March 25, 2014

Yesterday, during the day before last of my vacation with my friend, I drove by myself in the car north of the hotel along the large lake and descended at one of its hidden shores. I sat there under a eucalyptus tree and looked at the birds which were flying above the water. It was lovely, just being, without thinking too much… and when I got up to leave, the sun has already set and I was completely taken by the diminishing light and the soft wind, that became more noticeable only once I stood up, as it was blowing amongst the elongated eucalyptus leaves. It was great happiness being there alone and feeling safe, one with this beautiful nature. What else can I say?

March 31, 2014

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 existence forever.
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.