The land has given me a gift, being the guardian of the mystery lake proved to be the potion of life, although I did perform quite miserably as the guard whenever the locals came to fish or swim, I had issues with land ownership, or at least I believed I did.
In retrospect looking at the story itself I realised I have been extremely fortunate, not jut because having a lake of your own in Israel is unheard of, but because I was given a place to integrate altered states of awareness and abilities into my everyday, usually that type of “openness” is never allowed the room or the existence, I was also young enough to be able to make it the corner stone of my existence, but like I’m trying to convey, the quarry had a story of its own, the story of place mingled with the dreams of men, the sweat of the Israeli pioneers, the diesel fumes of the diggers, and the pure water, with me the dreamer in its midst.
I believe that the world adjust itself to itself and so it wove a web around me, I’m a simple man which is why it all happened just like that…… simply, it was always all there simple and direct and I guess that reflects me somehow, I was given a power spot at the age of 18, the people I grew up with were going to the army or already enlisted, I was exploring awareness itself, whilst they went to fight in Gaza, I was gazing at the hills, to quieten the “me” enough in order to meet the “it”.
The Juxtaposition of living a parallel reality in that quarry that was dug by the men of my family was high, it was more than that, I remember the quarry men coming one day just after I arrived and rigging explosives on the basalt cliffs, it wasn’t even the alabaster they were after, as a manly “dare” they came into the bus and asked me to press the button, I was against it but they prevailed.
A hail of rocks hit the metal roof after the explosion, I felt like they are blowing my dreams apart, but we dreamers always feel intruded upon whatever happens, and we go to no ends to mask it.
But still the fact the land was dug by my grandfather and father somehow created that lake inside me, one generation of pioneers followed by one generation of warriors, and here I was the third generation, I’ve tried to explain to my grandfather one day visiting the kibbutz, that my generation’s war has to happen inside, that the external enemy has been warded (it was a time of relative quiet in Israel, just after the peace agreement with Jordan).
I guess he didn’t really understand what I was on about, I tried to explain that having no pending enemy outside allows the warrior to turn inside and start battling the real force that deprives us of our power.
I’ve come to see that there is a meta story stalking the lines of each of our tales, and those are the beginning threads of mine, maybe I was always an odd bird, I left school at 13 and knew at 14 that there is no way in the world I would serve in the army (army service in Israel is compulsory). But the ease with which I was allowed to leave the Army was questionable, although the process seemed long. I first drew some elephants in the test papers instead of answering the question about them, having quit school at 13, I guess I did miss a few chapters of algebra, and in a way it was hard to admit I actually didn’t know the elephantine answers, but I didn’t even try, maybe it was some kind of arrogance, as if I knew better because I couldn’t admit I didn’t know at all, we dreamers fight with ourselves inside constantly and so we never know.
Next I was interviewed (like everybody else) by a nice young soldier woman, she happened to know my older sister because of being in the same school year. She asked why I drew elephants instead of answering the questions, I said I didn’t want to serve, she asked me if I really was my sister’s brother (she wasn’t sure), and what I wanted to happen?….. And she said she will see what she could do.
The next person in line (the out-going line I mean) was a social worker, when asked if I ever thought about committing suicide I said “sure don’t we all?.”
I also said I’m kind of a loner (it was true in a sense because I kind of left my peers on the kibbutz when I started working instead of going to school), I just thought I’ll say whatever may help in getting me out of the army, but I was averse to lying.
I guess I triggered enough markers, so I was sent to the army’s psychologist next, who asked me if I’m a pacifist, I answered that before I venture to fix the world I feel I must fix myself. The answer must have impressed him enough to send me onward unto the last stage of the process.
I found myself in front of a committee of three, though only one spoke, I didn’t believe my shenanigans worked, so I expected them to tell me the infantry awaits me, instead I was asked if I’m ok with getting section .21 – the army code (or “profile” as it is called in Israel) for someone unfit for service due to health reasons, but that’s only because they don’t want to write, mental health reasons.
I agreed, than the weirdest thing happened, the spokesman of that committee told me that in case I change my mind (remember I’ve just been deemed mentally unstable) they would put me wherever I want in the army (something that doesn’t happen in the best of cases),
It was another point that seem to stand out in the narrative of the “Tale” as being adjusted by a greater force, I even thought that maybe the fact my father held a high position in the army had something to do with it, “protekzia” it was called in Hebrew, you can figure out alone what that meant, for a little moment I thought of asking to serve in the Air Force, as that was a childhood dream of mine, like I said we dreamers never know if we are coming or going.
It is always hard to see things from the inside, everybody has to be the lead character of their story, but looking at my own stories I have come to isolate moments that stand out as if they don’t belong or seem emphasized, moments when something seems to intervene and adjusts things for an ulterior, or rather, superior (if you are taken to believe in hierarchy) motive.
Thinking about it now, the same thing happened with high school, I was an A student, but upon hitting the social ground of high school, I found myself in with the gangs of lesser students, and instead of going into class ended up sitting on the lawns In front of the Sea of Galilee, but I wasn’t the only one, we all use to do it. Somehow out of 200 students in my age group, I was the only one to leave school.
Here too I found myself in a meeting, with woman In charge, the very same woman who told me there is no way they would allow me to join the “builders” – a group of specially hard learners (I mean students who found learning very hard) who spent 4 years learning how to build houses, there weren’t even arranged in age groups but got assembled from all the problematic students of four age “years”, or put simply all the students who were deemed unable to be taught.
At the time I said it is ok with me, it feels right I don’t join them, she said I’m too good a student, for the school management to pretend I belong there, but on that day of the meeting that ended with me leaving school (something which is illegal as going to school is compulsory) I was again told I could be put wherever I wanted to, even with the “builders”, but maybe that’s what they always tell me before they send me out.
I refused, I said all I seem to do, coming to school is sneak out to the supermarket across the road and stuff myself with pastries, and I’m afraid I’ll get fat, I might as well go to work on the kibbutz, so this was how I got expelled out of the school, or you could say I left,
I’m a dreamer and my eyes are set somewhere else, so it never mattered.
I have a very high sense of social right and wrong, and it always seemed strange I got a special treatment, at times even questionable.
But although this story seems to be about me, it isn’t really, it’s an attempt to meet the creator itself through the weaves of the story, the force that guides our fates, an attempt to illustrate that there is another line of thought, which isn’t ours, a line of thought we belong to instead of it belonging to us, the thoughts of the Spirit.
There is a group in the UK called diggers and dreamers, and some how to me that seemed a very good way to summarise this chapter,
I was brought up by diggers, my grandfather driving the bulldozer and my father being the manager of the quarry, him with a spell in the army armored divisions, which is a type of a bulldozer with canon.
And I was the dreamer in their midst, the mystery lake that have sprung from the rock, quarried out of the barren hills of the Jordan valley and of the tough Israeli pioneers and the Kibbutz society and its idealism.
For those that have swum that lake’s deep waters, this is an attempt to reveal the hidden relationship between place and being, the secret of power places or the power of story, I am that dreamer that was expelled, or you might say I chose to leave, I never knew a difference.
People that deal with power directly all have a special art, a way to perform their relation with the forces at large, mine is that I’m a
story teller, although I’m not really a writer.
My realm is the living story, and the medium that I use to perform my art is what we call the HTML, because it stands for the programming language itself.