He brought fire from the sky
For ages now I've had a strange little fantasy floating around my head...strange in that it is all too simple. Usually it comes around when I think of the most restful, calming place I can be. Essentially there's a field and on a small mound in the field is a tree (That's where I lie). Its one of those brilliantly bright, lazy summer days and in the background somebody is playing simple tunes on a flute.
I always thought that if I could just get to that spot I could make any of my cares crumble away, and yesterday it did.
My friend Zach occasionally takes me on adventures and sometimes, If I'm lucky, he brings some pot cookies along. We headed out to Carmel Center on a bus, munching on a cookie while two grandmothers smiled unknowingly at the tall man with dred locks and the little girl sharing a home baked snack. We got off and began to penetrate a small residential area until out of nowhere a little trail into the woods appeared. It was a wadi (a watercourse that is dry except for rainfall) that cuts down through the Carmel mountain out to the ocean. The Carmel mountains are beautiful and covered in pine trees and stubborn looking brush that like to poke at your calves. Halfway down the mountain we came across some natural springs and that was when I heard it, the teasing flute notes wafting up from somewhere in the distance. Seeing as the springs held a crowded odd mix of religious folks and half-dressed I've-been-in-India-for-months Israelis we decided to push on. The flute was too faint anyways.
After a minute Zach perked his ears and said "oh its coming from the big springs! Lets just take a detour here." Up a small path we went and suddenly I was looking at some sort of ancient ruins in a little clearing. "Yeah, this whole area used to be Elija's hang out in biblical times" Zach, keeper of the factoids explained. "Have you heard of Elija's caves?" he asked, pointing at a bunch of small caves dotting the hillside. While Zach told me the tale of Elija I took in the surroundings. The sky was flush with mother of pearl colors, sun gleaming behind fat friendly clouds, creating the kind of picturesque sunset that calendars are made of. Around me was a small field of dead looking thistles and brush along with the remnants of an ancient Jewish ruin. On the hills across from us two large Muslim spires rose majestically to the sky waiting for prayer-time to call the faithful in. Adjacent was a bizarrely misplaced strip of apartment complexes.
The flute started up again and this time much closer. Zach and I walked forward and nearly ran into the flutist, who sat concealed behind a small shed near the ruins. At the site of his legs poking out from the side we quietly retraced our steps and took a seat on some low rocks to listen. The man's talent was obvious - slow, haunting notes rose up and pushed intangibly against the mountains, accentuating the ancient layers of history and paradox that hung heavily over the land. The moment was so pure, so perfect that I felt overwhelmed by the beauty of my surroundings and before I knew it the tears were squeezing out. It was one of those memories that you force yourself to remember. I went over everything around me and inscribed it in my mind - the enveloping Israeli heat, the short shrubs with snow-like fluff on them, the brilliant sunset and the majestic spires. The crisp sensation of fully being in the moment.
When some time had passed we got up and shambled down the path, gentle music still swirling around the air. The rest of the trip was an adventure in it of itself - aggressive donkeys, labrinth-like graveyards, and warm/soothing Israeli beach. The cherry on top - beer and humus on a beachfront bar.
However the part that holds the most sway were those 10 minutes of a fantasy come true.
I always thought that if I could just get to that spot I could make any of my cares crumble away, and yesterday it did.
My friend Zach occasionally takes me on adventures and sometimes, If I'm lucky, he brings some pot cookies along. We headed out to Carmel Center on a bus, munching on a cookie while two grandmothers smiled unknowingly at the tall man with dred locks and the little girl sharing a home baked snack. We got off and began to penetrate a small residential area until out of nowhere a little trail into the woods appeared. It was a wadi (a watercourse that is dry except for rainfall) that cuts down through the Carmel mountain out to the ocean. The Carmel mountains are beautiful and covered in pine trees and stubborn looking brush that like to poke at your calves. Halfway down the mountain we came across some natural springs and that was when I heard it, the teasing flute notes wafting up from somewhere in the distance. Seeing as the springs held a crowded odd mix of religious folks and half-dressed I've-been-in-India-for-months Israelis we decided to push on. The flute was too faint anyways.
After a minute Zach perked his ears and said "oh its coming from the big springs! Lets just take a detour here." Up a small path we went and suddenly I was looking at some sort of ancient ruins in a little clearing. "Yeah, this whole area used to be Elija's hang out in biblical times" Zach, keeper of the factoids explained. "Have you heard of Elija's caves?" he asked, pointing at a bunch of small caves dotting the hillside. While Zach told me the tale of Elija I took in the surroundings. The sky was flush with mother of pearl colors, sun gleaming behind fat friendly clouds, creating the kind of picturesque sunset that calendars are made of. Around me was a small field of dead looking thistles and brush along with the remnants of an ancient Jewish ruin. On the hills across from us two large Muslim spires rose majestically to the sky waiting for prayer-time to call the faithful in. Adjacent was a bizarrely misplaced strip of apartment complexes.
The flute started up again and this time much closer. Zach and I walked forward and nearly ran into the flutist, who sat concealed behind a small shed near the ruins. At the site of his legs poking out from the side we quietly retraced our steps and took a seat on some low rocks to listen. The man's talent was obvious - slow, haunting notes rose up and pushed intangibly against the mountains, accentuating the ancient layers of history and paradox that hung heavily over the land. The moment was so pure, so perfect that I felt overwhelmed by the beauty of my surroundings and before I knew it the tears were squeezing out. It was one of those memories that you force yourself to remember. I went over everything around me and inscribed it in my mind - the enveloping Israeli heat, the short shrubs with snow-like fluff on them, the brilliant sunset and the majestic spires. The crisp sensation of fully being in the moment.
When some time had passed we got up and shambled down the path, gentle music still swirling around the air. The rest of the trip was an adventure in it of itself - aggressive donkeys, labrinth-like graveyards, and warm/soothing Israeli beach. The cherry on top - beer and humus on a beachfront bar.
However the part that holds the most sway were those 10 minutes of a fantasy come true.