Soon we had left his voice behind like a voice from a dream dreamt down the road, but I looked back into the dream and I could still see him yelling, but I couldn't hear a word.
R. Brautigan _ So the wind won't blow it all away
It seems sometimes that even a single blow of wind can suddenly change
the status quo in Jerusalem.
Land suspended, which always changes and which perhaps never really changes, where everyone lives in the few kilometers between the sea and the desert and sometimes in the few meters of a road, those born and raised in this land, those who are here only temporarly and those living here briefly, feel they have always belonged.
The lives of people deal with thousands of years of history and yet they look at the present, individual lives but part of collective/identitarian lives, in continuous research and evolution and yet with an appearence of stability. Everyday life is soaked with these aspects and everyone always seems to have something to live for, bigger than the individual identity, as strong as the root of a tree and yet precarious like its leaves, with all the load of contrasts and contradictions that this involves.
I lived in Jerusalem for two years and its richness and intensity left a space within me, which I now see as a dream dreamt and there remained, fixed in some image,