'Here I stand
In isolation Feeling emptiness and doubt...' When Iggy Pop wrote those words, I doubt he was referring to Quarantine enforcement because of Covid-19. He was probably following a breakup and feeling intense loneliness, a broken heart, and despair. Truth is, one can be isolated while surrounded by countless people. Isolation isn't just a physical state. No - it's an emotional state as well. Iggy Pop describes the state well when he reaches high pitch with the words: 'I need some lovin' Like an inmate needs a dime I need some lovin' Like a poet needs a rhyme...' I wouldn't go as far as Iggy in describing my state, but I am in a physical isolation right now. On day 6, I am experiencing my hometown only from the quarters of - well - a HOME thanks to the Israeli regulations for those like myself who decided to travel to the country during these challenging times. But my state of mind isn't isolated at all. Strangely, I feel more connected to the communities I am in and to the people in my life than I have in a long time. This past year was challenging to me in many ways, but I also took it as an opportunity to practice keeping a healthy MINDSET. A state of mind that is not isolated, but rather in connection to the world within me, and the world around me. Ironic, isn't it? To need to be in isolation in order to see how connected I truly feel.
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Something somewhat universal happens every night.
In nearly every corner of the world: parents tell, act out, or read bedtime stories to their little ones before they send them off to dreamland. Ever wonder why and when did humans began this tradition? Was it as early as in the caves with our cave men and cave women ancestors? Prior to the use of written language? Is that how parents passed to their children the history and news stories of the time? But then, why bedtime? Is it to unconsciously encourage imagination and richness in our subconscious so we can dream about impossible things and wake up to make the impossible - possible? Innovation starts with imagination. With curiosity. With discovery and exploration. Our DREAMS are the gateway to the most unthinkable (quite literally) thoughts, possibilities and stories. Encouraging children to invite dreams in, is an act of taking care of our species' evolution. It's simply what we do. It's how we evolve. A gateway to dreaming is the opening of our imagination and thus - our curiosity to evolve and make the sky NO limit to us humans. Stories make us feel, make us think, make us connect. Bedtime stories? They make us DREAM. "Howdy. Name's Bugsy. Bugsy Steel."
It can't be. Bugsy Steel was the biggest silent film star in Hollywood! Why in the world would he be in my dad's local gas station in the little town of Effrinson, Missouri? Julie stared at Bugsy's moving lips. She stared so much she forget to say her name altogether. "I didn't mean to... frighten ya, kid." But Julie wasn't frightened. She was starstruck for the first time in her life, and seeing Bugsy Steel right there in front of her register buying a pack of Chester Fields and some beef jerky was the highlight of her day. The highlight of her year. The highlight of her young eighteen year old life. "I know, I know. I'm a long way from home." Bugsy winked. And Julie's face became a rather dark shade of tomato. He reads minds. He reads minds! She pulled herself together just like what she learned to do in debate class when her fear of speaking would make her fingers tremble, and in a soft high pitch voice said: "You are Bugsy Steel!" "Shhh. Don't tell anyone." Bugsy pulled a cigarette out of his fresh new pack. "Got a light?" Julie looked down at her hands. Uh-oh. They were trembling just like in debate class. Breathe, Julie breathe! She took the lighter and tried to light it up, but her anxiety went rampant. "Ya gotta get those fingers checked, kid. Here, gimme." Bugsy took the lighter and lowered his chin with the cigarette in mouth to light it. His brow frowned as he inhaled and his lips grinned when the fire beamed out of the lighter and into the cigarette. In that moment Julie knew: she was IN LOVE. She was in love with a movie star by the name of Bugsy. In her head, a soft dreamy tune played as she spent the next moment envisioning a lifetime with this man in a true silent film genre: He would bring her flowers, she would blush, the title card would say 'Who, me?' And Bugsy would drop to his knees and lower his hat down. 'There is no one else but you, my love.' The title card would say. Julie wasn't the most imaginative when it came to romance. How would she be? She has never seen a love story in real life. Sure, she had her grandparents, but granny was sick of Grandpa and Grandpa was sick of himself, so love wasn't in abundance between the two of them. And ever since Julie's ma died from that horrible disease, pa had to take care of the shop and didn't have time for any love affairs. And the boys in Effrinson High were as interesting to Julie as a pile of bricks. So to Julie, love only existed in fairytales, or in dreams, or in movies. The silent ones that came by the little town of Effrinson. The ones starring the same ole' Bugsy Steel. "Thanks." Bugsy handed Julie the lighter, and for a brief moment - their fingers touched. Bugsy's thumb was rough, hardened, warm. Her petite small hand was tingly when she touched his. She felt a rush of warmth right down her body, down her spine and right to her fiery womanhood. Her sexual appetite in those days was just beginning to blossom, to find itself, and a random encounter with a real life movie star was all Julie needed to feel a brief moment of real life pleasure. Wow. She thought to herself. Wow. "You have a pretty braid, kid. That's a very pretty braid ya got." Who, me? Julie asked with her eyes. She must have gotten better with her silent communication skills because Bugsy responded timely: "Yes, I'm talkin' 'bout you, kid. I don't see anyone else here." He read my mind AGAIN. Julie's face has turned into a plum now. She shook her head dismissing the compliment, hiding shyly her uncomfortable face. "Forgive me, I been calling ya a kid, but now I see. You're a lady." Julie perked her head up. Bugsy lowered his hat just like he would in her silent film fantasy. He lowered his hat and uttered the words: 'Have a good day, lady with a pretty braid. Have a good day." And just like that, Bugsy turned around and opened the door like a movie star would open a tavern's barn door in a western. Julie's eyes followed him out as he entered his black shiny mustang. He drove away just like a movie star would, with fire smoking out of his engine, and a rainbow appearing in the sky. Julie sighed a sigh of relief, of a lived up dream, of a once in a life time unforgettable encounter with a real life movie star. She sighed like a woman after her first pleasure, after her first crush, after her first real love. She sighed just like a movie star in a silent film. And the title card would say: 'The End.' The first thing we do in life is - breathe.
When we pass on - we take our last breath. BREATHING is our first and foremost essential in life, isn't it? And yet, so many moments in life, when we find ourselves experiencing fear or anxiety - we catch our breaths as if they are going away or the completely stop breathing. ~Some moments literally take our breaths away~ Take your right to BREATHE. It starts with a simple inhale. Then - and exhale. And again. And again. And again. Today, while being introduced to the teachings of Kenny Werner at Berklee College Of Music and his book 'Effortless Mastery', an insight dropped to my lap:
In a society so RUSHED to get the next big thing, or BE the next big thing, or make the next big thing: PATIENCE IS AN ACT OF REBELLION. Be a time rebel. RESIST the urge to follow the rabbit hole of the success-desperate society we live in. reframe what success is for no one else but YOU. Dear Heart,
You are full today. Today - you are full. I open you every day, or at least I TRY to, but not every day you show up beaming out of my chest as if you were expanded into a ten feet tall balloon. Not every day you are filled with LOVE so unconditional and tender. Not every day you are full like this and not an inch of you is broken. Not every day. You've been broken before, dear Heart, so days like this one are especially special. When you were broken, you felt so fragile and small. I'd say you even felt hollow and your beat was faint, as if it was barely there. I know you will be broken again, dear Heart. I know it's just part of the human experience, and after all - here I am - a human, experiencing. But today, oh boy, today you showed me that your size is infinite, that your beat is louder than any words, that your touch is warm and comforting. Oh how I wish you'd stay full forever, my dear heart... How I wish. But I know. I know nothing is forever, even you. Because ends, ends are part of the human experience, and after all... I am merely a human, experiencing. Forever your opener, Me. Calling Tel-Aviv my 'hometown' is not the most accurate.
For one - Tel-Aviv is not a town. It's a buzzing small city on the Mediterranean sea. Plus I was born and raised in Jerusalem (also, NOT a town) and only moved to Tel-Aviv when I turned twelve. But I call Tel-Aviv my hometown because I spent my pivotal teen years and adapted to being a young adult in this 'town' so it will forever be a home for me. So now here I am, in my hometown. I double-masked, took multiple Covid tests and braved two planes and made it to the holy grounds of my home-town. I will spend the next ten or so days quarantined which let's face it - won't be too hard after living in mostly a 'stay-at-home' state this past year. But even though it will be days before I can walk through the actual streets of my home-town, I will stare at it from the rooftop, and travel back in mind to all those events and experiences that made this city my hometown, and took me on the journey from a child to a young woman. There’s still a pandemic, people.
Why are people flying places if they don’t want to wear masks?!? asking for a.... friend? Now seriously, it’s been a YEAR. A year! People that haven’t adapted and roll their eyes (yes I’m looking at you woman at seat 51A) when I ask them to mask up (because the flight attendants are over far and away scolding someone else who has not got the memo that the mask should cover the nose TOO) will save frowning wrinkle lines if they ACCEPT the new normal. But then again- same goes for me. My brow lines will thank me if I accept that there will always be shi$$y a$$holes that refuse to wear masks on planes. Sigh. Sure, I’ll accept. Right after I remind them to mask the F up. The day before an adventure is... an adventure:
I make my To-Do list and cross it out little by little throughout the day, and between the laundry, and the packing, and finding my headphones, and my passport, and buying that gift for that person, and the tying of loose ends, and the work that happens in the life of an artist who doesn't experience a weekend EVER... I jumble through life's unexpected twists and turns and reluctantly accept that the day doesn't quite go according to plan. But then again, nothing ever does. We plan to have a guide map, but just like in a national park visit - you start off with the map in your hand, but you quickly choose the highlights and decide to explore uncharted territories. Maybe YOU don't. But I do - I plan so I can find freedom within the plan. I plan so I can have a place to start, a jumping off into an abyss of an adventure. I plan to KNOW, so I can dip into the freighting waters of the UNKNOWN. Maybe we can take 'The Day Before' trips even when we don't go anywhere. ONE YEAR AGO exactly - I was invited to a friend's BBQ get-together.
ONE YEAR AGO exactly - I declined that invitation. I was hearing about Covid-19 a while before, but it was on this day a year ago - that it hit me that Covid-19 was here. It was close to home. And it was serious. A couple of weeks after there were official shut downs in my state and may others, and life hasn't been the same since. But it was ONE YEAR AGO when I started seeing, feeling, and following the signs. This is a somber anniversary, a melancholic one, an anniversary I wish had never happened. But knowing that we are merely a year in and vaccinations are being distributed in a relatively fast speed all over the globe... is making me hopeful that NEXT YEAR will be a joyful anniversary.Next year there will be gatherings, and hugs, and BBQ get-togethers that I will happily attend. Here's to next year! |
AuthorIn April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling. Categories
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Header Art: Daniel Landerman |