|  
          
             
              |  
                  
                     
                      |  The 
                          Purpose  of   HEALING - K.I.S.S. 
 - as stated 12 years ago - was and is
 
 to help me and my potential P E E R s
 
 "to HEAL ourselves into WHOLEness,
 
 and - by extension - all of CREATion!"
 |  |  
                           I focus my experiencing and awareness on being
 "a   pioneer of  Evolution 
                             in  learning  to  feel":
 I let my Body vibrate and my Heart 'womb'
 pain, shame, fear, boredom, powerlessness,
 so feelings can >heal >guide>fulfill>evolve,
 and ~~~ offer ~~~"goldmines"~~~ to us all!!
 "I 
                            want you to feel everything, every little thing!"
 |  |      K.I.S.S. - 
            L O G    2 
            0 0 8Keep It Simple Sweetheart
 whole&full-filled, never perfect&complete
 
    intro 
            to k.i.s.s.-log ~ library 
            of seven years ~ HOME 
            ~ contact 
            
 
 February 
            5,  
            Tuesday - between Arad 
            and Shoham
 
 back to past ~~~~~ 
            forward to future     
             
              | 
                  image of the day
 
 
   
                     
                      |  | Coming back from the morning-pool
 I am finding this "skype" announcement.
 On the average I get one quest like this
 from Arab countries per day,
 but this time I sat there for a while pondering,
 if I should answer.
 Hassan wrote the cryptic words~~~~~~~:
 "I'm writing a letter in 
                          order to get to know you.
 I won't forgive you as long as I live
 Is this your experience with life?"
 
 I decided to follow 
                          my present principle
 of not getting involved 
                          in any interaction
 
 ,
 which does not promise daily continuity
 of the "Healing-Learning PEERSHIP" I yearn 
                          for.
 Also,                                wants 
                          to communicate in Arabic,
 while I've given up investing superhuman efforts to 
                          conquer:
 
 
 |  |  
 |  
                  hodayot [thanksgivings] for 
                    today
 8:40
 My Body, 
                    my Partner,
 I give thanks to our neck, its blood-vessels, nerves and joints,
 remembering one excruciating attack of "stiffness" 
                    in 1986,
 when - following a talk-show with me on TV- a man wrote and 
                    invited me,
 to park my 
                    bus in his orchard and live there for a while unharassed 
                    by authorities,
 but who himself harassed me and when I did not succumb ,
 evicted me despite my physical immobility.
 
 
 
   I give thanks to all the "bugs" 
                    which I attract into my daily drama,and I ask our neck to no longer be
  [see 
                    an article about the "hard neck" of "God's 
                    people" in the Bible with the title]
 
   but - when irritated by a "bug" 
                    - to immediately turn around
 and discern the blessing in the curse, the fruitful in the 
                    frightful!
 |  
          I'll not communicate with MY PEER today. 
          Though I've only recently  promised 
          myself 
          to savor such communication daily from now on, 
          and did so with the elation of a heart in love, 
          I now feel estranged and cold and closed.
           
          So I'll have to do my "Finetuning 
          to My Present"  alone:
          
           
            
              | 
                   
                    | "Finetuning 
                        to My Present" in the morning - 11:00 at Arad!!!!
                        
                         The second "bug" yesterday, 
                        late at night, was this: 
 I had successfully recorded my "color-song" 
                        with the software "SoundForge",
 and now only needed to attach it to one of my two present 
                        "Sound-buttons",
 a green chacra, and a spiral,
 After Immanuel had taught me the process of doing this 
                        with the software "Flash",
 the ten steps or so took not more than a minute.
 But now, after Immanuel had installed my old, but familiar 
                        version of "Flash"
 on the new computer,
 I couldn't find the "Sound-Panel", try as I 
                        might.
                        
                        It was already 22:40
 and I wanted to watch the 9th episode of the 
                        series "Arab Work".
 This time I was eagerly awaiting the break for commercials
 and when it came, I hurried to skype Immanuel, ashamed 
                        to disturb him so late,
 especially since he had to go on flight the next early 
                        morning.
 He answered: "Aren't 
                        you watching 'Arab Work'?"
                        Last week, at Shoham, I recommended 
                        this program, poor as it is.
 
 During this and the second break he discovered what the 
                        bug was,
 and I could close the day with a very 
                        satisfying sound-images sculpture.
 
 But what was the "purpose" of having been forced 
                        to disturb my son?
 When the technical bug had disappeared,
 and I had wished him a good flight,
 he remembered sharing with me a great joy:
                        " the encounter between 
                        Tomer and Ro'ee was excellent."
                        
                        In the morning I had utilized my 
                        skyping to him about the first bug
 - the probably loss of the memory card of my cellphone-
 to tell him all I felt permitted to tell
 about the weekend interactions between Tomer and me,
 emphasizing some things, to which his father should pay 
                        special attention to.
 
 In the evening Immanuel drove to Tel-Aviv to bring Tomer 
                        and Ro'ee together.
 The idea is, that this son of one of Efrat's friend, a 
                        kindergardener age 25,
 would be Tomer's coach for 5 hours 3 times a week.
 Tomer was afraid, that a "shadow" might be attached 
                        to him,
 and it was our prayer, that there would be an emotional 
                        "click".
 
 Just before my skype-call about the "sound-panel" 
                        ,Tomer called Abba:
                        "It was so 'cool', that I already 
                        long for the next meeting on Thursday."
                        
                        Before that Tomer had asked again 
                        to be returned to "Geha",
 and his father had told him what I , too, had said to 
                        Tomer:
                        "Now that you experienced what 
                        environment is calming you,
 we must find out about such an environment outside 'Geha',
 which is after all a psychiatric hospital for sick people,
 and you are not sick, you are only terribly frustrated."
                        
                        Immanuel and I mentioned again the 
                        "boarding-school option",
 like "Neradim", 
                        an SOS Children's Village right here in Arad,
 about which I had informed him already .
 
 What I felt was joy and grate-full-ness, Immanuel's and 
                        my own.
 I wouldn't have received this closure of the day unless 
                        that bug in "Flash"....
 
   |    |  
                  
                    
                      |  
                          "Finetuning to 
                            My Present" in the evening -22:21 - at Shoham!!!! 
                               Little did I know, that the 
                            flexibility of my "neck" would be tested 
                            today,and I must admit, that in the middle of the test I 
                            failed ...
 This time it was not a technical bug,
 which seemed to waste my time and to prove me my dumbness
 (Immanuel - and so many gifted 
                            men before him - said:
 "Look it is really 
                            easy, why can't you....")
 but an extraordinary mess in 
                            my travel route to Shoham.
 
 Since my childhood traveling has been immensely stressful 
                            for Body.
 be it by car, by bus or even by train, so there I 
                            can at least stand up.
 Therefore any additional hardship on a journey is 
                            hard to accept.
 Today the hardship exceeded my ability to turn the 
                            frightful into the fruitful.
 
 I arrived at Beersheva 
                            bus station, passed over to the train station
 and - - - - - - found all its glass doors closed.
 No trains today.
 [They double and improve a certain rail passage].
 
   It was not the first time and 
                            I could have learnt from past experience.
 But the purpose of today's "travel bug" 
                            was not to teach me this...
 Even if a "bug" is the result of carelessness 
                            and lack of attention,
 my Higher Self, the 
                            producer and director of my daily drama,
 only utilizes the carelessness to introduce a "bug" 
                            into the play.
 If a "bug" is needed, some other circumstance 
                            would have been found,
 even if I had carefully inquired about the train's 
                            schedule.
 
 I went back to the bus-station, intending to take 
                            the bus to Tel-Aviv,
 and from there to take the train south again to the 
                            airport train station,
 where I usually arrive and from where Efrat was supposed 
                            to fetch me.
 But the crowds awaiting the bus from Beersheva to 
                            Tel-Aviv were such,
 that I turned away in dismay and caught a bus to Jerusalem,
 asking the driver to let me off as close to Shoham 
                            as possible.
 It was a driver with a black kippa, he never heard 
                            about Shoham...
 "It's close to the airport!" 
                            I needed to explain
 and together we decided that I should get off at Nakhshon 
                            junction.
 And from there?Another bus and more cars than I could could count 
                            and miles of walking...
 I even sat into a taxi for 3 minutes, until the driver 
                            said,
 he didn't feel like going to Shoham, and anyway it 
                            would cost 100 NIS.
 So I got out again, only to fall into the worst of 
                            traps:
 the driver, with whom I hitchhiked didn't know where 
                            to let me off.
 He didn't tell me, that the road from Modi'in would 
                            became "Highway 1".
 "So where is there a junction?" 
                            I asked in despair.
 "Only close to Tel-Aviv 
                            or --- maybe here - there's a sign "to Lod"."
 He let me out,
 but there was no junction, there was just the highway,
 and it was dark now.
 No taxi came along, and hitchhiking was impossible, 
                            even forbidden there.
 I was lost, like 
                            I was lost in the snow covered forests of the Pyrenees.
 All my sense of orientation had vanished.
 I walked and walked along the endlessly streaming 
                            vehicles,
 until a highway "to Petach-Tikva" split 
                            off from the highway number 1.
 I walked and walked and reached a T-junction, highway 
                            number 40,
 to the right: Petach-Tikva, to the left: to Lod.
 I remembered that road 10, 20, 30, 40 years ago....
 How can one cope with these racing highways everywhere.
 
 Efrat called me again, she would ask a taxi-driver 
                            at Shoham, she knew.
 I waited and waited at that T-junction, cars turning 
                            north or south.
 and a ditch ran behind me, filled with muddy rain-water,
 a rude choir of frogs added to the weirdness of the 
                            situation..
 "For what purpose did I stage this?" I asked 
                            inside.
 To my surprise the answer was right there:
 
 "You must adapt to 
                            this racing of your time-period.
 It is not enough that you know your way around in 
                            the desert,
 and have no problem to hitchhike on familiar routes 
                            .
 You set this experience up in order 
                            to train yourself!
 Just like you agreed to repair your cellphone not 
                            at Beersheva but at Modi'in,
 so that you would need to take your children's car 
                            and remember driving."
 
 It was then, that Efrat's taxi-driver 
                            called me.
 "I'm too far away from 
                            you, but you are on an excellent spot!
 Turn north and you'll soon reach "El-Al Junction!"
 
 Suddenly it was easy: I turned 
                            into the road to Petach-Tikva,
 I lifted my hand, and the 5th or 6th car stopped, 
                            an old man.
 When I told him my destination, he was annoyed :
 "Wouldn't it have been 
                            good for your health,
 if you had walked that short distance?"
 
 I defended myself: "If 
                            you knew how much I walked before",
 but we were already at El-Al 
                            Junctin and he let me off.
 At the bus station there a soldier told me,
 that a bus from the airport to Shoham was due in 13 
                            minutes.
 But I didn't have to wait that long,
 a car stopped to let a woman enter, I asked, if I 
                            could come with them,
 and they drove to Shoham and let me off 3 minutes 
                            from my destination.
 
 Efrat and Mika were at a Sound 
                            and Movement activity and not home.
 This permitted me some 20 minutes to "catch my 
                            breath".
 When they came, I I was in my room and did not meet 
                            them half way
 So Mika came around to my open door, calling: "Racheli, 
                            Racheli",
 and meeting me even wanted to be taken on my lap for 
                            a second.
 Most of the time she 
                            doesn't want to be held by anybody.
 It was as if she knew, that 
                            I needed some consolation....
 
 
 |    |  
 The bus-route from Arad via Shoket junction to Be'er 
            Shevaand the road along the train track from Be'er Sheva to Lehavim/Rahat:
  The road goes further north and passes by KiryatGat.
 My bus to Jerusalem drove through all its neighborhoods, but did NOT 
            pass by the train-station...!!!
 If it had, I could have taken the train from there.
 
 The bus then returned to the road north, passes through the Kiryat 
            Malachi Junction, better known by its pre-Israel name (forgot)
 goes on to Re'em Junction, better known by its pre-Israel name (forgot)
 from where the bus turned to the east - through Tal Shahar and Yesodot 
            - and let me off at Nachshon Junction.
 Since the only relevant map in English I 've discovered now, is this 
            "Touring 
            Map of Israel",
 "Mini Israel" is high-lighted, while Kibbutz Nachshon, important 
            in Israel's history as well as in my own, is left out,
 as well a "Neve-Shalom" 
            and the Latroun Junction next to the Latroun Trappist Monastery.
 Why on earth "Sha'alavim" on the way to Modi'in was important 
            for the map-makers , I don't know.
 
 
   The last, most difficult passage through the 
            Lod-PetachTikva Junction, can not even be guessed from this section.
 
  There were a few highlights after all:
 Somebody, I don't remember if it was a bus or a car, let me off at 
            Latroun junction.
 I walked up the road into the direction of my journey - as I always 
            do when hitchhiking -
 and this is what I saw: when I turned back: a glorious sunset.
 It was from this perspective - turning back - that I also got a glimpse 
            of the Latroun Trappist Monastery.
 
 
   Finally a car stopped - a religious woman, 
            but after a few moments she turned into the highway to Jerusalem,and I had to get off again.
 
 
   
 The next car was driven by a religious man and 
            his two kids who were reading the prayerbook.
 He let me off at the junction to his big village "Sha'alavim".
   There is a personal story connected with Latrun 
            , as there is a personal story connected with Sha'alavim, but no time 
            to tell .
 From the same junction - before running to the other 
            side to lift my hand again - I saw the following image:A huge bridge under construction - for the train to Jerusalem - changing 
            the familiar view.
 I had seen this view so often in the years 2001-2004,
 when I lived at Modi'in and took my daughter's kids to the pool at 
            Neve-Shalom 
            or to the Canada Forest,
 or when I hitchhiked to "Succah 
            in the Desert".during the "Desert Peacse Process", 
            for instance.
 
       
            
              | 
                  Nourishment from 
                    Others The 
                    radical loser, 2005, Translation: 
                    Nicholas Grindell.
 Following the renewed experience with 
                    Tomer,
 and the self-victimisation of young people in Western countries 
                    in general,
 and "terrorists" in the Middle East in particular,
 I want to study this article, which I discovered "by 
                    chance":
 "The article appeared in German 
                    in Der Spiegel on November 7, 2005. "Hans Magnus Enzensberger 
                    is one of modern Germany's most interesting and celebrated 
                    writers. Among his books of poetry are "The Sinking of 
                    the Titanic" and "Mausoleum". His prose works 
                    include "Europe, Europe" and "Civil Wars". Hans Magnus Enzensberger 
                    looks at the kind of ideological trigger required to ignite 
                    the radical loser - whether amok killer, murderer or terrorist 
                    - and make him explode.
 
 I. The isolated individual
 It is difficult to talk 
                    about the loser, and it is stupid not to. Stupid because there 
                    can be no definitive winner and because each of us, from the 
                    megalomaniac Bonaparte to the last beggar on the streets of 
                    Calcutta, will meet the same fate. Difficult because to content 
                    oneself with this metaphysical banality is to take an easy 
                    way out, as it ignores the truly 
                    explosive dimension of the problem, the political dimension. Instead of actually looking 
                    into the thousand faces of the loser, sociologists keep to 
                    their statistics: median value, standard deviation, normal 
                    distribution. It rarely occurs to them that 
                    they themselves might be among the losers. Their 
                    definitions are like scratching a wound: as Samuel Butler 
                    says, the itching and the pain only get worse. One thing is 
                    certain: the way humanity has 
                    organized itself – "capitalism", "competition", 
                    "empire", "globalization" 
                    – not only does the number of losers increase every 
                    day, but as in any large group, fragmentation soon sets in. 
                    In a chaotic, unfathomable process, the 
                    cohorts of the inferior, the defeated, the victims separate 
                    out. The loser may accept his 
                    fate and resign himself; the victim may demand satisfaction; 
                    the defeated may begin preparing for the next round. 
                    But the radical loser isolates himself, 
                    becomes invisible, guards his delusion, saves his energy, 
                    and waits for his hour to come. .....At last, this radical loser 
                    – he may be just fifteen and having a hard time with 
                    his spots – at last, he is master over life and death. 
                    ..... But anyone wishing to 
                    understand the radical loser would be well advised to go a 
                    little further back. Progress 
                    has not put an end to human suffering, but it has changed 
                    it in no small way. Over the past two centuries, the more 
                    successful societies have fought for and established new rights, 
                    new expectations and new demands. They have done away with 
                    the notion of an inevitable fate. They 
                    have put concepts like human dignity and human rights on the 
                    agenda. The have democratized the struggle for recognition 
                    and awakened expectations of 
                    equality which they are unable to fulfil. And 
                    at the same time, they have made sure that inequality is constantly 
                    demonstrated to all of the planet's inhabitants round the 
                    clock on every television channel. As a result, with every 
                    stage of progress, people's 
                    capacity for disappointment has increased Accordingly. .... Since the desire 
                    for recognition knows no limits, the pain threshold inevitably 
                    sinks and the affronts become more and more unbearable. The 
                    irritability of the loser increases with every improvement 
                    that he notices in the lot of others. The yardstick is never 
                    those who are worse off than himself. In his eyes, it is not 
                    they who are constantly being insulted, humbled and humiliated, 
                    but only ever him, the radical loser.... . The threatening powers 
                    that are out to get him are not hard to locate. The usual 
                    suspects are foreigners, secret services, Communists, Americans, 
                    big corporations, politicians, unbelievers. And, almost always, 
                    the Jews. For a while, this kind 
                    of delusion may bring the loser relief, but it will not be 
                    able to actually pacify him. In the long term, it is hard 
                    to assert oneself in the face of a hostile world, and 
                    he can never entirely rid himself of the suspicion that there 
                    might be a simpler explanation, namely that he is responsible, 
                    that his humiliation is his own fault, that he does not merit 
                    the esteem he craves, and that his own life is worthless. 
                    Psychologists call this affliction 
                    "identifying with the aggressor". But what is that 
                    supposed to mean? It certainly has no meaning for the loser. 
                    But if his own life is worthless, 
                    why should he care about the lives of others? "It's my fault." 
                    – "The others are responsible." These two 
                    claims are not mutually exclusive. On the contrary, they reinforce 
                    each ther. The radical loser 
                    is unable to think his way out of this vicious circle, and 
                    it constitutes the source of his terrible power. The only way out of the dilemma 
                    is to fuse destruction and self-destruction, aggression and 
                    auto-aggression. On the one hand, at the moment of his explosion, 
                    the loser for once experiences a feeling of true power. His 
                    act allows him to triumph over others by annihilating them. 
                    And on the other, he does justice to the reverse of this feeling 
                    of power, the suspicion that his own existence might be worthless, 
                    by putting an end to it. As an additional bonus, from the moment 
                    he resorts to armed force,the outside world, which has never 
                    wanted to know anything about him, takes notice of him. The 
                    media make sure he is granted an enormous degree of publicity 
                    – even if it is for just 24 hours. Television spreads 
                    propaganda for his act, thus encouraging potential imitators. 
                    For minors, as shown by events in the United States in particular, 
                    the temptation this represents is hard to resist. ... humanity never seems 
                    to have expected individual lives to be treated as the supreme 
                    good. All early religions set 
                    great store by human sacrifice. Later, martyrs were highly 
                    valued.......during the Cold 
                    War there were those who shouted "Better dead than red!" 
                    . ....
 II. The collective
 But what happens when the radical 
                    loser overcomes his isolation, when he becomes socialized, 
                    finds a loser-home, from which he can expect not only understanding 
                    but also recognition, a collective of people like himself 
                    whowelcome him, who need him? Then, the destructive energy 
                    that lies within him is multiplied –... and he is rescued 
                    from his powerlessness by a fatal sense of omnipotence...... The radical loser has not disappeared 
                    either. He is still among us. ... "Left" or "Right", 
                    it makes no odds. Each of these armed rabbles calls itself 
                    an army, ...acting as if they were the representatives of 
                    "the masses". Being 
                    convinced, as radical losers, of the worthlessness of their 
                    own lives, they do not care about the lives of anyone else 
                    either; any concern for survival is foreign to them. 
                    ... ... only one violent movement 
                    has been capable of acting globally – Islamism....Although 
                    this Umma is subject to much inner fragmentation and badly 
                    affected by national and social conflicts, the ideology of 
                    Islamism is an ideal means of mobilizing radical losers because 
                    of the way it amalgamates religious, political and social 
                    motives. A further promise of success 
                    lies in the movement's organizational model. Turning 
                    its back on the strict centralism of earlier groupings, it 
                    has replaced the omniscient and omnipotent central committee 
                    with a flexible network: a highly original innovation that 
                    is entirely of its time....
 
 III. The spectacle
 In one respect, however, 
                    the Islamists are without doubt a twenty-first-century phenomenon: 
                    where their understanding of the media is concerned, they 
                    leave their predecessors far behind. Earlier disciples of 
                    terror also relied on "propaganda through action", 
                    but the kind of worldwide attention achieved today by a nebulous 
                    grouping like Al Qaida was not granted to them. 
                    Trained by television, computer technology, the Internet and 
                    advertising, Islamist terror now gets higher viewer ratings 
                    than any football World Cup. The 
                    all-important massacres are staged in Hollywood-inspired style, 
                    modelled on disaster films, splatter movies and science fiction 
                    thrillers. This too is evidence of a dependency on the hated 
                    West. In the media output of terrorism, 
                    the Society of the Spectacle as 
                    described by the Situationists comes into its own. More momentous still, 
                    however, is the strategic use of suicide attacks, an invincible 
                    weapon that cannot be seen by 
                    surveillance satellites and which can be deployed practically 
                    anywhere. It is also extremely cheap. In addition to these 
                    advantages, this form of terror also exerts an irresistible 
                    attraction on the radical loser. It allows him to combine 
                    destruction and self-destruction at 
                    the same time as acting out both his megalomaniac fantasies 
                    and his self-hate. Cowardice 
                    is the last thing he can be accused of. The courage that is 
                    his hallmark is the courage of despair. His triumph consists 
                    in the fact that he can be neither fought nor punished, since 
                    he takes care of that himself. ....The Arab world's sense 
                    of pride is hurt not only by 
                    military inferiority to the West. Far worse is the impact 
                    of intellectual and material dependency. In 
                    the last 400 years, not a single noteworthy invention was 
                    made by the Arabs.... This 
                    means that for any Arab who cares to think about it, the very 
                    objects on which everyday life in the Maghreb and the Middle 
                    East depends represent an unspoken 
                    humiliation – every fridge, every telephone, every power 
                    socket, every screwdriver, not to mention hi-tech products. 
                    Even the parasitic oil states, frittering 
                    away their future security, are obliged to import the technology 
                    from abroad; without Western geologists, drilling experts 
                    and civil engineers, fleets of tankers and refineries 
                    they would not even be capable of exploiting their own resources. 
                    In this light, even their wealth is a curse that constantly 
                    reminds them of their dependency.  ..., Islamist terrorism is also 
                    unable to do without such borrowings. Its entire technical 
                    arsenal, from explosives to satellite telephones, from aircraft 
                    to television cameras, comes from the hated West. That such an 
                    all-encompassing dependency should be experienced as unbearable 
                    makes perfect sense. Especially 
                    among displaced migrants, regardless of their economic situation, 
                    the confrontation with Western civilisation leads to a lasting 
                    culture shock. The apparent superabundance of products, opinions, 
                    economic and sexual options leads to a double 
                    bind of attraction and revulsion, and the abiding memory of 
                    the backwardness of one's own culture becomes intolerable. 
                    The consequences for one's 
                    own sense of self-esteem are 
                    clear...This burning desire cannot be fulfilled. The destructive 
                    energy of the radical losers is doubtless sufficient to kill 
                    thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians 
                    and to cause lasting damage to the civilization on which they 
                    have declared war. One indication of the 
                    potential impact of a few dozen human bombs is 
                    the level of day-to-day controls that has come to be the norm..... The consequences for Arab societies, 
                    on the other hand, are fatal. .... The project of the radical loser, 
                    as currently seen in Iraq and Afghanistan, consists of organizing 
                    the suicide of an entire civilisation. But the likelihood 
                    of their succeeding in an unlimited generalization of their 
                    death cult is egligible. Their attacks represent a permanent 
                    background risk, like ordinary everyday deaths by accident 
                    on the streets, to which we have become accustomed. In a global society that constantly 
                    produces new losers, this is something we will have to live 
                    with. | 
                  Despite the hardship of this day, I've 
                    continued to study this article,with hope to find something nourishing in it after all.
 But the only valuable understanding
 - self-hatred, low self-esteem -
 is not new to me,
 and what is truly sad,
 that there is not even the attempt to suggest a solution,
 but only the judgment,
 that the "losers" are hurting first of all themselves
 and that life will be more difficult for us, but we shall 
                    survive.
 Since 1974 I have based my work with people and peoples
 on 
                    my understanding concerning self-esteem.
 
 I am - once again - disappointed by a "great" thinker.
   I want to close this day of my life with what is always consoling me,
 my tree - "my Dommim-Tree" at 
                    Mod'in as well as at Shoham,
 across our veranda on the "Dommim-Hill",
 now doomed to become a commercial center.
 The photos were taken,
 when I wanted to reconstruct the scenery of my 
                    "Lesson with Nella, the dog".
 
 
 Our house is seen through the branches, leaves 
                    and fruits 
 Again: Our house is seen through the branches, 
                    leaves and fruits of my tree 
 
 The tree - zoomed in - from our veranda |  
  This young Dommim-Tree - from a certain perspective 
            seen in one line with a second young tree and the above old tree - 
            is a daily joy.
       
             
              | song 
                  of the day"I am" - NOT - 
                  "a poor wayfaring stranger,
 While traveling through this world of woe"
 
 
 
 |        back to past ~~~~~ 
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     whole&full-filled, 
            never perfect&complete
 Keep It 
            Simple Sweetheart
 K.I.S.S. 
            - L O G    2 
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