Thursday, November 29, 2018

The Same Shapes / Hugging That Which Exists

I meant to add to my previous note "... Unless there is another solution for taking care of Nemo which I have not thought of, but which you are sure will be good for Nemo."

In any case, as of this moment, I am alive and well.

I am a little overwhelmed because of the things I'm trying to fit into a two-week visit. Friends and friendship are the essence of my life's content. And here, too. Generally I try to not overschedule myself, because I like having time to breath and contemplate after human interactions, but here, it seems I've been away from the country for so long, and have so many dear friends to get together with, to share energy space with, that I do not have the luxury of scheduling only one meeting a day. Sometimes I feel bad because I need to leave quickly from one friend to get to another, and this sounds kind of paradoxical and missing the point, but I do in fact gain a lot of emotional matter from each meeting, so despite having to leave someone to get to the next one, I do appreciate not missing any of the important souls who enamor my life with color. They are each a grassroots prototype of something awesome that I relate to. They represent lives that I love being immersed in, and each in her own way is going through a certain path, but all alike are going through these separate paths alongside the same landscape: the semi-desert trees, the mediterranean heat, and some with the Israeli-nomadic-rooted type of culture illuminating their journey. Some lay out my favorite (Israeli) food: toasted bread, tahini, avocado, vegetables with a tad of olive oil and salt, in handmade ceramic bowls.

Ahh.... A breath of air... A hug. I photograph each one with my digital camera, and also with black-and-white 35 mm film in the Pentax camera, which I will develop at the beginning of next week.

I talk a lot and become ever more aware of the constraints of my mind. This happens because sometimes, when I try to explain my current mind-situation, I end with "...I don't know...", and it is true. I really don't know. I am not able to make logical schemes. Sometimes, though, I say things that make sense to me, and my friend says something that make sense to me, and somehow it is the fitting of another missing puzzle piece of heart-voices escalating through the landscape. I paint with water-colors with one dear friend (who used to be my sister-in-law) and her 3-year-old son (who is kind of like a nephew). I write "לחבק את היש" (To hug the "is"/ To hug that which exists) and my friend likes the way I color the page, with swirling brush strokes. I reluctantly explain why I feel I am not creative enough. "I only know how to draw the same shapes. I'm not creative in figuring out how to draw new shapes." And then I realize, and add, "the same is with my mental ability, with my speech, with my expression in the world: I only know how to draw the same shapes."

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