Holy Land
I walked these streets, centuries old
narrow, cobblestone, dark at times, at every corner a new surprise, a new magic.
The old city they call it with gates so it won’t spill over. One called the dung gate sealed in my memory, collective humans now long gone, living inside these walls and the waste they produced, hauling it outside this gate.
Ancient history was present and palpable in every crevice of the Jerusalem wall, yet shopkeepers aimed to do business with each passerby, oblivious to the ghosts of the past.
Muslims, Jews, Christians I encountered, all seemingly peaceful yet divided by walls and barbed wires.
“Why a place where appearance was peace, was subject to unforeseen turmoil, centuries old and persistent?” I asked myself.
My soul was alive as I walked these streets, my spirit joyous, and my body light skipping the uneven pavements.
This place of magic, bewilderment and sheer awe touched my heart so profoundly that the walls surrounding my own heart faded and paved an understanding of a new way of being.
A way that’s in alignment with the collective, a way of unprejudiced love, a way of openness toward the universe unhindered by confinement of walls whether external or internal from myself.
This new way of being, be with me forever.
