11/15  Jerusalem, Israel

15 Nov 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, No Comments.

11/15 Jerusalem, Israel

Over the years I’d met so many people that believe, believe in their personal God.  When I would seek answers, ask questions, express an opposing opinion or different view, or anything that might contradict their belief system, they would jump into a defensive or offensive position, a position of judgment.  I know that every one views the world through a different set of eyes and I would love to learn more from them but they make it so hard if not impossible to have a true conversation.  Along the river I have learned not to judge but rather seek the truth.  I have no desire to separate man from man.

The next morning on our way to the Western Wall we stopped by an antique shop to visit another gentleman whose name had been given to Jenni.  We sat down, had a cup of tea and talked for an hour or so.  He stated that he had been working on the Dead Sea Scrolls, conveyed many stories and knowledge of the city.  When we finally reached the wall, a large group of Jews were celebrating the graduation of a young boy into their faith.  We traded poems and we each secured them into the wall.  God bless.  We spent the rest of the day tracing Jesus’ steps through the city ending outside the wall at the garden tomb.  I really haven’t found all the answers that could satisfy my curiosity so I continue to question.  I’ve always felt that all sins, even the most inhumane acts, have their deepest roots imbedded in fear.  That’s a very sad reality.  Those foundations erode where there is not love, where neglect is experienced and where one feels alone, truly alone.

Inside Herod’s gate we sat and relaxed, satisfied with just watching the flow of faces.  Jenni was like a flower to the many bees that circled her as she strolled through Jerusalem’s streets.  Time and again they would attempt to separate her from me in order to get her alone.  I panicked once, very concerned because she had vanished.  But eventually I found her surround by wolves in the back room of a vendor’s shop drinking tea.  That was a long day and I fell right to sleep.  This time it was Jenni who woke me up to view the sun rise.  We had decided to head north into Turkey, so Haifa was earmarked as our port of exit.  I had been looking through shops searching to buy something and had settled on an outrageous shirt for my walk through LAX.  Jenni had also picked up a pair of what I would consider clown or parachute pants.  They had stripes running their length.  At dinner she requested that I write a poem down one of its stripes.  I accommodated her request.

It is springtime and you are the flower ….

Like the flower, who blooms to grow, all that pass, already know, your color, your scent, it’s all a part of you,
and helps their smiles, come shining through

Like the flower, you always show, none will pass, who don’t wish to know, your beauty, your smile, the picture’s true and helps their smiles, come shining through

It seem like the entire foundation is constructed to perpetuate conflict, catering to disagreements.  They couldn’t even agree on what day is the Sabbath.  We needed some type of road map just to know which sections of the city were open and which were closed.  Now add in all the loud speakers sounding off at all hours of the night. Add in opposing religious beliefs that are contently being parading in front on one another.  It was us vs. them all over the place.  It’s no wonder they can’t find themselves peace.  We finally located at the top of Haifa hill the hostel we were seeking.  There was a small crowd that had gathered at its front door anticipating its opening.  A young girl recognized me from somewhere but for the life of me I couldn’t place her.  I assumed in was a bar in Corfu and did not inquire.  After a shower and a brisk walk I settled into the lounge and began sewing together the seams of the shirt I picked up in Jerusalem.  I was kind of hanging around waiting for dinner.  Dinner came with the cost of the room and seemed like a reasonable option until I tasted it.  But that was the least of my worries.  I was then part of a captive audience, Kumbaya.  I began searching out exits and planed my escape.  Once the opportunity arose where I felt we wouldn’t be noticed or offend anybody the two of us slipped out.

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    Usually behind a cup of coffee waiting for the world around me to wake up I entered today’s thoughts about yesterday’s activities into my travel journal. I’m not a writer, so I’ll apologize in advance if I jump around or seem confused. These are just the thoughts of a young man who left his possessions behind and who believes that getting lost is how one finds oneself.

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