Diggers and Dreamer (part 1)

Below is an excerpt from a book.

When I was 19 I had a profound experience that left me “psychically” open. I thought I was going crazy, it was either that or that I developed the ability to read other people’s thoughts. To make things worse, I became convinced also that I can control the weather to a degree. In Native American society a pipe carrier (peace pipe or medicine pipe) would have had rings on his medicine pipe to demonstrate that he can summon the winds or hold control over the weather, but in our society the notion of such abilities is an aberration – I have had the fortune to find people who have rings on their pipes, and this is the story of that beginning.

I had just returned to Israel after traveling over Southern Europe for almost a year.
Together with a friend exploring in the north of Israel, looking for a place to live away from society, I was really losing the plot, I could hear thoughts inside my own head. I guess the fact she was little unstable herself didn’t help. We roamed the hills and conjured magic, calling rain and sun and exploring communication abilities that meant either one of us could start a topic and the other would know what subject was meant without needing a point of reference, it went as far as having silent conversations, yes telepathy.
Being poor we also practiced the art of magical begging; how to get people to give you what you needed, and if you wonder, this type of sorcery only works for those in need, as otherwise something else takes over Maybe “need” is a sort of cleanser, but it sure is closer to the story line than “want”, even though it isn’t it either – the core we are after here is the calling of intent.

After a while we found an amazing spot in an old Syrian village (don’t get confused with the current Syrian crisis) in the Golan heights.
It was ideal: running streams and stone built houses, a whole village which had been abandoned. There were signs that someone had recently lived in one of the houses, and we later learned one of the kibbutz boys (I think maybe from Givo’ot Abashan) nearby had it with not having his own room and took to the hills, so we avoided that house, and chose a nice empty one, after all the village had quite a few to choose from.

Thompson gazelles where running free, and the local kibbutz had its cattle roaming in the hills nearby. It’s the part of Israel that feels like Europe (especially in winter) and being the old borderline with Syria on the slopes of the Golan, it also symbolizes a sense of being in between the attentions, and this is exactly where we wanted to be, (although at times I think we wanted to be across the border, at least attention- wise).

The Golan had always felt like a land of mystery to me, a place of strong rock and hills, wind swept at times, it was the land of giants called Bashan in ancient times, with stone mounds and circles, like Gilgal refa’im (meaning the wheel of ghosts or Ethers) in Arabic it is called Rujm il hiri, meaning the cat’s stone I think.
A massive stone complex bigger than Stonehenge, with an underground chamber; concentric rings of basalt stone, with a massive mound at its heart, and a secret chamber – I always thought those raised altars were the biblical Bamot, meaning stages literally.

The important thing is that I felt I have found the place I could integrate my current psychic situation as I was determined that only living away from others in a real isolated spot could sort me out.

We were both elated and hitchhiked to the nearby town of Rosh Pina to get some supplies, though just the basics, as we were going to live of the land as much as was possible – it being the rainy season, wild edibles were in abundance, mushrooms and mallow and even wild garlic grew on the slopes under the house. We made Bedouin bread in the coals and thought it was heaven, it was the ability to live without needing to be dependent on society, dreamers always have their oasis away from the world and this was ours, we found how to communicate without words. I could call the rain, we could get people to give things to us by a high form of positive begging, but more than it all we could live away from the choke of society and practice entering the other attention.

We treated ourselves to a coffee in one of the cafés in town and sitting down I got talking to a uniformed soldier who took some real interest in our story. I was a pacifist and had just managed to avoid the compulsory service, so the conversation was somewhat paradoxical, I was telling him how we are going to leave the world for a spell to live in the mountains, and the beauty of that spot….. Ho, on and on I went…
The guy listened and was real gentle with me, he seemed genuinely interested in our story.
Eventually he said – “I know the abandoned village of “Darbashya” well, but I have to tell you something…. I happen to be the local authority ranger for this area, and that Syrian village is a nature reserve that falls under my jurisdiction, I happen to be on my yearly army service (the men of Israel serve some time every year in the reserve army) for two weeks, but on Friday I’m back, so you have 5 days to enjoy yourselves but don’t let me find you squatting when I’m back”.

I was gutted, this proved not to just be some real hard luck, it was a confirmation that my worst fears are real, it indeed seemed hard to find an isolated spot in nature in Israel, but it was proving impossible to actually live in one.
I was lost, and I was losing my mind too and wasn’t sure I could cope with my new psychic abilities and I was afraid I would never resolve the craziness.

Maybe what scared me most is the idea that the only way is the mainstream way and I wasn’t ready to start considering things like paying rent and life insurance.

Salvation was to come from closer quarters than I expected and bring things into a deeper meaning. I told my father all my problems and he having just left the kibbutz himself, thought maybe I could live in the old quarry. He was the manager of the gypsum factory on the kibbutz only a short while before and good friends (actually business partners at the time) with the quarry’s manager. He said he will find out if they would let me live there, it was doubtful because I too left the kibbutz (actually expelled) a year before, but the quarry people were happy to help.

To be continued…

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