Happiness - no doubt there is much of it now: knowing and simple happiness; happiness from the so-called “little” things in life, like the warmth of the sun on the face or a delightful conversation with a friend.
Today before noontime I went towards the Copley Place mall in order to change some foreign money that I had left from my recent trip abroad. When I reached the area in-between the Christian Science Church and the beautiful pool which stretches alongside it, I decided to sit on a bench and enjoy the pleasant sun. It turned out to be a most wonderful experience. While sitting there, I immediately noticed the change in my view of things. Things that were once discovered are now looked at with a familiar eye. I looked at the water of the pool, admired its ever-so-light wrinkled waves, and felt the extinguished nature of life, the ken that life will not continue forever, that my batteries are indeed being used up, and that there is even a sense of farewell, of saying goodbye, in my view of today that did not exist in my view in the past, when I was younger. Indeed, we are passing guests in this world and we get to enjoy its fruits, and like a women who were dying from cancer said on a TV Show which I watched with a friend in Israel: what we receive from this world, which is so rich in resources and so generous, is so much greater than what we could ever give back. What we give to this world is so little in comparison to what it gives to us: it gives us light, and water and food and the ability to love others and the opportunity to do and create what we love and believe in, and so, so much more. And even more so, it gives us the most wonderful things with an unimaginable generosity and without condition – like a true friend.
I laid down there like a lizard on the bench for a good half-an-hour, maybe also snoozed a bit. It was a rare time of the day in which the warmth of the sun and the chill of mid-September’s wind were mixed in a perfect equilibration. One warmed my body with immeasurably pleasant warmth and the other chilled it with a cool breeze that was so pleasant it was tickling, and as long as this rare statuesque between the two was not interfered, I simply couldn’t reach the decision to get up from the bench. I was waiting for the warmth of the sun or the chill of the wind to grow stronger, waiting for it to become too hot or too cold so that I would want to get up and go on my way… And while I was lying down on the bench, I suddenly saw passing in the purely blue sky above me a stunningly beautiful cloud, the kind that is so wonderful that it is experienced as a revelation. It was so breathtaking and delicate, like a celestial drawing.
In the end, indeed the warmth of the sun’s rays overcame the chilled air and it finally brought me to getting up, not without wondering about the essence of this singular moment of decision, which is so specific yet so random - the particular instant in which it is decided in us to do something, like to go on my way after such a wonderful rest on a bench by the church, next to its elongated reflection pool.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
September 5, 2011
Concert at Burg Namedy Castle and Visit to Katzenelnbogen
On Sunday, September 4 we travelled from Sossmar to Andernach, approximately 400 killometers. We arrived at Burg Namedy castle at around 4 pm.
It’s been an absolute pleasure to visit the breathtaking Burg Namedy castle and to play a concert with Andrei at its magnificent concert hall. Following the concert, we were invited to a dinner with Princess von Hohenzollern and her son and guests. I enjoyed the lively conversation and the extraordinary wine which came from the neighboring winery.
Throughout my visit, I was deeply impressed with the Princess’ inspiring love for art, and her passion for sharing it with the community. We were all humbled by her friendly character and wonderful personal warmth. It demonstrated to me that you can not be a great person without being a real human being. I appreciated her willingness to take the time to talk with us in length about the joys and challenges of owning and operating the castle.
The following morning, the Princess graciously gave us a personal tour of the castle. It was fascinating to hear about its rich history, and to appreciate the true nature of the Burg Namedy castle as a home for the Princess and her family. I also enjoyed very much listening to Andrei and playing myself on the grand pianos in the two distinctively different and equally beautiful blue and red music rooms.
After a heartfelt farewell from the Princess, we drove from Andernach to the town of Katzenelnbogen, where my ancestor Rabbi Meir Katzenelnbogen was born in 1482. Upon the news of our arrival, the Mayor of Katzenelnbogen, Horst Klöppel, invited us to meet with him and Uwe Welker in his office. It was a wonderful meeting and I am very grateful for their hospitality. We were photographed together and Mayor Klöppel kindly gave me a coat of arms bearing the Lion symbol of Katzenelnbogen and the book “Katzenelnbogen und der Einrich” by Rev. Rudolf Herold. I told the Mayor that thirty-two years ago my parents and I visited Mr. Herold at his house in Katzenelnbogen.
Following our meeting with the Mayor, we went to visit the Katzenelnbogen castle. I vividly remembered the stunning castle and felt a strong feeling of homecoming. It functioned as a hotel and restaurant until recently and is currently vacant. I thought to myself with a smile that if I lived in it, my address would be: Eyran Katsenelenbogen, the castle of Katzenelnbogen, Katzenelnbogen.
These two fairytale visits, to Burg Namedy on September 4, 2011 and to Katzenelnbogen the following day, would not have taken place without the good intention and resourcefulness of Gerhard and Bettina Hummer. I cannot express how moved I am by their miraculous friendship and how inspired I am by their kind, respectful and peaceful human nature.
In the photos above:
1. Burg Namedy Castle in Andernach
2. Arriving at Katzenelnbogen
3. From left to right: Gerhard Hummer, Edmitro Vanella, Eyran Katsenelenbogen, Mayor of Katzenelnbogen Horst Klöppel, Andrej Ivanovitch, Uwe Welker (v.l.)
4. Eyran Katsenelenbogen at the castle of Katzenelnbnogen
On Sunday, September 4 we travelled from Sossmar to Andernach, approximately 400 killometers. We arrived at Burg Namedy castle at around 4 pm.
It’s been an absolute pleasure to visit the breathtaking Burg Namedy castle and to play a concert with Andrei at its magnificent concert hall. Following the concert, we were invited to a dinner with Princess von Hohenzollern and her son and guests. I enjoyed the lively conversation and the extraordinary wine which came from the neighboring winery.
Throughout my visit, I was deeply impressed with the Princess’ inspiring love for art, and her passion for sharing it with the community. We were all humbled by her friendly character and wonderful personal warmth. It demonstrated to me that you can not be a great person without being a real human being. I appreciated her willingness to take the time to talk with us in length about the joys and challenges of owning and operating the castle.
The following morning, the Princess graciously gave us a personal tour of the castle. It was fascinating to hear about its rich history, and to appreciate the true nature of the Burg Namedy castle as a home for the Princess and her family. I also enjoyed very much listening to Andrei and playing myself on the grand pianos in the two distinctively different and equally beautiful blue and red music rooms.
After a heartfelt farewell from the Princess, we drove from Andernach to the town of Katzenelnbogen, where my ancestor Rabbi Meir Katzenelnbogen was born in 1482. Upon the news of our arrival, the Mayor of Katzenelnbogen, Horst Klöppel, invited us to meet with him and Uwe Welker in his office. It was a wonderful meeting and I am very grateful for their hospitality. We were photographed together and Mayor Klöppel kindly gave me a coat of arms bearing the Lion symbol of Katzenelnbogen and the book “Katzenelnbogen und der Einrich” by Rev. Rudolf Herold. I told the Mayor that thirty-two years ago my parents and I visited Mr. Herold at his house in Katzenelnbogen.
Following our meeting with the Mayor, we went to visit the Katzenelnbogen castle. I vividly remembered the stunning castle and felt a strong feeling of homecoming. It functioned as a hotel and restaurant until recently and is currently vacant. I thought to myself with a smile that if I lived in it, my address would be: Eyran Katsenelenbogen, the castle of Katzenelnbogen, Katzenelnbogen.
These two fairytale visits, to Burg Namedy on September 4, 2011 and to Katzenelnbogen the following day, would not have taken place without the good intention and resourcefulness of Gerhard and Bettina Hummer. I cannot express how moved I am by their miraculous friendship and how inspired I am by their kind, respectful and peaceful human nature.
In the photos above:
1. Burg Namedy Castle in Andernach
2. Arriving at Katzenelnbogen
3. From left to right: Gerhard Hummer, Edmitro Vanella, Eyran Katsenelenbogen, Mayor of Katzenelnbogen Horst Klöppel, Andrej Ivanovitch, Uwe Welker (v.l.)
4. Eyran Katsenelenbogen at the castle of Katzenelnbnogen
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
June 1, 2011
Outside, a unbearably pleasant wind is blowing. From time to time it can be felt also inside the apartment. I am sitting at my regular sofa-corner, surrounded by pillows, a green mechanical pencil held in my hand, and with it I write on the topmost page of a loose bunch of papers which are placed against my leg on one of the sofa’s pillows – my favorite one due to its smaller, more compact size and practical trapeze shape – against the hard cover score of Mussorgski’s “Pictures at an Exhibition” that serve now at a portable writing surface. This is one of the positions which I fondly call “Nirvana Positions” – one in which it is possible to stay for a long time. But already now, after writing less than a half of a page, I am forced to change the position of my legs and already feel a weak muscular pain sneaking into the pinkie of my writing right hand, surprisingly.
Not too long ago, about a week or so, while sitting here at the same sofa corner, I experienced a feeling of wonderful balance, as I was situated amongst the objects which accompany my life, and I made up my mind to describe soon in detail the living room of my current apartment in Boston, situated close to Symphony Hall and the New England Conservatory where I studied from 1993 and have been teaching, for its Preparatory School and School of Continuing Education, since 1996.
Outside, distance thunders thunder, rolling in the uproar of their non-evil violence, as if angry on this world underneath which refuses to be cleaned by the rain they throw at. Against them, a lonely car alarm defies, and now it has stopped. Still the thunders continue to patrol the heavens, shattering as sea waves against the wall of human existence. An intimate line stretches now from my seat here at the sofa’s corner, through the wind which so pleasantly washes into the apartment and the rain pouring outside, and all the way to these distance thunders, echoing in a wonderful symphony of ferocious timpani drums.
Now, while I write, the thunders turned into a massive thunderstorm. They smash in horrific ear-deafening volume. The rain outside is raging and the wind grow stronger as well. I continue to seat here and write, filled with awe in the presence of the forces of Nature.
Not too long ago, about a week or so, while sitting here at the same sofa corner, I experienced a feeling of wonderful balance, as I was situated amongst the objects which accompany my life, and I made up my mind to describe soon in detail the living room of my current apartment in Boston, situated close to Symphony Hall and the New England Conservatory where I studied from 1993 and have been teaching, for its Preparatory School and School of Continuing Education, since 1996.
Outside, distance thunders thunder, rolling in the uproar of their non-evil violence, as if angry on this world underneath which refuses to be cleaned by the rain they throw at. Against them, a lonely car alarm defies, and now it has stopped. Still the thunders continue to patrol the heavens, shattering as sea waves against the wall of human existence. An intimate line stretches now from my seat here at the sofa’s corner, through the wind which so pleasantly washes into the apartment and the rain pouring outside, and all the way to these distance thunders, echoing in a wonderful symphony of ferocious timpani drums.
Now, while I write, the thunders turned into a massive thunderstorm. They smash in horrific ear-deafening volume. The rain outside is raging and the wind grow stronger as well. I continue to seat here and write, filled with awe in the presence of the forces of Nature.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
January 7, 2011
It is Friday, and tomorrow we are going back to teach at the conservatory after the Christmas break. I’m trying to figure out in my mind if we had two or three Saturdays off, but I’m too lazy to get up and look in the datebook.
Until last year I used to buy a yearly datebook from a company that would send it to me in the mail. I liked very much that particular datebook, and thought that it would be very difficult for me to switch to another one. About a year ago, when I wanted to order a new datebook, I found out that its price went up. Since during that time I was reviewing all my regular expenses in order to save, I decided not to order again the datebook and switch instead to a system of printing out weekly and monthly datebook pages from Outlook on the computer and paper-punching them into a folder. I thought that I would regret this cheep decision, and that every time I would use the new datebook I would be unhappy about not using the old beloved one. To my surprise, the complete opposite happened. The new system reveled itself to be much preferable to the old one. It allowed more writing space and also more flexibility, since you can add and remove pages easily as needed. But the real reason that I am telling all of this here and now is that this became a symbol and an example for me for how sometime we develop dependency on something and only after we give it up we understand how easy it is to live without it. This year I’m continuing my efforts to get rid of anything that is not needed. It is not easy, and I fully admit that because of my compulsive-obsessive tendency, I tend sometime to spend much valuable time on organizing instead of dedicating the time to create. The balance between the two things is problematic in my life, since I can spend days and months doing work that is related to music without getting to play at all. At the moment I don’t have a playing routine. On the other hand, I sit days and nights on the computer. There is always another email, always another press release to write, another webpage to design, another application for a grant, for studies, for work – it simply doesn’t end. Just now, for example, I sat before starting to write this and read emails. It took two hours, from 8:40 to 10:40 in the evening. I found another venue that it would be nice to try and perform in, called Loft in Köln, Germany.
All of this leads to the desire to get back to “One Time” and bring the book, which I started writing in 1989, to a point that it could be published (as it is really a diary, I deliberately refrain from saying “finished”). I admit that I am afraid to go back and read between its lines. Memory, even tough it is a gift of grace among the most beautiful and important in our lives, knows so well also how to pinch the heart. Again I will read the days of youth that have passed and will not return, experience my love in the magic of its youth days which have since matured. It is not easy. And still, there is no choice. I wish that the same way the new datebook brought joy to my life after I feared sadness, so would the renewed reading in “One Time”, in order to bring the book to its publication, would bring a new wind of happiness in my ripening life.
Until last year I used to buy a yearly datebook from a company that would send it to me in the mail. I liked very much that particular datebook, and thought that it would be very difficult for me to switch to another one. About a year ago, when I wanted to order a new datebook, I found out that its price went up. Since during that time I was reviewing all my regular expenses in order to save, I decided not to order again the datebook and switch instead to a system of printing out weekly and monthly datebook pages from Outlook on the computer and paper-punching them into a folder. I thought that I would regret this cheep decision, and that every time I would use the new datebook I would be unhappy about not using the old beloved one. To my surprise, the complete opposite happened. The new system reveled itself to be much preferable to the old one. It allowed more writing space and also more flexibility, since you can add and remove pages easily as needed. But the real reason that I am telling all of this here and now is that this became a symbol and an example for me for how sometime we develop dependency on something and only after we give it up we understand how easy it is to live without it. This year I’m continuing my efforts to get rid of anything that is not needed. It is not easy, and I fully admit that because of my compulsive-obsessive tendency, I tend sometime to spend much valuable time on organizing instead of dedicating the time to create. The balance between the two things is problematic in my life, since I can spend days and months doing work that is related to music without getting to play at all. At the moment I don’t have a playing routine. On the other hand, I sit days and nights on the computer. There is always another email, always another press release to write, another webpage to design, another application for a grant, for studies, for work – it simply doesn’t end. Just now, for example, I sat before starting to write this and read emails. It took two hours, from 8:40 to 10:40 in the evening. I found another venue that it would be nice to try and perform in, called Loft in Köln, Germany.
All of this leads to the desire to get back to “One Time” and bring the book, which I started writing in 1989, to a point that it could be published (as it is really a diary, I deliberately refrain from saying “finished”). I admit that I am afraid to go back and read between its lines. Memory, even tough it is a gift of grace among the most beautiful and important in our lives, knows so well also how to pinch the heart. Again I will read the days of youth that have passed and will not return, experience my love in the magic of its youth days which have since matured. It is not easy. And still, there is no choice. I wish that the same way the new datebook brought joy to my life after I feared sadness, so would the renewed reading in “One Time”, in order to bring the book to its publication, would bring a new wind of happiness in my ripening life.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
October 3, 2010
Admittedly, it took a long time for me to get back to my blog – the last time I wrote here was a mere four months ago. I guess there are few reasons for this delay. First, it took me a while to become clearer about what belongs in this public blog, which is more associated with my musical career, versus in a diary or an autobiographic book which are more connected to one’s personal life. The initial ideal of unifying all writings into one truthful literal form seems now immature, unpractical and undesirable. It could be an immense experience to strive for complete truthfulness and honesty in a public blog, but I realize that this is not my intention or desire.
Being honest means that every time the thought crosses your mind to not say or not write something, you make a conscious effort and attempt to do so, to express your ever unfolding truth, unless you find a concrete reason to hold back and not share your evolving feelings or thoughts. I love these moments, and they occur every day, when I’m talking with someone, and suddenly I want to say something but immediately hesitate. Then I think to myself “sure, I can say this, why not” and I do so. However, in different social environments we choose to be more open and in others more closed. With certain people we are naturally more revealing and with others less. With a true friend, it is wonderful how we can opt for honesty whenever we think “should I say this or not”? That honesty leads to human growth. It strengthens the friendship and helps us to better know ourselves.
Another reason for my illustrious procrastination with regards to writing this blog is my clinging to the present. I always feel that writing something terns it from being the present into being the past. In a brutal way of saying it, writing an experience kills it. It becomes something else – a memory. Everything I write is always in one form or another a diary, since I think that life is interesting enough as it is and I don’t have the need to invent fictional events or characters, but wish to focus on understanding what is already there and really happening. But once I describe my experience in writing, the act itself of writing feels like a confession that now that experience had become a memory; and a memory is always of something that had passed. Instead of experiencing the moment itself, by writing it I make it into a thing of the past. And while the present can be so joyful - its pure bliss tainted only by the fear of its nearing end, when it also will become a past - the memory of the past is always intertwined with some sadness because of the simple fact that it had passed.
We are historians of our lives, theoreticians of our compositions. I keep telling my students that the way we work on music is like looking at a single frame of a film before running the film again. The ability to isolate a single musical element and master it independently before putting it back into the context of the whole piece leads to virtuosity. More so, the ability to observe a single moment in life in depth leads to greater personal happiness and peacefulness. In the future, the present will become the past. Then it will be time to remember it and learn.
Being honest means that every time the thought crosses your mind to not say or not write something, you make a conscious effort and attempt to do so, to express your ever unfolding truth, unless you find a concrete reason to hold back and not share your evolving feelings or thoughts. I love these moments, and they occur every day, when I’m talking with someone, and suddenly I want to say something but immediately hesitate. Then I think to myself “sure, I can say this, why not” and I do so. However, in different social environments we choose to be more open and in others more closed. With certain people we are naturally more revealing and with others less. With a true friend, it is wonderful how we can opt for honesty whenever we think “should I say this or not”? That honesty leads to human growth. It strengthens the friendship and helps us to better know ourselves.
Another reason for my illustrious procrastination with regards to writing this blog is my clinging to the present. I always feel that writing something terns it from being the present into being the past. In a brutal way of saying it, writing an experience kills it. It becomes something else – a memory. Everything I write is always in one form or another a diary, since I think that life is interesting enough as it is and I don’t have the need to invent fictional events or characters, but wish to focus on understanding what is already there and really happening. But once I describe my experience in writing, the act itself of writing feels like a confession that now that experience had become a memory; and a memory is always of something that had passed. Instead of experiencing the moment itself, by writing it I make it into a thing of the past. And while the present can be so joyful - its pure bliss tainted only by the fear of its nearing end, when it also will become a past - the memory of the past is always intertwined with some sadness because of the simple fact that it had passed.
We are historians of our lives, theoreticians of our compositions. I keep telling my students that the way we work on music is like looking at a single frame of a film before running the film again. The ability to isolate a single musical element and master it independently before putting it back into the context of the whole piece leads to virtuosity. More so, the ability to observe a single moment in life in depth leads to greater personal happiness and peacefulness. In the future, the present will become the past. Then it will be time to remember it and learn.
Monday, May 31, 2010
May 30, 2010
Today I found myself wondering about my personal and public identity. Many questions rose: what to keep to myself and what to share? Do I share my creative process, such as preparing a piece and practicing it, or only the final outcome, such as a recording or public performance? Is there a line between the two, the creative process and its outcome? Are we all interested in the so called final artwork, or in the entire process which leads to its creation?
To be honest, I have my answer to these questions. I don’t think there is a line between creating and a creation. An artwork, as masterful as it may be, is never finished. What you see in a concert and on the stage or hear on a recording, is just another practice session, only that this time it is in front of the public.
I have been using the internet to explore my boundaries in regard to personal versus public, posting video clips documenting my creative process, and sharing it with viewers who were supportive and made interesting comments and suggestions. I also have been writing this online diary. But all along I am also feeling apprehensive about it. Is it effective to share more than just the finished product? Is it the “right thing” to do to share the process with others? Why is it quite uncommon? And is it productive or counterproductive? Should one cater to people’s tendency to admire “greatness” or fight that tendency? The more I think about it, I realize that all of these doubts are my fears, and that the desire to share and the belief in the value of sharing, while respecting the privacy of others and myself, is real.
Early on, I realized that writing an open diary is very different than writing a personal one, and I can’t see how one can replace the other. The real reason for writing a diary is that it wonderfully serves one’s human growth. Once the diary is public, a lot of attention is given to the question of what can and can not be comfortably shared. When you write a private diary, you can commit yourself to the process of exploring your truth without having to be so sensitive to issues of privacy concerning yourself and others.
What is interesting to see is that the sense of boundaries regarding what can be comfortably made public and what is enjoyed kept personal was realized within myself and not imposed on me by any other entity, such as my readers or listeners. It reminded me how a few years ago I was playing with a child of a friend. The child was throwing things in the room, testing his boundaries. He expected me to stop him and forbid him to keep throwing. But to his surprise, I instead started also throwing things in the room with him, even more vigorously than him. That way I allowed him to experience his own boundaries. He stopped throwing the objects out of his own will, and felt empowered to make the decision to impose his own boundaries. For me this was an educational triumph.
I feel a little bit like that child now, questioning my own boundaries regarding what to share or not share online. But still, I feel that many times we are too apprehensive about privacy. If there is a benefit to more than ourselves in our sharing our knowledge and creative experience with others, we should do so.
To be honest, I have my answer to these questions. I don’t think there is a line between creating and a creation. An artwork, as masterful as it may be, is never finished. What you see in a concert and on the stage or hear on a recording, is just another practice session, only that this time it is in front of the public.
I have been using the internet to explore my boundaries in regard to personal versus public, posting video clips documenting my creative process, and sharing it with viewers who were supportive and made interesting comments and suggestions. I also have been writing this online diary. But all along I am also feeling apprehensive about it. Is it effective to share more than just the finished product? Is it the “right thing” to do to share the process with others? Why is it quite uncommon? And is it productive or counterproductive? Should one cater to people’s tendency to admire “greatness” or fight that tendency? The more I think about it, I realize that all of these doubts are my fears, and that the desire to share and the belief in the value of sharing, while respecting the privacy of others and myself, is real.
Early on, I realized that writing an open diary is very different than writing a personal one, and I can’t see how one can replace the other. The real reason for writing a diary is that it wonderfully serves one’s human growth. Once the diary is public, a lot of attention is given to the question of what can and can not be comfortably shared. When you write a private diary, you can commit yourself to the process of exploring your truth without having to be so sensitive to issues of privacy concerning yourself and others.
What is interesting to see is that the sense of boundaries regarding what can be comfortably made public and what is enjoyed kept personal was realized within myself and not imposed on me by any other entity, such as my readers or listeners. It reminded me how a few years ago I was playing with a child of a friend. The child was throwing things in the room, testing his boundaries. He expected me to stop him and forbid him to keep throwing. But to his surprise, I instead started also throwing things in the room with him, even more vigorously than him. That way I allowed him to experience his own boundaries. He stopped throwing the objects out of his own will, and felt empowered to make the decision to impose his own boundaries. For me this was an educational triumph.
I feel a little bit like that child now, questioning my own boundaries regarding what to share or not share online. But still, I feel that many times we are too apprehensive about privacy. If there is a benefit to more than ourselves in our sharing our knowledge and creative experience with others, we should do so.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
May 26, 2010
It’s almost 11:30 pm. There are a few important things that I could be doing now, but I’m too tired to do anything, and the only thing that I feel like doing is writing a few words in this ongoing diary experiment.
The exciting news of the day: A 4 night upcoming Las Vegas vacation at the Luxor hotel was booked earlier this morning. Magnificent buffets – here I come!!
On a more spiritual side: last night was a night of vivid and soul opening dreams. I woke up very early and wanted to write them down, but was too sleepy to actually do so. In those moments physical awaking and psychological awakening, I wish there was a way to just think these thoughts and have them written down by the force of the mind, without any need to move or even speak. I’m sure the day will come when you can write on a computer or other devise by thinking. At these moments, even whispering seems to interfere with the gentle state of consciousness, even though I was fully awake at the time of desiring to write my post dreaming thoughts down. Instead, I fell back to sleep…
But I do remember the two dreams: in one, I dreamt that my mother was flying planes in the skies of Tel-Aviv as a young woman. I’m holding above my head a sheet of nylon, trying to understand how she managed to fly holding this piece like a parachute above her head. She then appears and demonstrates how she puts it on, wearing it more like one would wear a safety vest which road workers put on so that they are seen by traffic. While I was actually trying to hold the nylon sheet above my head in order to fly, she is wearing it on. In the second dream, which was connected to the first, I am seated to a long table at an Israeli large meal event, and I’m singing with a microphone a song. I remember clearly its title. It was Crashing on the Moon. I become quite emotional while singing it and my voice cracks. It is a revelation, and everyone is responding with great enthusiasm. I wanted to write down the melody at that time as I was waking up, but as I said, didn’t raise myself out of slumber to do so.
Bobby (Barbara) Altman, my former student who recently passed away and who I mentioned in a previous entry, is definitely connected to the first dream, because she was a pilot. Her greatest passion in life was flying small plans, and she was proudly involved with constructing a historical plan according to its original plans. Her and her teammates took years to complete it, but they did fly it in the end.
Crashing on the Moon is very symbolic. I sense how truthful this metaphor is yet would have to think about it more in order to see if I can understand its possible meanings. I don’t think anyone ever crashed on the moon, or at least I’m not familiar with such event. While you expect a crashing object to fall from the sky onto earth, crashing on the moon is in a way absurd and seems to have a very different meaning. I also remember that in the dream, crashing on the moon related to my mother, and I think that Bobby replaced her at the end. I remember her standing at the entrance to my parent’s house in Tel-Aviv wearing a brown leather pilot jacket with a zipper at the end of my dream.
Many times I realize that dreams have a purpose of warning, not so much in the sense that something bad is bound to happen and they predict it, but more in the sense of raising our awareness level by presenting metaphoric images of scenes that reflect on the dynamics of our lives. Interpreting these metaphors seems to help me understand my life better, and subsequently to steer away from possible icebergs I may be heading towards. That is why I think is very important to stay in tune with oneself and with the development of one’s consciousness.
I had no idea I was going to write about dreams. It’s wonderful how the writing just takes over and leads to wherever it does. Well, good night for now.
The exciting news of the day: A 4 night upcoming Las Vegas vacation at the Luxor hotel was booked earlier this morning. Magnificent buffets – here I come!!
On a more spiritual side: last night was a night of vivid and soul opening dreams. I woke up very early and wanted to write them down, but was too sleepy to actually do so. In those moments physical awaking and psychological awakening, I wish there was a way to just think these thoughts and have them written down by the force of the mind, without any need to move or even speak. I’m sure the day will come when you can write on a computer or other devise by thinking. At these moments, even whispering seems to interfere with the gentle state of consciousness, even though I was fully awake at the time of desiring to write my post dreaming thoughts down. Instead, I fell back to sleep…
But I do remember the two dreams: in one, I dreamt that my mother was flying planes in the skies of Tel-Aviv as a young woman. I’m holding above my head a sheet of nylon, trying to understand how she managed to fly holding this piece like a parachute above her head. She then appears and demonstrates how she puts it on, wearing it more like one would wear a safety vest which road workers put on so that they are seen by traffic. While I was actually trying to hold the nylon sheet above my head in order to fly, she is wearing it on. In the second dream, which was connected to the first, I am seated to a long table at an Israeli large meal event, and I’m singing with a microphone a song. I remember clearly its title. It was Crashing on the Moon. I become quite emotional while singing it and my voice cracks. It is a revelation, and everyone is responding with great enthusiasm. I wanted to write down the melody at that time as I was waking up, but as I said, didn’t raise myself out of slumber to do so.
Bobby (Barbara) Altman, my former student who recently passed away and who I mentioned in a previous entry, is definitely connected to the first dream, because she was a pilot. Her greatest passion in life was flying small plans, and she was proudly involved with constructing a historical plan according to its original plans. Her and her teammates took years to complete it, but they did fly it in the end.
Crashing on the Moon is very symbolic. I sense how truthful this metaphor is yet would have to think about it more in order to see if I can understand its possible meanings. I don’t think anyone ever crashed on the moon, or at least I’m not familiar with such event. While you expect a crashing object to fall from the sky onto earth, crashing on the moon is in a way absurd and seems to have a very different meaning. I also remember that in the dream, crashing on the moon related to my mother, and I think that Bobby replaced her at the end. I remember her standing at the entrance to my parent’s house in Tel-Aviv wearing a brown leather pilot jacket with a zipper at the end of my dream.
Many times I realize that dreams have a purpose of warning, not so much in the sense that something bad is bound to happen and they predict it, but more in the sense of raising our awareness level by presenting metaphoric images of scenes that reflect on the dynamics of our lives. Interpreting these metaphors seems to help me understand my life better, and subsequently to steer away from possible icebergs I may be heading towards. That is why I think is very important to stay in tune with oneself and with the development of one’s consciousness.
I had no idea I was going to write about dreams. It’s wonderful how the writing just takes over and leads to wherever it does. Well, good night for now.
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