Tzfat

Hills and valleys roll in and out of each other like paint on canvass; paint on canvass seems to be everyone’s profession. The view is very misty to the naked eye; the vision, very mystical to the naked soul. Organic food stores proclaiming the perfection of body neighbor organic Kabbala schools proclaiming the perfection of soul. Streets, more cobble than stone, go in no obvious direction – as do some of its inhabitants. The structures seem to crumble as you look at them (this place was never one for structure) and the energy just bounces off the rubble (rubble always got along well with energy). It is a place more prone to Spirit than Matter – for some the right Spirit is what matters and for other the Matter is the right spirit. Doors painted blue appear to blend in with the rapidly approaching skies; rapidly approaching skies never seem to reach their destined destination. The mood is very airy; the blinding clarity, eerier yet. It is built on many graves, but it is more alive than glowing flesh. Yes, here even the cemetery dances in life’s delight: I guess when one is confined neither to the spirits of spirituality nor to the physics of physicality one dances on as if generations hadn’t passed. People are trying to carve out their unique niche: some succeed, while others just bore holes. It is glaringly funny, really, how earth plays heaven’s mirror: there is much spirit floating in the air here and, as a reflection, there is much craziness going on: this woman tries to out-costume the other woman; this guy’s prayer shawl attempts to out-color the other guy’s prayer shawl – until all this focus on things earthly distorts the view of things heavenly. If you are not a painter, you are a musician. If you are not a musician, you are a rabbi. If you are not a rabbi, you are a student. If you are not a student, you are a tourist. That’s it.

It is a place of Self-Expression – the question is: what is your agenda, the Self or the Expression.