Jerusalem, I won't forget you

Strong emotions run through these veins. Maybe they come from the remnants of my exhaustion. Maybe I miss the people. Maybe it is the Civil War era cannon I can see behind my computer in the library. I hope that stages the level of internal confusion.

I miss dancing, people, food, classes, the color green, swimming, Natalie, Spiritual Sunday Cinema, attending church on Sunday (even though I still think Saturday is a better day for it), music, family, Prescott, mountains, shorts, and many much things. But the problem is I'll always be missing things I suppose. I miss the Dome of the Rock, the call to prayer, trash in the streets, buffets at every meal, classes on religion that I enjoy and satisfy my need to think as part of my study, a new group of people, knowing that every street holds a historically significant place, falafel, missing things in the states, exploring one of the most fascinating places I'll ever live (seriously, the center we lived at has more secrets than I could hope to find in three months), and having unique adventures every day.

Getting to Provo involved 46 hours awake and 31 hours traveling. Which was actually 6 hours more than it had to be, but I might have gotten myself lost between Salt Lake City and Provo. This morning I woke up at 4 am. My first thoughts were, "It's dark. Too dark. I'm not where I think I am. I'm not in Jerusalem. Where am I? Oh yeah, I'm at the Moore's :) (I wasn't thinking in emoticons, but I did smile). You know this room. Map it out. Alright. What time is it? 4 am... You should say 'good morning' to Natalie. No, it is way too early. Yeah, too early. Go back to sleep." It has been a slow day. I've really needed to recover. But it was wonderful to walk around at noon and notice how cool 95 degrees feels after this summer.

Despite living in a city layered in Jewish history and caked with Christian sites, I think what I'll miss most are the morning and evening calls to prayer, seeing the Dome of the Rock any time I look out a window, and the green lights from minarets reminding me of The Great Gatsby (light on the docks) every night.

I love Jerusalem. I do not think I changed the city (as I hope someday to have a chance), but I know it changed me. It's like a love affair that I want to share with everyone. On that note, there are hundreds of stories to share if you would ever like to hear. As a warning though, give yourself time to listen if you dare/care to ask. Also, I'll love you more for it.

Galilee

So...I should probably write about Israel while I'm here... I just figure it'll be so much easier when I get back home and include lots of pictures.

We spent the last eleven days living on a kibbutz on the Sea of Galilee. I hope to express my various levels of existence while there.

Physically:
Fantastic, for a day. Upon arrival and immediately put on swimsuits. The water was warm except for occasional patches creeping along the bottom. I loved swimming. Real swimming, with strokes and everything. I found out how weak my shoulders, but I can still do a better good butterfly stroke.
That night I felt congested and figured it was just the sea water in my nose. But then I started getting a sore throat, which is what happens when I start getting a cold so I figured it was that. But then the sore throat was gone after a couple days and I stayed very congested. So I've been sick since we got to Galilee... My nose is still congested and I can feel the pressure in my teeth and jaw. Unpleasant but bearable. I still swam a lot though :)
The day before we left the sea we had a long field trip, exploring mountains and cities and churches and the like, and got back to our rooms right before dinner. So a few of us ran into the water with our clothes still on. Which was fun. When I got out, I found a sandy loogie on my leg. Rather gross. Later that night my leg felt sore, but I thought nothing of it. The next morning my leg had an inflamed red mark with a scab in the middle. I had been attacked by a jellyfish! I do not think jellyfish are supposed to be in the Sea of Galilee!

Mentally:
This place is beautiful. Sunsets are a delight. The waves are calming. I realized that kibbutzim started forming around the beginning of the 20th century. During this time many Jews were coming from Russia into Israel. This was close to the time of the Bolshevik Revolution. This could mean that socialist ideologies influenced the creation of some of Israel's most historic modern Jewish settlements. Pretty neat. We went on a hike with a man from the kibbutz we stayed at. He was paid fairly well for taking us out. He does it as a side job while he lives at the kibbutz. It was at the kibbutz (Ein Gev) that he met his wife and has raised his three sons. We went to some waterfalls and swam for a while. He told riddles along the way. He is older than my father but his youngest child is younger than my youngest brother. Just interesting. After majoring in Russian while at college in the United States, he decided to travel to Israel for a year and then just stayed out here since. As a faithful member of the kibbutz, all of the money he earns as a hiking guide (an incredibly fit hiking guide with a magnificent beard) he gives to the kibbutz to be used by everyone. Strong ideals.

Emotionally:
I am worried to return to real life (as much as life as a college student in Provo can be termed "real") in two weeks with its work, roommates, unstructured classes, money, and competition. I am excited to see close friends again, dance, attend wedding receptions, and walk around a city alone late at night. Mostly, I am exhausted. Overwhelmed into happiness would be another way to describe it.

Spiritually:
The comparisons between a summer in Israel and living in Sacramento for a couple years are astounding. The structure in both has been wonderful, but I am glad for the freedoms we've had in Israel. I like walking around late at night because I just want to breathe the city. The intensity and energy of both has been empowering and sustaining, but the brevity of Israel has been most needed for recovery. Though I am thankful for the endurance of Sacramento. Studying in both places has been extraordinary. The depth and opportunities to learn have been so vast in both areas.
I feel fulfilled here. And complimented. It is interesting to see the change in return missionaries as they have been here. I feel like Jerusalem has been a place to understand my time in Sacramento much more fully. I doubt it comes as a surprise but I was not a forceful person while serving in Sacramento. Because of the missionary environment I sometimes felt uncomfortable because I find no satisfaction or result in trying to argue religion or force ideals. Israel is one of the best modern examples of the failure of forced ideals and argued religion. And so I feel that my calmness might have been more helpful than I saw. At least I can hope. My time here has been resolving, replenishing, and everything I wanted out of the Holy Land.

So There is This Girl...

And you should know she is fantastic. Here is one of many reasons why.

Blogging is one of the most interesting mediums of communication. Many blogs are written like a journal or diary, personal insights/stories/journeys are shared in a day by day manner. "Successful" blogs do tend to have a theme, purpose, and regular schedule of posting, but that is not necessary. Writing of all sorts, like theater or movies, naturally has the "fourth wall" element that allows readers to put themselves in the story. But blogs naturally seek to break that fourth wall. Blogs are a giant, expansive, endless conversation. Bloggers want readers, so blogs are written to an audience instead of a story contained by four walls. This means a blogger can talk directly to people through their medium. This is unique.

So I'm going to relay a couple bits of information and stories to you and hopefully connect them by the end. The title is above and hopefully will keep you interested as you try to figure out how these words will come full circle.

I originally started this blog as an attempt to conveys thoughts and keep people up on my travels. I think I've done a fair job of the first and a terrible job of the second. The disconnect, I think, is that I'm not updating enough pictures. More images would encourage me to discuss sights and feelings more. Another reason is I already relate my stories two or three times before blogging them. That extra time seems excessive, except this is the place for most people to catch up on me. So I apologize to you. There will be a much better job done come August. I'll probably start by just uploading lots of photos. I've already taken almost two thousand shots.

It is two hours past midnight. My eyes feel like they are swelling in their sockets and a slight headache is starting to come on. I will tell myself many times throughout this night that I only need to stay very hydrated in order to avoid discomfort. I am only slightly wrong, but not enough to worry. I just got back home. We went to the Israel Museum (one of my favorite places in Jerusalem). Jerusalem puts on a lot of artistic and community-oriented events. I love it. Jewish religious celebrations are big deals here. Secular celebrations are too. The Israel Museum hosted a couple dozen artistic displays. Some (most) of them were temporal displays. Attending them and seeing the creative process of the event was what was interesting. The results were mediocre and stood no chance standing the tests of time (I think that is the shame of many modern arts, but it is only a personal opinion. I prefer the creation of those arts more than the final products. And a repetition of the final product, such as attending the same performance by a different cast, brings me no further insight or pleasure). But it was so much fun to watch. One exhibit was a man in a small shack writing. You could watch him. Or you could watch what he was writing as it was being displayed onto a large stone face a dozen meters away. The writing was in Hebrew so I can only guess at what he was writing. I think it was a short story. They had a kabuki demonstration. There was an original folk dance performed (I got to dance with them :). My favorite exhibit was some minimalist art. There was no order to the art, but one piece I really loved was a large, black X on a piece of paper with a clear, vertical rod over the point of intersection. As you walked past the piece the rod refracted a different image because the angle of your view changed. Simple. Creative. Made me think about physics. That is good art.

As I've been told that I assume everyone is as excited about everything as I am, I have started to realize it is a trait I really appreciate in other people. Several times I was in situations that were strange. The art was unusual. The demonstrations were graphic; they tried making a statement through strong expression and shocking display. I can think of many people, here in Jerusalem and at home, that I would feel uncomfortable attending with because I know their opinions on similar things are negative and I truly dislike causing people to be negative. But I felt alright being there because I could categorize certain things as art and separate myself from the situation or exhibit.

Then I thought about Natalie Harman. I have never felt uneasy with her around me. Now, I have felt quite nervous around her, but that is for reasons completely separate from what we were doing. I can be climbing trees, solving clues for Easter eggs, looking at art, admiring dance, or attending shows with her and never feel like I'll offend or scare her. I also feel like if something ever did bother her then she would let me know. Both are traits I admire greatly. I love feeling that when I am with her I have a whole world of adventures still available to explore; she wouldn't slow me down and actually improved the enjoyment and ultimate value of every experience I have had with her.

That is (one reason) why there is this pretty fantastic girl named Natalie.

Out of Body

Happy 4th of July! One of those holidays that has no literal meaning (as the Declaration of Independence was signed over several days) but is a great symbol and reason for celebration. We have a few people at the Jerusalem Center that are not Americans (two born in Colombia [one of them was raised in the States though], four Canucks, and one Englishwoman). The gal from England read the Declaration of Independence for our class. It was endearing.
We had fabulous burgers and ice cream for dinner. Then we played Minute to Win It games and then started a dance party. Honestly, any time we get together as a group to do anything at the center it ends up with a dance party. Not a bad thing, just not really my thing.
With that in mind, once the dancing started I found myself wanting to not be there. I didn't feel like thinking or trying to dance and move to the music. I just wanted to move. I started wandering around the outside of the center. The building was constructed very well and is terraced up the slope of the hill. So lots of outside space that connects. I wandered up to a high place and just looked over the city. As I walked there I could feel my body moving but really felt no control over it. I was wandering and my mind was elsewhere but no where. I took off my glasses to view the city. Fireworks were going off in the distance. I couldn't tell if they had any design, but they were lovely. Bright flashes. Honestly, I sometimes feel blessed for glasses because of the light orbs. I am very nearsighted, so when I see lights, especially at night, they are not defined. Lights are actually floating orbs, radiating stars hanging above the city. They are beautiful. Sometimes it is worth not seeing the leaves on trees to see the orbs floating over me.
And I just thought there. Or tried to think really. I was so full from the food today that I couldn't grasp anything. I tried rhyming but everything was sour. I tried singing a medley I came up with but lost the words. Eventually I snuck back into the building by way of an art exhibit (this place is seriously amazing. We have art exhibits upstairs and two professional concerts each week). I happened to come upon a couple before leaving the exhibit but they didn't see me. I retraced myself and left another way. I found a way atop the organ. Lovely little place. Quiet, dark, secluded. Little there for me though. I wandered, trying to find my head again.
Eventually I gave up, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and started some homework. Gradually some sense returned.
Days/daze like this confuse me. Why did I feel so strange? Was it just a bit of crusty cheese and old sausage with mustard (I think that is what Scrooge attributed it to)? Despite the confusion I felt refreshed after. I didn't need to dance tonight, I needed to wander. Tomorrow might bring dancing. Probably a blood drive and working out though. But who knows.

Other Blogs

I try to follow and support blogs that interest me. It is a wonderful view into thought processes and into the deeper thoughts of people I genuinely love and/or want to get to know better. A couple blogs I try to follow are of people I have never met.

One such blog is The Weed. He recently posted this story http://www.joshweed.com/2012/05/vomit-story-of-romance.html. It's hilarious. And beautiful. The awkwardness is just great. I imagine if she did no vomit on that first date they would not have gotten married (sorry if I ruined the story). This same man (a practicing marriage therapist and Mormon) posted this story http://www.joshweed.com/2012/06/club-unicorn-in-which-i-come-out-of.html recently too.

His thoughts are fascinating. I love that she knew ever since their first date. And the family is absolutely beautiful. It's hard to express how I feel about the whole thing. I've always felt like there is a separation between attraction and experience and it was nice to know someone agrees. And maybe defining things doesn't matter. The most important part is how you live. Are you good? Righteous? Obedient? Believing? Loving? I wrote about Zion a while back and I still think charity will be our defining trait. Christ said, "By this shall all men know that you are my disciples, if you have love one to another." And I can bear (or bare) all the words of "love the sinner, but hate the sin" or how loving someone means helping them not sin. I can't agree with the apathy or ambivalence it produces though. This is a whole new world for us, for me. I need to learn what and how I need to help.
I've known a lot of addicts. I've tried helping them. A few things I've found is that I've almost never been around long enough to actually help them. You can't just tell an addict to repent, to stop, to just clean themself up. You certainly can't help an addict who does not want or feel a need for help. And once they are willing to accept help it takes time, contact, reminding, no fear, and lots of love, especially when they relapse because almost everyone does. I feel like many people try to help homosexuals the way they'd help addicts.
Homosexuals are not addicts. I hope that association never occurs to anyone. I would love to say this process would be good advice for someone wanting to help a homosexual, but you don't "help" a homosexual. Helping suggests changing them from something bad. You shouldn't be trying to change them. Sexuality is no foreign substance or artifical stimulation. Love and intimacy are the most real and pure stimulations we have. Sexuality and experience play a big part in those. Do not ever try to take those away from someone, because you will deny them one of the greatest blessings of life. If they want to change (and there is a chance they won't want to. Be ready for that), then help them change and understand what that will mean. Even then, the best thing will be to ask questions (so you can understand them), show you're unconditional in your love for them, and offer help when it's asked for. People don't ask for help only verbally. You shouldn't give help only verbally.
So there is no word for what you should do for LGBTQ's (over anyone if we're being true) other than love. That is how they'll know you can make a difference. That is how they'll know you're a disciple of Christ (even if they don't believe in Him).

Yad Vashem

Cold and still, the room echoes more than sound. Gentle, striking strings pluck my heart and draw my tears. Times like this I feel no right to defend myself. No desire to recover. I hurt and rejoice in the strangest ways. Harsh and happy quotes flash before my eyes. Some cut. No explanation can justify the years and fears behind the words. Some give hope of healing for myself and them. Though lost in this canyon of trial there is a light at the end. It takes conscious effort to not punch the faces of men I cannot understand, foolish cowards too scared of their own work to let themselves live. Yet I cry most at the survivors and saviors. And I desire my own. A hand to hold. The warmth of another soul. Another heart. A hug reminding of smiles. Anything to break this cold I cannot feel but which I still embrace. I hope my empty smiles offend none. They are more to reassure myself. This may be my hatred of being a man. Some days I need to cry and mourn, but I feel my duty is to protect and comfort others, to give what I am so desperate for. A leader cannot break down else he or she gives permission for others to do so. Is this manhood? Adulthood? Parenthood? Growing up? Responsibility? I don't take these things well.

We went to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem today. These were my thoughts while sitting in the last room. It was tense. Well, I was tense. I started thinking of a young man, whose face and name is lost to me, who I attended Especially for Youth with many summers ago. He comforted me during a time I wanted to comfort him. It was just a back scratch, but just that simple contact meant a lot. It also made me think of Alyssa and the last time I went to a Holocaust museum. I do not know why I take such things so poorly. Is it even poorly? Maybe that is a terrible word for it.

I am glad to be in a world  that ennobles sacrifice and recognizes lost. It is difficult, but it is worth it.

Missing

A strange new emotion has hold of me and I'd fight it if only I could see. The source, of course, is clear. But the searing lane of pain from her to heart is crucibled art. Never before could I stand this bore. Or its drill. Or my core. A hedonist, by practice, never to miss a chance of new dance or place. That's my case. My mind screams, it seems, to leave, to upheave, my body to the sun. I'm surprised it has not won. Outside wonders draw me around and I always figured that's how I would be found, by others and myself. Never comfortable on the shelf, I stop for shinies of no wealth. They draw my eye and help something inside fly, sometimes sigh. But invited out I said no. My mind does shout excuse and regret, lest I forget the shielded shelf of solitude, safety, security, and sadness. Yet the core weighs more, though it didn't before. A desire so great as to depreciate my cause of embracing flaws and enjoying the noise of knowing nothing. Woah. No weight was ever so great a foundation or a flight station. I've never flown so high nor felt so nice. It's the contrast of fired veins cooled by morphine ice. To miss someone enough to stop? What's up with that? Like being hobbled by a bat. Knees weak, hands creak, eyes seek to find an explanation for my mind. Nothing. No heart beat stirs to treat the thought that aught to explain what I might gain. Yet I know no thing has the means to replace the face of her. That small part of art is more than any boring dash down a new path. Include the rest and at best you'd hold me back. The world does lack the knack to attack my desire to just hold hands. I'd love to include "ands" but that'd be enough to stuff me for now. The starved would carve wood if it should fill the pores of their bored core.