It Was Written (on february 27th on the way to Jerusalem and afterwards.)

In the advent of getting my camera stolen, I've temporarily lost the ability to document properly this new, extraordinary experience. I'll have to draw pictures with words. I'll have to paint the old walls and streets of the Holy City through prose.


Right now we're passing through the hills heading east towards Jerusalem. These hills are dotted with clumps of white, like life size pieces of feta cheese. (I think our tour guide said that it was limestone). We're passing some hill where Elijah the Prophet did something that upheld his status as a prophet.



(Her voice has too much treble. It needs a little bass.)


 Anyways, these hills hug a valley adorn with a diverse population of trees. Some tall and skinny, some short and fat, and some in between.


 This field here to the right looks like it should be in the Bible. The writers of this historical phenomenon probably wandered these lands aimed east somewhere over the next hill.


 The only thing that's different are these strips of pavement, hardened trails of once steaming tar. The only thing that's different are the signs in Hebrew, Arabic and English. The only thing that's different are these white smoke stacks and the fenced property below.

after Jerusalem:

Jerusalem was surreal. The dense history of this place was difficult to grasp in twelve hours. Seeing the Dome of the Rock glisten in golden brilliance, seeing the Western Wall where people prayed with tears in their eyes, seeing young orthodox Jewish school boys sing in pure jubilance in near vertigo with hands joined, seeing over five shades of skin colored people come together to rejoice in celebration of the Supernatural, seeing Muslims, Jews and Christians bump shoulders - seeing all this rendered me a little numb. With so much there that could potentially move me religiously depending on my faith, I couldn't feel the same as those on their knees kissing the Tomb of Jesus Christ with intense, wild zeal or with listless, modest docility. The religious energy of the Old City, at times, blurred my focus on the historical aspects. Religion is ever present in the Culture from which I've risen into the World. But perhaps, through me, my culture is undergoing evolution.