Hello Readers, it has been a couple months. Sometimes this happens. I begin a project I feel heart and soul, and then the fear of putting myself fully forth happens. The first real time I ever had a project I knew I could not turn my back on was on September 19, 1985. I was in labor for my first child. Labor is a universal female initiation into going beyond what one ever imagines possible. A woman can never fully comprehend the experience of labor until she is in it. Such a strange thing. Your body feels as if it is being ripped open more than it actually IS being ripped open. Some women have painless labors. I assure you, most do not. There was a vivid moment during this first labor, smack in the middle of my forehead. Sudden lucidity between contractions. Oh My God, I can’t turn back.
Turning back is a clever elf. Buy a dress, never wear it. Start a relationship, no time to listen. Start a family, Friday night poker is far more important than quality kid time. Start a blog, be too busy to write. Commit to world peace, get caught up in the details of social media, government forms, and fear.
Fear? Oh yes, the justifiable cleverness of turning back. We all know what it is. It hurts us. It is the part of us that can’t acknowledge that we posses the greatness to persevere. That we have the strength to do this THING that is so out of the normal realm. After giving birth, the intensity of the contractions were gone. The pain was gone. The overwhelming , unexpected volume of love that sprang forth from this agony was a 6 lb 1 oz bundle of vulnerability and power placed on my belly, in my care, and forever in my consciousness. The best thing life had ever offered me was this new tiny life. Good thing I couldn’t turn back in the middle of all that contraction mess, or I just might’ve.
Here I am again. Hello there. This time I am laboring again to put forth a peace effort in the Middle East. Oh My God. Am I crazy? The little clever turn back elf made an appearance. Then clarity revealed itself in the nick of time.
Although an individual event, as women we labor alongside every mother in every country since however you believe it began. Atoms or Eve, we are united. We all felt the impossibility of our uterus in sync to the effacing of our cervix, the opening of our vagina, the woosh of water, blood, and baby. Sometimes it was a cutting through the abdomen. Sometimes we and or baby died. More often, we lived.
As lonely and impossible as it feels to start a peace project, I am in sync with you. We are in sync with every peace project on the planet. We are the majority. We are the Mothers and Fathers together birthing a new reality through all the madness of a shared labor. Every news report of violence sends us gasping into contractual disbelief over and over again. And then….we remember something. Something makes us go. Here I some things I remember from the recent past.
I had arrived in Israel eleven days prior. This morning, I awaken in Beit Sahour, West Bank. The night had been stormy, wondrous. The winds speak as I prepare to go outside to the balcony. GO Pro in hand, I am ready to capture this gusty sound and clear light. From the balcony, I point myself to the horizon, to witness a giant rainbow arching from East to West. My hostess, the beautiful Samar joins me, and points out that one end of the rainbow is in Israel, the other in Palestine. Samar and family, Thank you.
I am back in Israel. I have just had juice in a cafe with Yuval, an Israeli man who greeted me with sparkling eyes and complete support and enthusiasm for my project. He is making phone calls on my behalf to friends who may help, including the press. Mind you, this Jewish man is supporting planting trees in Gaza, and willing to be a part of it. Yuval, thank you. Leaving Yuval and the cafe, I am trying to find the bus station. Upon entering the mall across the street and obviously looking confused, a beautiful Israeli woman with long dark hair asks if she can help me. Yes, please. She points the direction of the station, then walks with me. She asks why am I here? I tell her about Gaza, the trees. I tell her it is a peace project, and she says Yes! I can see this! She loves it. I ask her may I hug you? Yes, yes, she says. We hug, I thank her, I ask may I write you a letter in my book? ( the book I will write about this) Yes, of course , yes. The bus has arrived and I must run. That was all in 3 minutes. Ya’el, thank you.
In Palestine, coming through the shock of a checkpoint from the easy direction, I am met by a Palestinian man I have only spoken with by telephone, a stranger by all definition. I am welcomed into his home. I stay with them, his wife, their baby. They feed me, they treat me like family. I fall in love with their baby girl. I think and feel to myself, I want her to grow up free. They invite me back whenever I need, their home is my home. Thank you.
I am in a small village. In the old stone grocery store, the owner, speaking perfect English, randomly tells me, a total stranger, that the previous Tuesday Israeli soldiers had entered their village and thrown the poison gas bombs. Her daughter in law had breathed the gas. This gas is specifically used to cause unborn babies to die. Within hours, she had gone into labor, and finally birthed her stillborn child. A child who had been squirming and kicking into the ninth month of pregnancy. I was shocked and did not know how to respond. Days later, I went back to this store to interview this family. A son, brother to the man whose wife had been forced into spontaneous deadly abortion, spoke with me. He was quiet and intelligent. He spoke leaning against the check out counter, his arms crossed. He described this life, this life of occupation, frequent poison gas, how another relative in Bethlehem had lost her five month fetus, and another. Yet, the attitude was this. ” We must live our best life. We must do our best every single day, to try our hardest to do the right thing. ” This from a young Palestinian man whose Grandparents had fled through the burning fires of Jerusalem in 1948, with many more stories then the ones I write here. Thank you.
Let the news role. There is more good in hearts of people then the violence that frightens us every day.
I have booted out the turn back elf. Laboring with all of you is a distinct honor and pleasure. I am convinced , certain, that peace makers are the majority. However, it seems that we are not the reigning power. Here is where the loss of momentum or discouragement lies. What if we actually are, if we dare believe it. A journal entry from my first Palestine trip says this:
Your most powerful tool is your own vision.
Our most powerful tool is our collective vision.
Here is our power friends. In our visions that defy sanity, that seem extreme, beyond reach. Who ever believed a baby would squeeze between our legs must have been hallucinating? I do know that I see small rewards frequently already in this current labor. I am also willing to know that the ultimate goal we all seek may be something we may laboring for into the next life. Onward we go.
Two things as I end. To remind you to dance wildly as you create and vision. To dance wildly when you doubt. Dancing your own wild dance will transform your doubt back to your powerful vision.
I write this on the Monday eve before Giving Tuesday. If you are able, please consider giving even a few dollars to The TreeWater Initiative. Cultivating a million seeds of possibility for economic sovereignty, cultural solidarity, peace building, and environmental stewardship using tree planting as an entry point.
Our first project of tree planting will be soon under way in Gaza. Thank you to all those who gave for this pilot project. I can’t wait to share pictures!!!
Here is the link for anyone to give now, or at any time. For more info, visit Facebook: The TreeWater Initiative.
The link is on the facebook page as as of this moment the button here is not working.
The TreeWater Initiative: Cultivating a million seeds of possibility……
Thanks,Much Love, Dance Wildly, , Labor Fearlessly, Vision Immeasurably, Jeannie