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Thanks for reading Over Israeli Skies .. it's been fun. This blog was always intented to be tempoary from the get-go, and a new, regular blog is now established at http://sharoute.wordpress.com

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Currently Reading Bono: In Conversation with Michka Assayas By Michka Assayas see related

In the Moment

Whilst I was in Pearson Airport in Toronto, enjoying the 6-hour layover on my way back home, I picked up a book from the airport convenience store, "In Conversation with Bono." The writer, the interviewer, is a journalist who first met Bono in 1980, and was the first British media writer to plug U2 outside of Dublin. As a result, Bono and the writer have a long history that allows for an honest, open interview.

I can't read on planes (I get motion sickness), but between the terminals and a bit of downtime back home, I'm on page 43 of this 300 page book, and am already finding some just amazing things. I have, of course, always looked up to Bono as a rock star, a humanitarian, and a person. I know he is over-publicized and idolized by alot, and I know he is very to-the-point and arrogant at times, but honest nonetheless.

In the first 40 or so pages, Bono has been discussing how he views himself and what role he believes he plays, between being a person, a performer, and a writer. I must admit, even though I am familiar with U2's amazing lyrics, that I never thought of Bono as a writer. But it is evident that he views himself in this light way more then the light of a rockstar or performer. The book has been looking deep not only at Bono's soul, but also the soul of a writer, and I think I had some of these things originally and I've forgotten about alot, or let alot slide. All of this comes at a time when I am very much trying to figure out how to approach writing from this point on. I am confused at the moment with where to take "Avenue of the Giants" and "Over Israeli Skies," and how to approach some subjects I very passionately want to get out there. I know I can do it, I know I have the capabilities to do it, I've just lost a bit of the "how."

Bono tells us that as a writer, he has to (bad paraphrase here), "get this hands under his skin, break his breastbone, rip out though his rib cage, and lay his skin on the table." This goes back to an old Irish belief that to be a writer, a true writer whose occupation is from the soul, you must be willing to lay your skin on the table.

I had severe writer's block while in Israel. There were several times I sat on the flat's proch in Haifa or The Coffee Bean patio in Jerusalem, trying to write, and I just couldn't. Bono believes that when a writer has writer's block, he should write about that. That comes from Bono's belief that he is always able to writer, because a writer must always be true to himself. Therefore, a writer can always write what's going on then and now from his soul, because he is completely unable to be dishonest with himself. Wow. That line struck me like an epiphany in the book while reading it in Canada; I've been dwelling on that thought ever since. I was sitting in Jerusalem trying to write something from a perspective that I used to be at, or that I wanted to be at -- not from the perspective that I *was* at. That was the problem.

I am still reading that book, and still working my way through some thoughts. There is passion and hope there, a bit of that reawakened in Israel; a bit of that through new life situations; and even more of that from getting an increidble new viewpoint on faith and life while standing inside the Garden Tomb outside Damascus Gate. I am thinking more and processing where my writing and my art is at alot more, and this trip did help. I look forward in two weeks to being in Portland with Justin, walking around with him in a city that motivates me and inspires me even more. My friend Dave Hart said that perfection lies in transit. I don't know if I fully agree with that, but I will agree that heart and finding and discovery lies in transit, and the opprotunity to get out there and know yourself, and the world, more intimately.

Back Home

I honestly had to wander how I ended up in this particular situation; riding in a taxi bus with a Jewish-Mexican family I had befriended on a train, traveling at 80mph through the Tel Aviv freeway system three hours before my flight; and I was still half an hour away from the airport. It was an interesting end to an interesting trip.

I said goodbye to David at the Haifa train station, and bought my ticket from a machine since there were no actual real people at the train station, being Israeli Independence Day and all. Also, since it was the end of a 2-day holiday period, all the soldiers of the Israeli Defense Force were on their way back to base near Tel Aviv, and so the southbound train I boarded was packed. There was standing room only, very intimate standing room only, for the entire two hour ride, but I didn't mind. The train rocked back and forth steadily, and I found my sea legs and stood in the corner of the entry room to the train, where I met Marvin and his wife Olay, who had moved to Israel from New Mexico after converting to Judaism several years back. They were nice and we exchanged stories of living in America, and they asked me how I like their new country. They agreed with me that is is beautiful, but it is an extremely pressurized environment nonetheless. That is true, peace here seems to exist, but merely on the teetering threshold of violence and intolerance at any moment.

The train conductor anncounced the last stop, which we all knew from previous talking was the stop for Ben Gurion Airport. Marvin and Olay agreed with me that this was the right stop, and as the soldiers with their massive guns and duffel bags shuffled pass us, we wished each other a good trip and said our goodbyes. I left the station and rode the elevator back to street level, and found myself under a freeway that I recognized as the Central Bus Station that I was at three days before. We were nowhere near the airport, but the citizens and soldiers filed on to their military buses that awaited them. I had a little more then three hours before the flight, the train I just got off had left, and the next train was an hour away. I had no cash for a taxi and no atm for a taxi in site. Ouch.

I turned back around to reenter the train station to try to look for an atm downstairs or wait out another train and hope I make it to the airport on time. After getting past the very concerned security check and approaching the escalator back down, I ran into Marvin and Olay who also had realized their error. We had talked some more, and it turns out we both needed to make the same Air Canada flight to Toronto in just a few hours. Olay had just called for a taxi, and he offered to let me ride with them. I told him I had no more shekals for a taxi, but he didn't care -- he viewed me getting off at that station as his mistake and told me he would pay for it, and he also offered apologies up and down. I thanked him for his offer and we ran outside to board the taxi bus, and the driver said he had to drop someone else off and it would take an hour to get to the airport. But he was the only taxi in sight, so we had little choice. The lady, who was in the car, realized out predicerment and insisited we be taken to the airport first -- the driver didn't like this, because he would have to backtrack, but the kind lady insisted. We then started speeding through the freeway system, slowing down only when a police car rode next to us for a tiny bit.

We made it to the airport just in time, and I was directed to a different line as an individual with an American passport. I said goodbye to and thanked Marvin and Olay once again, then we parted ways as I stood in line and waited. Jamie and I met in that line, and we exchanged a hug and some stories of our last couple days, hers in Jerusalem and me in Haifa. After two baggage checks, an insepection, a questioning, and a passport screening, we were free to fly. Twenty-four hours of travel later, and Sky Harbor never looked so inviting.

So Much More to Say

More Maps Than Books