Monday, March 31, 2014, and the time is one. It is shortly after 5 am and I’m sitting at the kitchen table to write. I came back from a three weeks long vacation visiting with my parents and friends, and I’m still Jetlagged. My friend, who went with me, will only come back in a week, and I find myself in a serene solitude in the house, sleeping a lot in one of the rooms upstairs – letting myself be forgotten by the world. And now, after the world itself has fallen asleep too, is a good time to write to it, and to ask its people to remember me when it wakes up.
How sad would it be if one day all that I am will be forgotten, no one will
listen to my music or read my words, and all my old photographs and personal
documents will find themselves in the local dumpster. All that is electronic
will also be deleted, and with a push of a button history will erase my
Most of us know that this is our destiny and seem to accept it, but sinking
into the abyss of oblivion is not something I yearn for. I dream that people will
still listen to the music I have recorded and read the words I have written
long after I die. If there was any guarantee of that today, it would have made
me very happy.
Our life on this earth is limited, and in relative terms extremely short. I
believe that we are holy energy, and that every moment of our life is precious.
One day, I hope, technology will be able to capture and document all the energy
that we exert. Somewhere in the universe all of this energy must be recorded.
And when that day comes, we will be able to stop differentiating between life
and Art, because Art is Life and Life is Art.
I started to write the book “One Time” in 1991. It is an autobiographic
philosophic diary which I still work on today. The nature of this book, and its
value, may require it to be written throughout my life. Much of the challenge
in its writing process is related to the artificial question what fils in it
and what does not.
“One Time” is written in Hebrew, and has about 250 pages as of today. It’s form
is a diary which is sandwiched between the beginning and the ending of a short
story which depicts the death of its writer. The short story was written while
I was in bed with a high fever, and the physical pain described in it was
actually felt as a real pain experienced while writing. Because it was written
while I was with a fever, the experience of writing it has always been
remembered as a mystical process of passive channeling.
It has not been easy to continue writing “One Time” over the years. The writing
requires a great deal of mental energy, and often it is difficult to get
inspired to write during a busy life of working and attending to the practical
aspects of life. But it is in the writing process that my happiness lies. It is
so wonderful to simply sit, like now, at the kitchen table while everyone is
asleep, and to express my thoughts and feelings. And every time I sit to write,
I feel that I could write forever. In every moment of self expression the
entire mental experience of life is hidden. We are full of thoughts and
feelings and can endlessly explore and reveal them by simply sitting and
writing. Writing is the workout of the soul. It cleanses it and sharpens the
mind. I always feel more happy after I write than before I start.