and shame and bitterness and joy and longing,

and yet now my body is only here, and knows only this.

How strange that at night I find peace in the warmth of Tal, but six years ago I was present at my own beautiful and ethereal wedding with someone else.

And how strange that we live on a moshav, where I breathe in colorful streams of sky and earth,
but two years ago I took a bus with my then-husband (and good friend until today) from our home in Jerusalem to the Rabbinate, in another neighborhood, to pay for our divorce.

How strange that Tal's voice is like dew in the early morning, but
fifteen years ago I felt so vulnerable.

I was so scared once. But how strange: I didn't even acknowledge it, and neither did anyone else.

And how strange that lots of fear became lots of anger, and yet I became loving instead of hateful.

How strange that one year ago I was in a place where I was both free and imprisoned, and neither free nor imprisoned, in another country, and now I'm here, dreaming of those same far places, but with someone I feel whole with.

And how strange that we want to travel around the world, but I can still
The knowledge of where I'll live, and it didn't include that.

How strange that I contemplate the new year, but every new year is another new year, and then I look in the mirror and try to figure out how 26 years have passed and how they are inscribed in my face and what I remember of all the moments-that-were-once-the-present.

And one thing hasn't changed:

Sometimes I feel so much inspiration in my tiny little heart (which has the capacity of containing the entire universe), that my heart wants to crack and cry and my stomach churns like butter.

Friday, September 02, 2016


Last week: This morning the bus driver was wearing Shoresh sandals, and that made me feel good.
And the song "Renegade" made me feel that it's okay to be crazy.

Today (a different day) a young man on the bus gave money to a man who didn't have enough to pay for the bus ride. The generous guy was wearing Shoresh sandals and that made me feel good.

On the train
.There are always families that make me feel uncomfortable
.The woman who physically held down her hyperactive son
The crop-duster (and the father to the child: "Look! A plane!")
The stains on the window which remind me of the maps of the destroyed lands from animal agriculture.
The mother's reason for not bothering others:
אל תפריע לאנשים, הם יכעסו. אתר רוצה שיכעסו עליך? 
(ואם לא יכעסו, ולא יביעו התנגדות, הוא יכול להפריע?! הסיבות המעוותות של הורים ישראלים למה לא לעשות דברים מעצבנים או פולשניים לאחרים.)


אני מנסה להילחם בזמן העובר. אני יכולה להעביר את היד שלי על גופו של טל למשך דקות ארוכות, מדיטציה של היאחזות ביופי הנוכחי. דברים מטרידים אותי ואין מושלמות, אבל יש את הגוף הרך והמופלא.
-האם הייתה לך פעם החלטה קשה בחיים? כזאת שאין בה אופציה מנצחת? לפעמים אני מרגישה שאני מיומנת בforks in the road. מהניסיון שלי, תמיד מה שמחליטים בסוף יוצא להיות הבחירה הטובה יותר. 

What are you thinking?
-I'm imagining I'm inside a big pit and someone is calling in, "Miriam! Miriam!" and I'm thinking, "is that me? Is that me?" It scares me when I feel a disconnectedness with my name.
-We're just another animal on earth
-our body is; not our תודעה (consciousness). Sometimes I feel literally locked inside my body. My consciousness wants to live outside the body, just a hovering mind. I see myself in third person, yet I am IN me. And my consciousness will die with my body, and that's scary.
-But why would you want your mind to be immortal?
-Like Godliness, that people believe has existed and will exist so long the world exists. When there is existence, there is תודעה (consciousness), and I'd want mine to be part of that foreverness.

I fall asleep slowly, I dream strange dreams I remember only in parts. Deep colors, a hotel manager who jokes that there are prostitutes on the train. My brother gives them a speech on how hotels in America are much better. We're here on some secret mission. I'm waiting for Tal. I say I'll pay for everyone but remember I don't have enough money. I do it anyway. Nemo is somewhere in the dream, and other people too, swirling around in strange strokes of panic and disconnectedness.
I wake up in the morning and all conscious thoughts come hovering back into my head. 


שִׁיר הַלֵּל לְטַל  /  מרים

שִׁיר הַלֵּל
לְטַל עַל שִׁיבּוֹלֵי זָהָב
לְרֵיחַ אֳרָנִים נוֹשַׁב
לְזִכְרוֹן גֶּשֶׁם, כּוֹכְבֵי מִדְבָּר
לְפִּרְפּוּרֵי אוֹר בֵּין עַנְפֵי הַבַּר.

שִׁיר עֶרֶשׂ
לְעוֹלָם שֶׁכֻּלּוֹ דְּבַשׁ וְדֶמַע
לְחוּשִׁים רוֹדְפֵי רֹךְ וְתֵמַהּ
לִימֵי חֲלוֹף, לְלֵּיל רוֹגֵעַ
אָזְלַת הַזְּמַן בֵּין עוֹר נוֹגֵעַ.

שִׁיר תִּקְוָה
שֶׁעֵינֵי הָתְכוֹל לֹא יִדֹּמּוּ נְכַר
שְעֳדְנוּת הַקֹּדֶשׁ לֹא תִּרְחַק מָחָר,
שְשׁכִינַת הַשַּׁלְוָה וּנְתִיבֵי הַתֹּם
יְמַלְאוּ הַטֶנֶא כל יום את היום.


It happens sometimes, for no apparent reason. The steams of anger, frustration, humility and anxiety take place in the heart. You go from one place to another to feel less abandoned, only to realize you are now even more alone. It's a horrible feeling and ironically it usually happens right after a few days of pure joy. The bad feelings set camp for a little while in the little tiny heart (which has capacity for containing the entire universe) and then pass on to someone else, I suppose... Sometimes you find that this is similar to dogs eating grass. They have something in their stomach trying to get out so they eat grass which helps them vomit. Maybe the tears during this morbid loneliness are actually covering many other things as well, and in that way, cleaning out my system from all hard feelings.


מה רציתי להגיד?
על אנשים שלא אכפת להם.

על אנשים שמשקרים ושגורמים לי לבכות.

אבל עדיף שלא אתמקד בזה אלא בשפע הטוב שבעולם, אפילו באותם אנשים ממש.
האיש במקום העבודה ששיקר לי ביום חמישי וגרם לכל הגוף שלי להזדעזע מתחושת בגידת אמון, הוא אדם מאוד מסור לעבודה שלו.

חשבתי לעצמי, "האם על דבר כזה קטן ושולי שווה לבכות ולצאת מוקדם מהעבודה?" לעניות דעתי, כן.

על איזה דברים צריך להזדעזע בעולם? 

על חוסר אמון, על חוסר כנות. לפחות בעולם שלי. אם אין כנות, מה יש?

והשפע שיש בעולם... כל כך הרבה שפע.

אנשים אהובים, יקירים, אדיבים וחמים, שאותם אני אוהבת ושאותי הם אוהבים. כשיש לך אנשים לפנות אליהם כאשר אתה פגוע, אתה חווה שפע. אתה מבין שחום הלב של אנשים הם מים גאים (מלשון גאות) שעוטפים את גדת נהר הלב שלך. 

כאשר אתה נמלא שלווה ממשמע קולו של אהובך, אתה חווה שפע.

כאשר יש לך אהוב אוהב, וכאשר יש לך חברים - ח-ב-ר-י-ם, שהם מחוברים, שהם חלק מנימי הקיום שלך ומפעימות הלב שלך, אתה חווה שפע!
ואתה יכול להגיד להם דברים אמיתיים, דברים כמשמעם, דברי הלב,
והם יכולים להגיד לך גם כן, איך הם באמת מרגישים ומה באמת שלומם,
ואתה יכול לדעת שגם אם הם לא אומרים, וגם אם אתה לא אומר, עדיין הידיעה קיימת שהאמת לאמיתה נמשכת ביניכם כרוח קדים.

אני יודעת שיש לבבות בעולם, שיש רגש בעולם. שיש את הנתיב הזה של הכֶּנות, שלא מאכזב אף פעם.

Monday, June 20, 2016

And so it is - revised (#3)

[I want to see if it is possible to live without writing all the time.]

I have decided to stop writing on my blog for now.

My blog has had ten years and one-hundred-and-forty-one days of active posting (which makes a total of about three-thousand-and-ninety-one days). 32572 pageviews and 1806 posts (including drafts). Openness and sincerity have both been my strange and awkward reasoning in life and on blog.

I have not written enough poems!

Did I write about the community compost project I initiated and am starting in my hometown (and about the group of environmental activists I put together)? 
I haven't written much about the plans for our 2017 in a mini-van in America, because we plan on opening a travel blog and writing about it there.

Did I ever write about how I used to imagine my life as words in a book? (This idea was written on a paper 8 years ago, and I lost the paper and with it the strength of it all.) And about how I do want some of me to be turned into a book?  Did I mention that I love working with children? That I want to study teaching and be a teacher? Do you know that my old bedroom is like a colorful museum of my life? And I haven't yet written the song I'm writing for Tal. I haven't even gotten a sound-recorder yet! I also wanted to write about the vulnerability of Being, did I do that? I wanted to share the video "Earthlings" so that other people would watch it, too. I haven't made enough art to share here. I want to record the sound of everything. I don't know if I have written enough about life (and about death)... Have I written enough about the inconsolable scariness of it all and also of the blissful loveliness of it? Have I written about depression? Have I written enough about love? Was I ever, oh ever, serene when writing a post, or am I always agitated or frustrated -- ever since eversinceness? Did I ever write about what's unfair in the world -- and about what's fair? And about leaving family? And about leaving parents -- about the era of intentional separation? Have I written enough thank-yous? Why no, I have not. I surely have not. I still have 1,234 or 5,678 more people to thank. Perhaps 9-10-11-12 thousand.
Have I said anything of meaning? Anything of importance? Anything of inspiration?

After reading my blog, do people still eat animals and knowingly pay for atrocities like animal exploitation? Why?

Can people change? Become stronger?
Will we? Will you?
Can writing make something in me immortal? Can I pretend - or believe - not all of me will die when I die?

Are there bad people who will use the information on this blog against me?
Will I be sorry about my sincerity and naivety that came through in this personal blog? Is there any reason in the world to be sorry for such things?
Will someone use my fearfulness to scare me? 
My vulnerability to hurt me?
Will the world share with me the same innocence I tend to share with it?
Is it so that the fragility and compassion I hold toward the world will always be a mirror of how the world will treat me? Can it be so?

Can people be kind and soft-spoken while speaking to me? Can I ask the world- Oh, Goodness, Please? 


Thank you #5,679: Thank you to all my readers.

My travel blog from my USA travels in 2015:

26/6/2016 Fear
You know how sometimes the physical and mental space you live in automatically makes you cheery when you wake up inside of it in the morning, and sometimes it does not? That was an important realization for me; if I don't wake up in a fine state of sunniness, my surroundings are not in a good state of 'feng shui'. Whether it be the mess, the heat, the smallness of the home, the fear and anxiety I feel toward almost everything I do.  What am I scared of? I need to wake up, smile deeply, and tell myself: There is nothing to be afraid of. Nothing and no one should take me out of my Me-ness. I have suffiecient Me-ness and somebodyness to be strong throughout the entire day. I do not need to fear authority. I do not need to fear feeling small, for I am not small.
I fear the speed of time passing. I feel the rushing of it in physical waves. As I get older, it seems that time passes faster with such urgency; much more urgent that the positive energies I am able to conceive.
I feel that I spend too much time worrying and being afraid of death, instead of being able to climb above the sphere of this anxiety and be the cultivator of a much larger and happier faith.
I know that a perfect Love is not enough to hold me in a place of Carpe Diem and present serenity. Something more is needed to make me be Here, be Now.
Something more, beyond the mess and the fear and the time passing. Something I guess I have not yet found.
I try to fumble through the things I do, like searching for a small pain-killer inside a bag, pulling out old papers and unimportant things, trying to figure out "what are the things that truly make me happy?" I want to surround myself in those things, if only I knew what they were.
I'm afraid of speaking to adults, and yet speaking to other adults is a fundamental part of living and of working.
I wish I wasn't afraid. I wish I was fearless, omnipotent, invincible, able and willing, optimistic and positive in a world of sadness and stress, strong and courageous in my little shell of insecurity.
Writing this makes me feel stronger, in the small space I have to breath inside my home. Words have always been my anchor to something more stable. I'm writing and it's as if the meaning comes to life; the words are in real form, creating themselves in my heart like a vaccine, immunizing my blood system against further fear.
There is no reason for me to feel restrained. I'm a free, free, free human being.


And then I started working in a place I love.
There's a guy there who's doing community service. When he complained about how he hates being there, I immediately exclaimed, "but it's great here!" And he said, "for you maybe... Look, we both come to the same place in the morning. You feel good and come with a smile, and I hate it here..."
And I said, "I completely understand you", because I do. It's just that.
It's so individual.
I guess that's it.
I've learned that everything is so individual. Morals and ideals and taste and happiness. And there's really no place for judging other people. There's nothing absolute, there's only how you Feel.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Freeganism :)

Okay guys. I'm no longer a vegan. I'm a freegan :) 
It's what I believe in. I just found that there's a word for it!

Did you know that in the US around 30% of all consumed food is thrown in the trash? That's enough to feed millions of hungry people.

Friday, June 10, 2016

Hatred vs. Peace

This week there was a terrorist attack in the heart of Tel Aviv, four people were killed and many more were injured.

I don't know how to go about this.

It is too heavy, as is all of the politics here. I usually do not get into it. I both agree and disagree with everyone. Everyone has some truth at their sincere standpoint; it's legitimate to be afraid of radical Islam, it's also legitimate to stay away from any biases against any religions. But in the meantime Palestinian terrorists are killing Israelis (and in some places around the world Muslim people associated with IS and the like are killing people).

I am both right-wing and left-wing, depending on the specific issue at hand. In politics my only permanent and unchanging flag is human rights, and on every other issue it goes "כל מקרה לגופו". I don't belong to a specific political agenda in its entirety. I try to recognize what I think about every separate issue and not pull my opinion out of a molded agenda.

I am against violence and terrorism.

I am in favor of multicultural synthesis.
I believe that by knowing the other we will prevent hatred and fear and cultivate peace.

A video article came out this week stating that most of the school students in Jerusalem are now either ultra-orthodox or Arab - I think about 77% (the regular secular or religious children are now the minority! And the bilingual and multicultural schools are the minority of the minority!). They videoed students in both kinds of schools, saying horrible things about the others, out of complete ignorance. Most of them have never met a person from the other religion. And they live in the same city!!!

This post is written in gray because politics is gray in the sense of gloominess, and it's gray in the sense of not black-and-white. And also in the sense that I'm not sure I like talking about politics, so it's only half here.


I wonder if my moral decisions are actually decisions.

I remember learning about determinism in mechina, through the imagery of a ball flying through the air. The landing point is known, by physical calculations, but to the ball- it is soaring freely through space.

I wonder what actually determines what brings moral people to moral decisions and immoral people to immoral decisions.

A moral decision seems to me more like a moral duty, which by not obeying I am actually fighting my conscience and I therefore actually have no decision to make but to do the moral option.

Veganism, for instance. Once I was exposed to the atrocities in the animal industries, I did not sit down with myself and debate whether veganism was the right thing to do. But rather, as soon as those truths were known to me, it was in fact the only decision my conscience would let me take.
Likewise with other things like helping a person in distress or a helpless being, when it does not contradict my own well-being.

I am not saying this to gain a pat on the back, "oh, you're so wonderful." No. I'm saying this because I want to get to the root and source of our decision-making, of our actions in a world where bad and good are separated. I am trying to understand what leads us to "good" or to "bad", to "moral" or to "immoral", and if it is something already determined the minute we are born, or perhaps in the way we are brought up. And then in that sense, I'd like to understand if a person truly can change his or her ways.

And I'd like to say that I cannot take credit for any morality, for any goodness I do. I really do not feel responsible for it, as it is the only path I can take. It requires no courage or bravery whatsoever.
It would be hard for me to choose otherwise.

To me it seems there is something in my conscience that doesn't allow me to do certain things, and urges me to do others. It's hard to say if that "conscience" developed over years, by my parents and other social frameworks, or is part of my genetic DNA.

I do have this strange sense that everything is determined ahead of time, from the smallest things like the breaths we take, all the way to social change and revolutions, just like that ball, whose path through space is scientifically absolute.

In any case, I of course won't be idle and I will still advocate social change, even though all the change that is and that will be is already determined.

And may good prevail :)