The exudation from the DREGS of consciousness

Mirrors reflecting what is here, is negligible for Yeshivah bukhers--they had no mirrors in the institute, & here to them is some benchmark in history that imparts solace of an asceticism which we can guess at with our own self-realizations. Why no mirrors? Because as men we are not to suppose ourselves as vanity permits. If rooted in clarified reflection is past lives--ours or otherwise, then artificiality of thought can be surmised whether we are looking or not upon what we'd want to be as some lonesome heaven portends, or seeing oneself as a contemporary in a one world village. On Williamsburg rd. (my neighborhood of growing up) in the 88Olds, as if the red dragon of some remote past life decided to sneak up on me, I expedited a pensive notion, but quickly as like the rear view mirror in the car could contain the thought, and yet looking askew proffered a full length view of my face--in a red glare. Supposing I were in a third world pension room with my woman & we were erudite from seeing ruins of confessions of lost history and if we then stared into mirrors opposite & back to back from each other, I would have in this case reminiscent of the drive down my old street past tall oaks & the peopled side-walks, seen my past life with her as my mother.

W/ the Kiryat Arba advocates in HEBRON

I went to Hebron with Ohr Somayach (Light of Happiness) yeshivah. In the main square outside the ancient temple (mosque/synagogue) we all stand in the cold/cool afternoon milling about. A Palestinian boy comes over near our group with his donkey & they get up on this tall median-like protuberance coming up on the square's floor. There is grass growing there, a way to feed his animal, no doubt a mundane ritual for the boy. The mention of the evil past in Hebron beween our two opposing sides sort of does not contain me--seemingly obsolete, though I know there was early Arab violence really begun by radicalized elements on both sides? ...1929--I don't know much about it, except its report of pain. Now it's like theater. The boy, who I go stand next to, makes absolutely no acknowledgement of my being there. His disgust was palpable, & the Jews standing around are beyond any consideration of him, too. I wanted to laugh at this, if only they could see each other it would be a caricature of humanity & of these terrible events I know in their mind is not beyond reach. There are plenty of webs of illusion between us all. Potok (of The Chosen etc.) illuminates the struggle for Hebron nationalism in In the Beginning. But I felt dissuaded from accepting Israeli sovereignty when there, not because I sought the rights of others to that land, but because the Israelis contained it militarily, & it gave an artificial feel to my American passport functionaries. Our Yeshivah group walked past a look-out station (our first look around when we got to town), I'll assume on the corner of the Jewish enclave. & I had hoarded an extra Yafo orange, ...but seeing the soldier way up above gave me the idea to chuck it up to him, which I did, gleaning the constricting boredom of this mess of a "sacred" place.

Outside of ELLENVILLE, NY

Thinking a shtetl is relative, one world village--I feel I am among the seen of those who portend signs of spiritual realization, like Rebbes on top of roofs, {fiddlers on roofs} as I walk down the street ankle deep in angst, a dot of angst that surmises what I can emote of the significant dream images I have of Poppa on on top of the bungalow as if my outstretched arm was right there ready to offer him a tool. Like biblical masks veiling faces, or just transient looks I project upon people--these characters whether dream-like or here, not knowing what else or what root race seemingly contorting out of serene looks heralded into my plain of view. Dybbuks, spiritual possession, has to be like channeling; the voice of split cognizance occurring--the patient drone awakening in your mind that now you are amongst.

In Cairo circa DECEMBER '86

These guys we saw were the Israeli version of the European ex-pat. one would find abroad from their respective motherlands. Though the Israelis were by consignment still avid patriots, one would think. We, as representatives of job-ONE, as if we were of the American ethos, seemed enjoined looking at how the Israelis clean-clarity stood out from the glum cigarette smoking of the Arab citizens i.e. 3rd world is glum and not shiny though 3/4 of what we absorbed was submerged like islands in the deep (Simply speaking, we were just not seeing the whole picture.) These Israelis had built a loft & fixed up their hostel room down from our stark, unglassed windowed one on the corner of the building, 6th floor. I knew I was seeing Jews in an absolute & uncompromised situation (the polite tourist, if you will) than I had ever witnessed before e.g. it wasn't the synagogue or relatives, was going to be unforgettable for me. Rob, there with me exuded confidence & came from the recesses of his experience, but my proffering anything brought to the table had a sense of the provincial & unworldly. Still, in my mind I reviewed what I would tell them. And that was I know them, but I don't, and yet I would remember their aura of the traveler-absurdum (All they're doing is defending, so to speak) of merit because of their travails. (And yes, I see both sides: this is MY sense of things & I HAVE no currency w/the polity of disharmony.) This was also, however, a big brother scenario-they were my big bros., & though I would wear thin thinking familial-ly about the world, it really always gave me advantage at least predeceasing going into new situations because wondering what came next could be as good as intuiting the same.