If a fish is born in your aquarium and you call it John, write out a birth certificate, tell him about his family history, and two minutes later he gets eaten by another fish - that’s tragic. But it’s only tragic because you projected a separate self where there was none. You got hold of a fraction of a dynamic process, a molecular dance, and made a separate entity out of it.
Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now
I wake up, get up, and pull up the blinds. the world outside is not.
is not
I decide this is the perfect day for Really Long Emails. or at least one. here goes.
*
there is this widespread theory that if we accepted or loved reality, then nothing would change or improve. this includes external realities like war and rape and our own “negative” tendencies like overeating, depression, fears, etc.
what I found was that this is just a theory - and at that one that I had no way of disproving since I’d been taught from day one how to not accept reality and invest in future outcomes. I didn’t know how to do anything else. the rapture of wondering what things I could be when I grew up rapidly unravelled as the fear of not having proper income and security; the wonderment of connecting with friends was quickly imposed on a hypothetical future as the fear of loneliness. my parents and society, with the best intentions at heart, taught me my motivations, which are invariably fear-based. the problem with this is that the Now disappears in the intricate workings of a mind stuck in survival mode: even playtime is not just that, it’s really an insurance plan for old age. it’s an education, not an experience, and in that it is always stressful - because you know that if you don’t figure out the rules and follow them, you could get it wrong.
so acceptance, of the self and of the world, can be a terrifying thing - so much of our identity is built upon its opposite, and fortified through the fear that if we accepted ourselves, our children, our society and our world - we would do nothing for those things. but that is not acceptance - that is denial. I started testing it, and I realized there were many things that drive me to action other than discontent: creativity, intuition, service, joy, love. the difference being that when I am compelled to move because of love, I am free in that, because I already have my peace regardless of the outcome. when I am compelled to move out of discontent, the effects can only be temporary, and I can only create more dissatisfaction - because I believe for it to be the fuel that drove me to act in the first place, so that’s what I’ll be looking for again once my initial “goal” is achieved. what else is wrong? what else needs fixing? and I’ll either tell myself the story that I do this for other people (when in reality they may not need or use my help, and probably have not asked for it) or that I do this for myself (when in reality no external achievement can be good enough, because I believe myself to not be good enough).
here’s an interesting exercise: you know all those people whose flaws you think you totally accept, those friends who are so easy to love and admire without condition even though they don’t necessarily have anything going for them that you don’t? try to spend a whole week with them, a whole month. because “their flaws are more lovable than mine” is just another trick we use to keep ourselves down. for me it’s become apparent that I can only project unto others my own beliefs: I hate me, I hate you - I love me, I love you. and that goes for every moment, with no exception. and it takes that closer look to see that, because after spending a while together I notice that people’s habits begin to annoy me, and it can be very subtle. I become impatient, I start attacking, I indulge in visions of slightly altered versions of their selves I could REALLY live with - and this becomes very confusing because these are people I love. no wonder all this difficulty comes out in monogamous relationships - we just don’t spend as much time with friends as we do with our partners. but all I’m doing is treating my friends or my partner in the same way that I treat myself - believing I should change and improve, believing I am not good enough right now.
whatever I am is perfect and enough in the moment. I know this because that’s all there is - anything else is a projection of the mind from past experience unto a nonexistent future, and there is no presence in that. there are only conditions, manufactured: if I lose enough weight, I’ll find the right boyfriend. if I do that, I’ll be happier. if I stop the Occupation, the world will be a better place. if that happens, I’ll be happier. all theories. some will indeed lead me to actions I might consider loving or noble, but they stem from a place of pain, of not-good-enough. and when I manage to see the falsity of those stories (can I absolutely know that a boyfriend would make me happier? where did I pick up that belief?), I notice that I am still active in the world, I still respond to my heart, only I have a lot more space in my mind vacated from troubling and stressful concepts - and in that my body is happier too. I am more able, more flexible, more creative. when I don’t believe I need a boyfriend, I’m much more relaxed and confident around guys. when I don’t believe I need to end the Occupation, I’m much more joyful in demonstrations and a lot more approachable for people who hold on to fearful ideologies. what is more effective? what is more egotistical?
my sister came in my room one day, and I told her about this video I started working on on my laptop. before even seeing it, she sighed and said “I wish you didn’t waste your time like this when you could be fulfilling your real dreams. I want for you to grow and get what you want. I’m not one of your friends who would just sweet-talk you into false comfort.” and all I could wonder was: why do you want me to grow? what would that give you? why am I not good enough right now? how can being comfortable with myself be false? and she never got to see what I was up to that day. and because at first I believed what she was saying, that I should do things I wasn’t doing, I was left sad and deprived of energy. not a great place to start growing from. and this is how most forms of education work. and for some people that seems to work very well, with little perks and punishments along the way, until they realize that they’ve run their whole lives for someone else’s race, and they have no idea who they are anymore. I thought I’d first opt out of that, and see what life looks like without need, want or lack. this goes against the grain of everything that I’d been taught, and I figured that was ok. it’s a journey I’m happy to take.
the UN Relief and Works Agency calls for an investigation into the targeting of UN schools by the Israeli army in Gaza for fear these may have to be considered war crimes.
hundreds of children have died at the hands of Israeli soldiers since the offensive on Gaza started on December 27.
what’s to investigate?
better investigate the degree of hate this pointless war has generated. now there’s a mystery often hidden from a public that still believes “our goals have been achieved“.
I’ve heard people say that they cling to their painful thoughts because they’re afraid that without them they wouldn’t be activists for peace. “If I felt completely peaceful,” they say, “why would I bother taking action at all?” My answer is “Because that’s what love does.” To think that we need sadness of outrage to motivate us to do what’s right is insane. As if the clearer and happier you get, the less kind you become. As if when someone finds freedom, she just sits around all day with drool running down her chin. My experience is the opposite. Love is action. It’s clear, it’s kind, it’s effortless, and it’s irresistible.
Byron Katie, A Thousand Names for Joy
my parents are fucking off to South America for a few weeks, presumably in the hope that this genocidal excuse for a war will be over by the time they get back. they haven’t written a will yet, which I see as a particularly cruel act of procrastination.
“we don’t even know where all your money is stored! in like, funds, or stocks, or whatever. you don’t want the state to get everything do you?”
but, to no avail.
so me and little sis and mom are having our last lunch together on the bank of the thickly polluted excuse for a river that is the Yarkon. people jog by. I order a cold beetroot soup. I give you: vignettes, sweet and sour.
*
me: gosh, life without porn and alcohol is so much more intense - it’s like I’m FEELING things all the time! there’s so much more feeling.
mom: you mean so much more depression. HAHAHA.
*
mom: so which one of you is going to drive us to the airport?
me: well, actually, I need to be home before too long.
mom: why, you have something better to do?
me: yeah, I need to start me a new career I guess.
mom: you’re starting a new career today at 2pm?
me: yeah, why not? by the way, would you be interested in donating -
mom: no. HAHAHA.
*
me: (long sigh)
mom: what is it. what are you feeling now?
me: I feel… it’s like this interesting mixture of slight anxiety and -
lil sis: it’s that disgusting beetroot soup he had.
*
me: hey, don’t read my notes! you can read about it later in my blog.
mom: you have a blog?
me: yes, of course!
mom: what’s it about?
me: it’s about… things that happen to me.
mom: and people find that interesting?
in sloppy dedication to cOm’s i am the lotus
I just cut the locks at the back of my head, and now I look more like the Republican Gay that at least one of my friends takes me to be. I think it was a beer-related incident:
“you don’t drink Goldstar? oh my god, you’re such a republican gay!”
I’m sorry, I know it’s locally brewed but it’s the worst beer I’ve ever tasted.
as this operation involved broom and dustpan, I continued from hair in the bathroom to the mud on mom’s marbles, all the way from Abed’s land in Jerusalem. we planted some olive trees and had a great lunch. there are usually jokes cracked at the vegan tendencies of many of the Israeli volunteers, but this time the atmosphere was a bit solemn due to the Israeli attacks on gaza. some of us have family members trapped there, unable to seek refuge from oncoming missiles or flee past the border into either Israel or Egypt. trapped. butchered.
from Abed’s, we drive down to Tel Aviv again for the big anti-war/pro-peace demonstration. I meet my little family of friends in the anarchist block, last and loudest to march, complete with an unrelenting drum section. I am full of gratitude for friends I’ve made this past year in Tel Aviv. beautiful, amazing people, each and every one.
nearing the cinematheque, I find myself hungry and tired. I want to sit down and eat, but more than that I want to keep dancing to the drums. I need a drug. I go for coke. I walk past the police line, spotting a shop nearby. men wrapped in Israeli flags await me there. they don’t look pleased to see me.
“are you one of them?!”, this guy screams in my face. I tell him I’m one of me (this sounds cleverer in Hebrew I must say), and keep walking. this is proof enough for him that I am The Enemy.
“guys! come over! I found a traitor! here he is, a stinking little traitor!”
seconds later I find myself in the shop, reaching for coke, surrounded by heavy clouds of zionist hatred. they’re screaming.
now, I promised myself when this gaza episode started that I would not join the war - I would not join any war, in fact, not in body, speech, action or even thought. it can be tempting, sometimes. we all know. anger is a very potent energy, especially around the dinner table when the stakes are not this high. but now, I remind myself - no war. they’re not making it easy.
“you fucking traitor! you dirty motherfucker! why don’t you demonstrate for Sderot?! where the fuck were you then?! dirty nazi! go get fucked by your arab friends, traitor!”
as I take out my wallet to pay for my coke, one of them shouts at the shopkeeper to not take my dirty money and takes out his own wallet.
“you’re going to buy me a coke?”, I ask. that’s so generous of him, in a warped kind way. but he doesn’t come through, and a policeman grabs me and asks me to get the hell out of there. it was one of those rare moments in life where I find my gratitude extending to the presence of the Israeli police force. I walk back to the demonstration, not before casually being kicked at as the yelling continues. no serious damages.
