Thursday, January 31, 2019


I tell Alyssa, the mother of the girls I am nannying, that I'm reading a book called The True Secret of Writing (which my friend Jay gave me on my birthday), and that it's giving me inspiration and some structure for ideas (although it does lack some spiritual depth and style, in my opinion). I say this because under my hand is a sheet of paper and a pen, and I was writing as she walked in. I tell her that once I let something I write out into the world, I feel both ashamed and empty of meaning afterward (she understands), and that this will be a serious issue I'll have to figure out, if I am to write a whole book. I say this as we are in the kitchen, after I put Cara to bed for her nap, and Lucy is watching The Cat in the Hat on TV. Alyssa is home briefly in the middle of my time there, before going out again for errands.

When she comes home again later, it is after the girls and I have played outside and read stories, and I leave those two beloved little silly gooses who wave goodbye and give me hugs, and I walk to the bus stop.

I stand at the bus stop alongside the traffic-ridden street, visually following the road as it winds back down Lakeway Drive, and I fixate my eyes on the spot where the cars start coming into view, where the pairs of headlight eyes twinkle into sight, one after the other. It reminds me of something, but I can't recall exactly what. Something that has to do with my grandparents, or with airports; a certain anticipation, in any case. My eyes stare at it, watching the lights pop forward, one, two, three, four... a humdrum rhythm. It's so cold out. I zip my jacket all the way up, but even with my scarf and hat my neck and face are snappingly cold. The cars zipping past cast a strong wind. I notice this only when there is a pause in the vehicle flow and the wind stands still and isn't nearly as freezing.

Finally the bus comes. I had told myself a few minutes earlier, at the estimated arrival time of the bus, that I envisioned it would arrive within two to five minutes (I know it is always a little later than scheduled, especially at this hour), and that that is the amount of time I would be willing to hold on to this meditative state. Beyond that, some threshold would be reached from which on it would be harder to be at complete ease with the logic of the bus's lateness.

Oh, the warmth in the bus. I love sitting in the warm buses at night when it's frosty cold outside. Buses at night remind me of those times I tried to envision in my writing in Alyssa's kitchen, when I tried to take the book's idea and write my story of love. It reminds me of riding late night buses to go visit cherished loved ones, back in the days. That is what I wrote about. Those are part of my love story, definitely. There were a lot of bus rides, all encamped in a sense of warmth and safety... Those small things, stretches of time and place, are part of the story, part of the essence, not just a necessity or a constraint.

We trot along, and I get off right past the lake, in which the shimmering lights from across the way are reflected. As I walk toward home I have this immense gratefulness in my gut, a welcome and strong sense of abundance, and a strong desire to write.

I get so excited from imagining all the food we have! The pineapple, apples, oranges, grapefruits, the dried pasta, rice, lentils, beans, chickpeas, the onions, tomatoes, Brussels sprouts, carrots, garlic, mushrooms! So many wonderful products of the earth, raw materials from which to make a delicious meal, what a richness! It fills my heart.

Tuesday, January 29, 2019


The shades are half-open and the bright sunlight is illuminating the room this day. I hold myself near me when I talk of nauseating hardships, and then release my arms when verbalizing lighter and more aerated ideas, like my writing.

"I wonder," I say, "what the evolutionary purpose of [Enneagram] Type Four is. I mean, why would a person need to have others know of their uniqueness and individuality?"

"Well, maybe it's what moves them forward... What would the world be like without art?" she offers.

I say, "I did want to talk to you about my writing today. Because I have this sense that whenever I let my words out in public, they lose their meaning. It's like when they are in me they are this bubble of fascination, but once I let them go, they are depleted of all significance."

"The actual idea you wrote about?"

"Well, that, and everything in me and outside me as well. As if everything in the world loses some of its meaning."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Well, perhaps - possibly - I expect those who will receive my words to find them interesting, and to hold them in a certain way that will keep the delicate meaningfulness of them. But somehow I come to realize that all the receivers in the world are just little humans like me, and so a certain expectation is disappointed."

I go on. "I find this hard, especially since I want to write a book. Yesterday I had this sudden frightening thought that maybe writing a book isn't what I am supposed to do. But I have this big eager part in me that wants to be told, that has to be told to the world, but I don't know what, I don't know how, even though writing has been my passion forever. I don't even know how to start writing a book. I tried to sit down yesterday and start writing. I managed to write a few sentences and that's it. What do I even really want to say?"

"Well then," she says. "There is the answer to your question: That is the reason you have a need to share what's in you. If you didn't have that need, you'd maybe just forget about it. But you shouldn't. And you won't. It will come out eventually."

(View from the bus stop near our home, of Lake Whatcom)

Monday, January 28, 2019


I remembered a text I wrote and posted on this blog in December of 2017. I wrote (in Hebrew) that with the time difference between here and Israel, in the evening, I can roam in my imagination to all the ones I've ever loved in Israel and kiss them on the forehead, and wish them well, because only softened by sleep, can such a gesture happen.

And the other night I felt a strong desire to add:

If you have ever loved me in your life, and I you,
Please allow yourself my offer:
That when you cannot sleep, or in times of emotional turmoil, you may imagine me
Stroking you, listening to your pain with no judgment, helping you fall asleep. Rest in my spiritual arms from across the globe of space and time. I truly love you and want you to be happy, and this sentiment is strong in me. So I offer this to you, that you may confide in me and find comfort in me, if it will let your head rest, that my heart is still (always) open, and take this offer to heart, for I am truthful about it, and it is the least I can do to share of the love I feel for All.

(Stream of water on the road to Mt. Baker)

My Birthday / Community

I have this problem... Words bubble up in my head, but when I sit down to write them I get physically nauseous.

In any case, I came home at night last week after my Sacred Song Circle, and I was utterly overwhelmed. I could have just called it a night with that simple realization, and gone to sleep, but no - of course not - I must stay up and write about it, decipher it, analyze it, get to the bottom of it - what is it? - why am I so overwhelmed by it?

And then slowly, over the next hours and days (exhausted from a lack of sleep and still having to go to work every day for a few hours, etc.), I search myself for insight, and it descends on me. I listen closely to what my mind thinks the core problem is, which happens while I shower or wash dishes or sit in silence, or tap tap tap at the computer, and I understand it better by writing little segments of realizations, at different times, to different friends, and I feel that each time I am escalating on the scale of preciseness.

So, there is a psychological complex, a sort of social superiority complex, by which I know something I am doing is liked by others (or I am aware of a change I am making in the world outside of my self), and that alters my perception of what I am doing. I want to stay sincere to the personal pleasure and meaning and inspiration it gives (like singing) while I am also aware that others receive inspiration from it, and so I worry that I am by no consent of my own possibly modifying it for their pleasure, or that I am overdoing it and not being sincere anymore.

This happens to me not only when I lead a song circle (although then it is especially amplified) but also when I sing in the street, or put up a sign in public, or make a public statement, or convince someone in the world of something of my beliefs. (Usually, I want to back down when I notice that my voice is in public - even though I want it to be heard. I want to say: Wait, wait, don't trust me - because I don't trust me - go do the research yourself and then find your own conclusion. With singing it is slightly different, though, because it does not involve claiming to know something about the physical reality and structure of the world - which I really have no idea about, but just allowing an emotional channel to open, and I perhaps have firmer trust and belief in this aspect of life.)

And also, this complex, whose umbrella term I usually call social overwhelmingness, entails in it a strangeness with appreciation: appreciating thank yous toward me but also feeling wary or later overwhelmed, because I am scared to know (to be aware of) what the limits of love are (afraid, ultimately, of my capability of actually being a bad person, which is a general complex I have maybe due to violence I have endured), or when it becomes "too much" to allow myself to accept (I don't want to turn the positive feedback into something I depend on, I don't want to want it too much, to let the desire for gratification run loose...), or what I have to do to not let them regret it or to not let them down, or when acceptance of gratitude turns into self-love - and what are the acceptable limits of self-love, anyway? (Can I think I am awesome in certain things, without seeming arrogant?) Or should there be a continuation, a reciprocation? Essentially the question is: where in my mind do I store thank yous? Do I accept them, put them on a shelf in my brain and and move on?

I admit it. I want people to know that I am unique and special, and I want to be recognized as such.

I also want to sincerely and selflessly share my few gifts with the world.

How do these two desires fit together? That is maybe the essence of my contemplation.

When others thank me sincerely, I don't reject it or become cynical (as some people I know do, and then out of discomfort they either reject it or shoot back an immediate response without actually accepting it). I think it is important to accept it fully, it nourishes and enriches the heart.

I appreciate each of the people around me so much. If not for their presence, their personality, their spirit, I would not have this vessel, this community, in which to love and be loved. If not for them, there would be no spiritual escalation for me, either.

(Song Circle for my birthday - faces of friends blurred for their privacy)

Monday, January 21, 2019

One Mission Statement

I sometimes feel overwhelmed because I feel I have a unique mission to do in the world, but don't know how to realize it. Sometimes it's a matter of trying to scheme out a plan, but this causes stress, amid the great weight of the mission vs. the great smallness of me.

One of these missions (I don't like the word mission because it sounds to me like Christian Missionaries, and in fact my type of mission is fundamentally nonreligious, but I can't think of a better word) is advocating a channel for open communication between parents and kids (especially in religious homes - of any religion), relating specifically to the body and to the child's needs, while also not shaming the child for any bodily function. This is super important to me.

I take myself as an extreme case - I have experienced sexual trauma caused by an adult and sexual trauma caused by a sexual dysfunction in my childhood - and I say to myself "if a child is like that, is there an open channel through which she can talk to her parents about it?" (I did not. I want others to have one.)

I sincerely believe that I have been lucky to be able to live through my sufferings and still become a vibrant, cognizant, functioning and creative person (despite and with PTSD, etc.) but that there are surely children who would not have made it this way. Maybe due to my personality or to other influences in my life, I always had hope and a rich internal creative world, which both helped me grow. But I am sure that some children's cases would end in depression or suicide. I am not saying this to gloat. I am saying this because it is SO important to me to not let children be stuck in the same kind of emotional prison that I was stuck in.

In certain families I see (from near or from afar, or not physically at all), I don't visibly see such a channel. It could be that families do have these discussions in private, but I do not know, and it makes me scared, and makes me want to make sure all parents in the world know how important it is. In certain families there is also more secrecy around private body parts, and it seems to me that a child is left to either ignore, or worse - dislike, her private body parts.

It is so important for me to raise awareness on this issue..

How should I do it?
I do not know.
It worries me, it overwhelms me.

Tuesday, January 15, 2019


I am excited! I have been the receiver of insight, wisdom and modular beauty that I'm constantly seeking, about myself and about the awesomeness of being. That is what makes me excited and motivated in life!

I have a lot to share, many unearthed schemes waiting to formulate into something precious, and that makes me slightly overwhelmed. It bubbles in my heart. It makes the tips of my fingers tingle with anticipation.

More about Type Four

I also took a *free* online Enneagram test to see how reliable the free ones are (because I want to recommend to my siblings to take it), and I got the same answer. Each place defines the Four a bit differently, and I identify with what it says here, too.

I am wondering what evolutionary purpose this type of personality has. Why does it exist? It seems so specific, and yet it is one of the nine types of all humans, according to the Enneagram philosophy. I am wondering also if there are certain types that more people have than other types. Let's check that out... Oh, it seems that 4 is rarer than some of the others. But still. What makes sense about this type? And how does this correspond to other personality tests, like the one with the four letter combinations?

The video of the woman I mentioned in the previous post is here.

Monday, January 14, 2019

The Creative Self, the Creative Energy

The creative self, the creative energy... Oh, I get nauseous sometimes when I sit down to write, even though I am being summoned to it!!! 

Type 4... Enneagram Personality Type 4. Are you familiar with what I am talking about? It is a philosophy/science about inborn personality types. There are nine types. I was recommended to do this personality test by my therapist, and I did it. I am primarily a type 4 (after which come a combination of other types, too). Type Four, according to the Enneagram Institute website, is called the Individualist. It is someone who's main concern is Being Unique. They are often creative and/or artistic, are deep examiners of their own internal state and emotions, are very emotional (but very aware of their emotions), feel unique and different, and want the world to know that.

I found a Youtube video of a woman in Europe who is herself a Type Four, and describes what that means to her, after a lot of research. Much of what she says is true for me too. These things have been known to me, but the way she articulates them is much more concise and organized than I ever did, which makes me excited, because I am always on a search for more poignant and profound connections and webs with which to mesh self-truths together.

What it interesting and new to me is the thought that these personality traits are possibly inborn. I was actually born this way: unique, wanting to prove my uniqueness, deeply emotional (having a full vibrant array of emotions, and not being afraid to look straight in their eyes) and having a creative tendency.

The Enneagram has a chart, like a circle, with all nine types on it, and essentially the placement of each type relates to those on either side of it. Type Four (the Individualist) is in between Type Three (the Achiever) and Type Five (the Investigator). So we should understand a bit about those to get a better look at Type Four, she explains.

The Achiever's main goal is achieving, getting things done, doing great things in a disciplined manner, proving their achievements to the world. The Investigator's main goal is to investigate the world and learn more about it, be innovative and insightful, and they want to be capable and useful in the world. In between these is Type 4: Like the Investigator, wants to learn and know what IS and be truthful to what IS, and like the Achiever, wants to prove themself to the world. And thus we have Type Four: learning and searching, and wanting to show the world what they find through themself and their own self-inspection, self-expression and creation.

Cindy Sherman is also a Type Four - and I figured that we have that type of thing in common, when I learned about her in art school. She made herself be the art. 

The desire to be seen as special by others, the woman in the video says, may cause you to become (or to feel) fake. I like to believe that even though I do want attention from others, I do also use my sincere abilities to do so. I do not claim to know to do something I do not. I use the skills I have, what is rightfully there, to prove or to show or to express the discoveries I make about myself and about the world. (I want people to think I am nice, but I am also truthfully nice.)

It is true, and I think I wrote a post about this somewhere else but may not have posted it, that I am always aware of how I might be perceived by others (I am always looking at myself as if I am the subject of my camera lens). And thus, I am always concerned that what I am doing is only done to be seen by others, and I often am frustrated that I cannot be free of this thought. Meaning, I do what I truly want, and I often want to rid myself of any type of concern about what others think, so that I will stop worrying whether this specific movement is done just to be judged.) Do you get what I'm saying? I'm not explaining it really well (I will write more about this another time), but I only have 15 minutes left today to write this post, because I have to go to work, which is something I don't like doing even though I like my work, because I want to stay and write freely, I want anarchal time management, so that I can be fully fully free to create at my own pace. It's what I NEED! But here we have it, 15 minutes, so I will leave this mess here, and publish it anyway, because I want to. 

I am happy I discovered the Type Four thing. It is giving me more insight about myself.

And thus: a blog post. Because, well, of course. That is what it's always been: I make a discovery, and I have to share it.

Waldorf Education

I love the Waldorf (a.k.a אנתרופוסופי) Education philosophy and practice. It is the type of education that resonates with me deeply and that I feel realizes the inherent creative, spiritual and compassionate side of each human. I've been lucky enough to have been able to visit the classrooms at the local Waldorf school, and this week I got to read a short article about how it started, with Rudolf Steiner 100 years ago right after WWI, and it has inspired me even more... "Is there a way to educate children so that they will become human beings who will not make war, who will be able to live in peace?"