reflections on the Holy Land

The real intent of this solitary pint, post-music. To record some thoughts on the eve of the journey to where we have not been. The land of Moses and of Rameses, of Petra and Jerusalem. Walk softly on the ground, for buried their are eons. Buried there run civilizations of ancient days and miraculous wonders and ...

Oh what one might say. The next time you sit down and read this you'll have been to Giza, the Siq, and the Dome of the Rock. The question that seems absurd yet legitimate, of surmounting importance because of its seeming obviousness is thus: will you be wiser simply by having been there?

I think yes, but do not know. I think surely yet could not know for certain. It is ever so. But it is the language in which to be thinking pre-trip, for that - after the wonder and photos and sand and relief have faded - that wisdom is what must be left. It is that advancement derived from travel that is addictive, not just the escapism. The principle of growth.

There are old emails from German train stations to jv that could be elevated. There are nights such as these in which the phoenician letters are free-flowing that, you think, could be drawn together to some coherent purpose. If you could see it.

Until then, the duty is simply one of recording, with the hope the words may sort themselves. A consummation devoutly to be wished.

And for this trip which was hatched with C. in mind and will now take place without her, bigger and louder and outdoors in old Jerusalem and through Rumm. Sometimes you need an hour after the infinite planning and thoughts, just to draw a line between past and future, because sometimes it is so hard.

A year at 1991 which seems a minute. Picchu. "I had a dream/it's not impossible.". How we could go on. And on.

Sociable. Hell ya. Obama!

(Interlude)