Saturday, March 31, 2018

Real Words

The real words come at night, when everything is dark, when emotions ooze like lava out from the heart. Inspiration must be treated with the utmost respect, I say, and the light from the screen illuminates just the veins on the backs of my hands and the tip of my nose and eyes, and my breathing is under my arched back as I sit on my bed and Tal's hand is warmly at my side.

The real words are those which are, in their essence, a portrayal of what I feel or of what I felt. But how can words - letters - coincide with emotions, so colorful and vibrant and bubbling in a speed that the angleture of letters cannot reach?

How can inspiration - which is boundless and still bounded inside the mind - be reminisced into little black-on-white stick-figures of a language?

Hang-man of a real live emotion that is on the stake. 

And then the man goes home and the emotion is let down from the high rank of inclusiveness, and it all shimmers back down into its lulled version of plain genuine calmness.
A distilled passion.

The real words come at night, so full of treasures and potential, so radiant and ready to let myself be whatever it is my mind's eye sees. All the Miriams.

All that water that I anchored into my little space of realizations and revelations.

All that earth, that damp earth and words my feet have collected and co-lected.

All the songs, ahhh the songs, and the notes and the thoughts and the fonts and the wants - all of them,
Thank you, my loves.

Thank you.


The main question is pestering me with the largeness of all that I encounter.
The writing is what gives credibility to the emotional processes my brain goes through.
But oftentimes the overwhlemingness of human interaction subsides by the time I get home and I am at a loss for words because I forgot what it was like. So why not just let the experience be what it was, and move on? Well, because I want to analyze it. Because otherwise, it all feels void of meaning. And because it was so precious, and because I love the act of creating words.


Time in Bellingham



I walk through downtown Bellingham. Last week I told Shir that our recorded conversations are like podcasts. Maybe on "human cognition through the eyes and open hearts of two females wondering where time went". Shir records a message and sends it to me, and she talks as she ponders her emotions, and I hear it and record something back to her, in the days to follow, expressing my own cognitive realizations and revelations, and then a few days later she gets back to me...

I walk through downtown. The university campus is close to downtown, and on Friday nights students horde the buses and the streets with their hormones and lively vibes. I like being amongst it, being pattered with that energy. I have that, too, to an extent. Oh, thank heavens! I have that too. I have no children, and this allows me to be downtown in the first place. It is after I have been at Chabad, celebrating Shabbat dinner with about 25 students and the rabbi and his wife and their 4 little children. I feel so grateful when I am there - being surrounded by such genuine and kind people! Having the privilege of meeting these people - not all of them on a deep level, but even to share the same space with them - makes me rejoice at the goodness I have encountered. And sometimes we even get to sing together. And I marvel at the opportunity to sound through my vocal chords melodies that I love. And I marvel at how different tunes of being have brought me to encounters with different melodies of inspiration. There was once a love that I had that I want to write a memoir about. There was once I love that I still have, and there is now a love that I once had, and one that I am yet to have. All loves that were and that are and that are on the verge of being cultivated, become intertwined in the nostalgic night in Bellingham.

Sometimes songs remind me of many things, and--

I cry. I hold my heart so it won't disintegrate into tears--

__


The tears that welled up are still the star-blood of my body, weeks later, as we drive home through the familiar streets of Bellingham, after the light through the large windows elated the tides of the Miriams (that which I am and that which I was inspired into connecting to), and the Passover Seder, and the talking inside liberating whiffs of unechoed air... I say, "we found the one place in the whole United States that is just right for me. I feel that the frequency of my energies has found the right energetic receptors here, like I am on the same waves of inspiration with others; their words and actions inspire and excite me. I like them and they like me. I find myself crying from joy so often."

Coincidences and stories are the little tree-paths and mysterious hide-outs full of deep bursting foliage.

"I wish I knew how to write about them. How to tell about my experiences in a way that would be just as exciting as when they happened."

__

After inspiration, there is a method for dealing with it. It is not good to express it all, because then I am emptied of it. Although I do have a need to write it. So I must restrain myself. But it is not good to express none of it at all - because then it explodes and implodes inside me like a volcano locked inside the boundaries of a body. And inspiration is so immense. It must be treated with the utmost respect.







Dissecting

I want to work harder into the way of dissecting the lack of movement in me, as it rolls by nonchalantly and leaves me with half-words and little soft ideas that don't care if they are or are not, under the hot shower or while I'm eating something tasty, or as I sit and type type type. But what is truly there - what is the measure of distance between myself and time I am experiencing? How can I get closer to the essense of my self, passing through realms of socially-conventional oblivion? How can I be intentionally moving into a place of being, as all is passive?

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Kindness


I believe I am a kind person, but reading books on kindness, like "The Power of Kindness" by Piero Ferrucci, expands my scope of kindness. It broadens my realization of just how significant it is to make kindness be a way of life. To be patient, empathetic and attentive, toward myself and toward others. To give people space and safety. To appreciate people - and to remind them of my appreciation of them. To be generous with my thoughts, ideas and skills. To share them. To be genuine and sincere. This involves having faith that my true inner self can safely be shown in the world. It's having faith in humanity. It's being vulnerable, and thus allowing and accepting the vulnerabilities of others, and that of the world itself. It is realizing that life becomes richer when you focus on those you love and on what you love, with a full heart. Not running around, but focusing. Focusing on what is now. Focusing on unity and connection. Being kind means greeting a grumpy person with a smile, or replying with patience to an annoying customer. It means feeling that the world is literally becoming a better place with each good intention and positive reinforcement, or even with each speck of beauty that the world unfolds in front of us. It is appreciating the little things, and being grateful. It means not pretending to know more than we do, and always striving to learn more. It means that working toward spreading tolerance and compassion overrides proving to be "right" (and perhaps finding that there is no definite "right"), and it means always leaving room for reconciliation. Kindness means saying Good Morning and Good Night, and not forgetting an old friend's birthday.

















Photo I photographed in Prague, 2014



Thursday, March 15, 2018

Nonviolent Anarchy



Emma Goldman on Wikipedia
Anarcho-Pacifism on Wikipedia (nonviolent anarchy)


Just putting it out there, so that you can learn together with me about some radical political movements and ideas. I looked up the latter after reading about the former and wondering if there's a nonviolent form of anarchy - which I personally am more attracted to. I'm wondering if I've always believed in some sort of anarchy without knowing it.

Noam Chomsky on Wikipedia




Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Guitar

I feel like there's a lot I'd write if I knew how to write.

Well, I'm improving on the guitar, and playing and singing brings me a lot of joy. I'm thankful for the ability to do those two things. I'm taking guitar lessons with the talented cantor of the synagogue. We're doing it with a barter system, where I babysit her children sometimes and she teaches me guitar other times.

Just another of the blessings of Bellingham.

Oh, and Springtime is finally starting!


Monday, March 05, 2018

Waldorf Education - Every parent should consider this


(Copied from a facebook post I wrote:)

"...to provide an education that enables children to become free human beings, and to help children to incarnate their 'unfolding spiritual identity', carried from the preceding spiritual existence, as beings of body, soul, and spirit in this lifetime." (From the Wikipedia page, about the holistic philosophy of Waldorf.)
________
I would like to share my impressions from my visit in all the classrooms at a Waldorf school this past week.
(In Israel Waldorf education is called Anthroposophic אנתרופוסופי, but it is essentially the same.)
In each classroom that I entered, I saw teachers talking quietly to attentive children. The classrooms are spacious, lit, and furnished with natural wood materials. The lower grades have high ceilings, large windows, pastel-colored window curtains, and handkerchiefs hanging over wooden structures against one of the walls which is their free-play area. In one fairy-land (that's how it made me feel) that I entered, the children were in a circle, chanting or playing a game led by the teacher, who sat with them in the circle and led the game in a soft voice. Another of the younger grades was sitting around a table, eating soup and bread they had baked the day before. The teacher was sitting at the head of the table, holding a fairy doll, telling a story or chanting a prayer before the food, again - is such a patient and lulling voice. No urgency. No anger. One child was not at the table, he was in the kitchen area, not wanting to participate. The teachers did not scold him (as would most likely happen in a regular school).
In another room, young children were in transition - from outdoors to indoors - getting their indoor clothing on again, comfy clothes. Transitions are a part of the routine. There is a lot of patience for transition. There is no need to hurry.
Another class was in the movement room, having their Eurythmy movement lesson, while their movements corresponded with a story the dancer-teacher was telling.
In the older grades the students were sitting behind pretty light-wooden desks, with each child's name written by her/him on the front of the desk. On the walls of the classrooms (instead of the regular brightly-colored posters in regular schools) was artwork by the students and teachers made out of natural materials. When I entered one of the classrooms, one of the students was in the middle of telling about some beautiful nature she saw on a family trip in Utah.
I don't know if I am able to really capture the gist of it in these words. My impression was that I had entered a safe and gentle space where children can be creative and can learn from teachers who sing songs and tell stories, from teachers who listen as well as talk, who don't try to squeeze a thousand words a minute in order to transfer as much information to kids as possible. (From teachers who are actually fairies perhaps?)
Every child knows the routine and structure.
Free playtime and imagination are sacred.
Kindness and gentleness are the way.
To read more about Waldorf education:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waldorf_education
*On another occasion I was at that same school for a weekly assembly, each week led by a different grade, for the whole school and for parents (and friends, like me).
The way that assemblies work in this school is that every adult and student who enters the hall takes a chair for herself from the stacked chairs outside, and when the assembly is over everyone returns her chair to the stack. I thought this was genius. So simple and so sensical. Instead of having a third party come and set up chairs ahead of time, you have every person take responsibility for herself.