Noah's Diary- Twelfth Week of Realization

2004_02_23 - this page is remembered in Kiss-Log January 7

This is the last entry in Noah's Diary.
It is about a late and sad insight:
Mental, verbal communication is doomed to fail!
All my superhuman endeavors to improve my verbal communication
have rewarded me with one gain only:
that it's not working.
Is there something like "communication between the hearts"?
And if so, how can this manifest on Noah's Shore?
This is, what I'm going to explore from now on.

"az nidberu yir'ee YHWH ish el re'eehu va-yaqshev YHWH va-yishma'
Bible, Maleachi 3, 16
"Then those who fear YHWH are talking among each other,
and YHWH listens and he hears."

The "sculpture" of the twelfth week (2004_02_14-21) is even more dissatisfying than any other in "Noah's Diary".
Dissatisfying for myself, leave alone, I guess, for anyone else.
I shall leave it like this all the same
--- with shame ---
If, in the future, I'll have time and wisdom and more solar electricity to improve on this or any other entry,
it will only be for the purpose of achieving more satisfaction as an artist, as a sculptress with words.

This week my friend Ran Lichtner felt like putting "Christa-Rachel Healingkiss" in "Google-Search". He came up with a site of fantasy-art (elfwood) - (am I not a Trainer of Dreamers?) and in it the artist "Rachel Christian", from whom I copy her drawing "Windy" and "Christine Emma Kackstaetter", 19 years old, who wrote a novel Healing_Kiss, but also drew a figure which suits this entry.

 

2004_02_14-21

 

For 36 hours the wind laughs and storms and mocks my solar-powered cellular cave communication. The little bells ring like mad, the hook with the wooden spiral above the water container is ripped off the rock, there is no place to read or write. I hide in my bed "upstairs", but when the wind storms from the south-east, it blows sand in my face through holes in my rock, of which I hadn't even been aware.

And to aggravate the lack of solar electricity from my one solar panel,
the sky has been cloudy for 3 days , obscuring the sun,
a rare phenomenon at the Dead Sea.



Being prevented thus from "doing" anything on Noah's Shore,
I climb up into the mountains, higher and higher,
to move Body, and to find a huge rock to hide behind.


But my predicament exacerbates and I finally send an SMS to Yuval-David and Paz,
"Please, comfort me."

They celebrate Paz' 29th birthday in the comfort and safety of her parents' flat in Tel-Aviv,
before they will come to Noah's Shore and celebrate in the hot sulphur pond and in my cave.

Yuval-David talks to me on the phone, comforts me, but ... also triggers me.

That was the beginning.

A trigger comes to point out a hole in my wholeness, which now wants to heal.
And though the mutual triggering and our intense work on healing those holes was not lack of communication,
the "subject matter" or "content" of the triggers most definitely was this ancient issue of mine:
Is verbal communication possible?

Only 3 days before I had marvelled:
"Five weeks have passed, since you came to Noah's Shore,
and there has not been one trigger between us!"

Our "Higher Selves" or whatever must have gotten worried by this phrase,
as if they had neglected their duty.
They brushed their tools
and during the following hours and days created situations and interactions
with the potential of formidable mutual triggering in them.

They started with destroying the technical means of communication between us...

When the mountains did not provide refuge from the wind either,

I descend all the way down to the peninsula - a dangerous descent - to warm up in the hot spring,
I remove 4 layers of clothing and "burden" them with my backpack to prevent them from flying away.
But --- as I plunge into the hot water ---- the wind flings the backpack after me....

At first the damage didn't seem to be too bad.

I dress, I climb up to my cave, I realize: the phone is gone.
I descend again, I undress again, I search in the mud for 10 minutes, I find it
the wireless, mobile cell-phone of "Orange".
"Total loss!",
they said at "Orange" in snow-covered Jerusalem, to where I hitchhiked the next morning.

To my regret I couldn't catch the rare sight of Jerusalem in snow, since I couldn't retrieve my camera from under the heap of equipment, piled up to save it from the rain, which came when the storm switched from south to north in the night. 4 days later, when I hitchhiked to Jerusalem again, for the usual two grandma-days, and waited there for the bus to Modi'in, my town, there were still heaps of snow on the side-way...

To my relief , they replaced it for 45 $.

But I kept asking :
what does the drowning of my communication device mean?

There were more storms to follow with Yuval-David and even during the usual two days in my flat in town.
They all resulted in one overwhelming feeling: "I talk too much, I write too much, I am too much."

There was a "Family Constellations" workshop scheduled for the end of that week,
arranged by our AUschwitz-BirkenAU group with facilitators of the Bert Hellinger method.
At first I had not even the intent, leave alone expectation or quest to look for help.

I wrote to myself:

I'm investing too much energy and hope in achieving communication through words.
Isn't it ironic, that I reached this conclusion exactly at a time,
when I fulfilled the dream of being able to communicate with the entire planet from my tiny cave?

If communication happens, it is sheer grace.
it has very little to do with my effort, talent and skill.
There is an abyss between the context, in which something is said and the context, in which something is heard.


I know: there are at least three "wedges" which hamper my communicating with people:
a) my panic, people might not listen to me, which makes me talk and write in a way that I create just what I fear;
b) my need "to discharge" the pain in my experiences, without first asking people's consent to listen to my feelings;
c) my ego need to be appreciated for what I do, or my ego need to be recognized as "sane" and "normal";
But even if I would "get rid of" theses wedges,
even then I would not be able to really convey and communicate, what I want to convey and to communicate.


45 years ago I blamed the biblical prophets
for not having given consideration to the way they communicated their message.
They reproached, they blamed, they threatened.
"No wonder, they made people furious instead of making them change their self-destructive ways."

How pathetic has been my ongoing attempt to apply the Theory of Communication:
"Communication is not added to the message, communication IS the message. "
45 years of refining my ways of communication have finally brought me the sad understanding:
Mental, verbal communication is intrinsicly, inherently, impossible.

I remember a poem by Hermann Hesse about a Zen-Master,
who - in time - refrained from all words.
But sometimes, when he would just lift a finger,
a pupil would be shaken to the depth of his being and transformed.

How can I, who believes in the healing through physical sound,
how can I who heals through writing/sculpting my experiences,
how can I just lift my finger?

I cannot.
But I can - on my way to non-verbal communication - cut out two of my ways of communicating:

I am closing "Noah's Diary".

It hardly served communication with people.
Except for the appreciation of the inserted pictures by some people,
there was either no feedback at all, or rejection altogether,

It's true, there was also Ya'acov, who said:
"It is as if you are writing it just for me",
but this only proves my point:
When words do reach the heart of another person, it's a matter of grace,
not the result of my superhuman endeavor to reach it.



Nor can the healing and training work between people be really communicated.
Even if two people, like I and Yuval-David, who train each other, agree to expose ourselves,
the "report" about our process will be deficient and twisted
It will , at best, mean nothing to others, and, at worst, cause them to judge us, or one of us.

As to the second purpose of Noah's Diary - the elaboration of my experiences:
The writing/sculpting did, indeed, serve as a means of vigilance and healing for my soul,
for which the struggle on and for Noah's Shore means still much pain, fear and shame.
The sculpting of what I did and lived, did help me to become more aware of what I felt,
to prevent the ignoring or denying of the feelings, which need to be vibrated physically.

But it's a poor means after all.
I must exchange it now for direct, immediate breathing-moving-sounding.
And I must win over the people on Noah's Shore to listen and support me ,
just as I listen and support them in their own healing.

The second deliberate change I want to make in my ways of communication, is:
I shall no longer put dreams in people's heads.

I must not invite potential dreamers to Noah's Shore by seducing words.
It was wrong, for example, that I told those two physicists,
whom I met on separate occasions before and after I started "Noah's Shore":
"You could reinvent the method of rainwater gathering."

I have always been seeing a person like Michelangelo saw the sculpture in a rock.
And I often couldn't help showing the person his/her potential.
Now , towards the realization of Noah's Shore Peace Dream,
I am tempted to tell the person, how s/he could dream his/her own dream in this situation,
just like a small percentage of Jews in Europe understood 100 years ago,
that within the Zionist dream they could dream and realize their own individual dreams.

I must just be myself , here on Noah's Shore,
create what I feel like creating and enjoy.
Then people will find their own way in their own time.

If words are needed, I should heed Max Liebermanns' definition of painting: "Malen ist weglassen ", "Painting is to leave out". Like a Japanese painting or like "Succah in the Desert": What's important is what is NOT there.

 

 

"az nidberu yir'ee YHWH ish el re'eehu va-yaqshev YHWH va-yishma'
Bible, Maleachi 3, 16
Then those who fear YHWH are talking among each other, and YHWH listens and he hears."

Then came the workshop.

I was invited to work on my issue of "being too much, talking to much, writing too much".
Watching the process between the people who represented me and my issue,
a fast metamorphosis took place in me.

I had brought Tamir with me, and his mother and Shim'on, his father, who has installed my solar system. Two hours later, while Tamir and Shim'on dismantled 2 solar panels from the caravan which had once belonged to my mobile home, and which Tamir was ready to donate to my solar cave system, I sat in their car, opened the solar-charged laptop, and the following just streamed out of me:

 

"My problem is not at all about talking too much, or being too much,
it is about the relation between message and communication.
It is is not a problem of my biography, not even of my karma,
it is an intrinsic problem connected to any message, to any vocation.

"Nor is it about being effective in my work,
nor is it about myself being in the way of myself.
Sure there are aspects of Ego:
I want to be seen and recognized and acknowledged.
Sure there is the need for discharge,
re'uni-rakhmuni!
But even if these aspects would be eliminated
[and why should anything be eliminated,
since the very message is Total Self-Acceptance
and the very vocation is discovering life in FEELING] -
there would still be the unbridgable abyss
between the context of my own language
and the context of anybody else's language.

"The unfathomable pain which welled up today in that workshop and flooded me with tears,
has to do with this impossibility.
There must have been innumerable incarnations in which I struggled with this impossibility.
It must be God's problem, Spirit's problem.
And finally Spirit understood, that pouring his wisdom on the canvas of people's capacity to grasp and apply, is of no use.
He must recognize and redeem the canvas first.
[This is, what the first part of Healingkiss is about...]

"It suddenly seems to me,
that all my writing and most of my talking is overriding the feelings of my readers and listeners.
I feel ashamed.
If there has been given a message at all, like the stories in Genesis,
it has been written in a language,
which could be understoood by the generations of 3000 years and by hundreds of millions of people in all languages and cultures.
How whole must the writer have been, that s/he was content with giving just a few pieces of the puzzle,
never attempting to put the puzzle together him/herself!!!

"It is not about being too much,
it is not about finding the proper communication.
This is impossible.
Right communication , a method, principles, tactique can not be given.
It is a moment of grace when there is communication and it does not depend on me alone.
There is abundance, like this nature around me now (in the green mountains of Nataf, near Jerusalem),
and if someone comes and finds a flower or a herb or a fruit for himself, it's beautiful.

"I must let go of this heartbreaking struggle.
It cannot be won.
I must write and say only what I enjoy saying or writing in a specific situation.
Not for any purpose, vocation, not for communication.

This sounds terrible.
To give up on communication?
Remember, thoughts of love..."

Paz celebrates her 29th birthday on Noah's Shore , with Yuval-David and me.

"az nidberu yir'ee YHWH ish el re'eehu va-yaqshev YHWH va-yishma'
Bible, Maleachi 3, 16
Then those who fear YHWH are talking among each other,
and YHWH listens and he hears."

On my way to get a lift to Jerusalem -2004_02_18 - the glorious sun over the sea colors the Qedem Falls in the Mountains

The quartet - as usual - demonstrated, how Heaven on Earth will look like.
Here they sing to a slide-show which Arnon had created to a beautiful children's song about "what I love":
"I love chocolate~~~ I love the moon and the sun~~ I love mummy and daddy and my sister and grandma,
but most of all I love MYSELF
- akh hakhee harbeh ani ohev oti."

I remember a scene in a Stuttgart tram, on the way home from highschool, Each of us pointed out which girls in our class she loved and which she couldn't stand. Imagining the order in which we were seated in class, each one also encountered herself on the bench. Not one of us said: "Myself I love, of course!" Each of us said: "Myself I don't love, of course." It would have been a shame to claim otherwise. So there is a change in the world... And tears well up as I write this. May the embryo position of Christa-Rachel Maryam Bat-Adam, which Tamir wanted me to stage in a cave he discovered, remind me, that loving myself the way I am now, is all I need to learn and be on Noah's Shore....

 

 

 

YHWH - It IS HAPPENING
y e s h  !    -    i t    i s  !