ghosts & admissons: I quit half way through this

Sunday, January 13, 2008

I quit half way through this

Sorry for the delay, been a bit of a mess lately.

Fuck off to all my friends that suck BTW.

So we’re back on Dec 17th at the Synagogue of Capernaum. We sat where Jesus taught and I regretted my black shirt. The sun was unforgiving but the breeze was merciful and amidst the blossoming trees it all seemed to balance to provide a tranquility that defied the temperature.

We curled in and around the river Jordan which is much more a stream than anything else. We passed a pleasant grove where pilgrims in white robes dunked themselves in the sluggish waters. We drove between impossibly high cliffs on our left and banana plantations on our right, the plump bushels were wrapped in plastic as they dangled from the trees and we all joked at their obscene nature.

We followed the coast past Tiberius and once again our tour guide pointed out yet another hotel. This was a habit that they had and I started to wonder if it was some attempt to highlight their flourishing tourism industry which was indicative of safety and to differentiate themselves from the Palestinians and flaunt their industriousness.

We then went to the Druze village of Daliat El Carmel, climbing out of the bus we heard the sound of gunfire coming from the valley below. It all caught us off guard as you could feel the pressure change in the air around you. It’s like no matter where it was aimed it still hit you in a sense. We all hurried across the street hoping to avoid the sound of its impact. I suppose the fact that it was fired in an unknown and inconsequential direction was soothing, but we all dreaded the sound of breaking glass or cracking cement. That would bring it to close for comfort; we weren’t here for the real experience, just the highly prescribed and manicured version. Taking back some lead would grant this trip some much needed realism that I was prepared to live without at that moment.

We spoke with a remarkably beautiful Druze woman who knew nothing of her secret religion. She had to live with the burden of being forced to believe in things such as reincarnation and abstinence without the benefit of knowing any of the scripture or doctrine behind it. It was a weird mix of innocence and abuse that was both heartwarming and frightening at the same time. You couldn’t help but love her as she batted her eyelashes while describing the insignificance of love but the importance of not smoking. Perfectly and politely she dismissed one after the other of our questions which is her “duty as an ignorant”. She perplexed us in her slender, fashionable jeans and her tight, tantalizing top and we all grew sleepy in the comfort of her charming voice. She seemed to whisper through plump lips how the family is the most important thing and we struggled to pry our eyes away from her curves to observe her animate gesticulation at the disgrace of abandonment by the community. Excommunication was the punishment for the thoughts that began running through the minds of every person in the room. We then climbed down the stairs in a bit of a daze to the chorus of fire arms.

I will end it there midway, through the day. Even know my vision is closing in on me at the thought of her.