Insanity

Insanity is a place,
Where the floor is all ashes.
Dali's melting clocks hang from the sky.
I'm tied to the post
With barbed wire.
Right in the middle.
Yellow smiling faces for flowers.
Blue "like" fists for butterflies.
Things dance past,
Like in a Disney cartoon.
They have no shape.
Making faces at me.
Sometimes it's a smile,
Sometimes it's a frown,
Or a tongue out.
I cannot touch them-
My hand goes through.
They're but shadows,
On the wall of Plato's cave.
There are no people here,
And if I try to move,
The wire turns into a spider's web.
Sticky with its spit, blood and shit.
Slime turns to water,
I'm bobbing up and down,
I try to drink it up,
But the salt eats out my eyes instead.
No more, all dark.
Then the voices come.
Louder and louder.
They scream, and cough,
And sing, and screech.
And I can't make out the words.
I must do something, but what?
I don't know this language.
The words saw me apart,
Till -
Darkness, silence, peace. Finally.

All about shovels, or why do i write gruesome stuff.

Why do I write about such harsh, gruesome things? Deaths, transformation, sorrow, ugliness, suffering, and eventually - recovery and hope.
A few reasons:
 I want to shake people out of their comfort zone and make them think.
 What would I do if I was faced with this choice?

Would I abandon a friend who could not be shown in society? What if I was that friend? Would I forgive those who were too weak-hearted? And - why do we behave as if misfortune was contagious?

Would I invite in a  real nebach? A person who doesn't shower, or somebody with criminal record, or psychiatric illness that makes them an outsider. Suppose I invited them in. How close do I let them be? At what point do I say, enough? Where is my personal border? And yours? I want to take you to it.

What's being impulsive? How much does it run us?

How much do we really owe others, if anything? How much personal space does one need? Or is entitled to?

What's guilt? Real and misplaced.  Regret? Can we really smash a plate and then say "sorry" to it? Does it work?
What do you do when you face something utterly unimaginable? Like an alive mountain? Does it change who you are?
We are all born as such sweet babies. When I see deformity, or addiction , or decrepity, or extreme ugliness,  I ask about the process. between the sweet newborn, and what I'm seeing. How, why? What happened to this person? 
When we face a fork in the road, where one way will add beauty and purity to our soul, and another will likely destroy it, how do we make the choice? What goes through our heads? Could I (or you) commit a murder? A robbery?  How? When? How would I (you) justify it? Why isn't good / right obvious? What is good, anyway?

The point of my writing - all of it, is to explore human strength. I'm fascinated by survivors of all kinds. Strength and weakness, actually. 

And of course - fears. Of all kinds. Especially those that are so far back in our subconscious, that we don't even know we have them. 

People like to "try on" things in their heads, and I just give them an opportunity. If you see yourself in my words, it's not because I put you there, but because words are a mirror. 

What stands behind our actions? Where do they come from? When I lash out in a fit of road rage, and then think, hold on, what was that? The lymbic system taking over the conscious brain? Hormones? Or am I just a bitch?

Why do we do such unexplainable things sometimes? 

I weave in things I see just being outside. A guy is riding a bike, and on his shoulder there is a big spade, he's steering with one hand. Why? What's it for? A joke comes to mind - "What's a friend? It's someone you call when you killed someone, and he says, shall i call the police for you, or you will? And what's a best friend? It's the one who will answer, ok, I'm coming over with the shovel right now". Is he being  somebody's best friend or he's just bringing his grandad a spade? And so with everything. I see, and absorb, and think. People are the most fascinating things on this planet. As my baby's talking toy says, "Let's explore!"

The Other Mountain (a bit of science fiction)

We sat in the jungle and drank the local disgusting beer. Me, and Jim, and the machines operator, and a couple of guys from our crew. Delivering goods to Tau-Callipso has never been easy. The ocean creates giant cyclones, storms, hurricanes, and landing in the jungle becomes impossible. But this time we were lucky. I passed the package I brought Jim from his mom, and asked how they've advanced over here in the time I've been away. After all, you don't tell your former school friend that his sweetheart is hanging out with another, as long as you can delay that moment. Neither do you tell him that his dog died of old age. No, no. Not straight away.

So, they built an almost normal landing strip for us. That I saw. A couple of new babies born in the Colony. A few people lost to poisonous plants that nobody could've warned them about. Local fauna classified, named and one species almost tamed. It's not edible, of course, but it could be useful one day. If the claws are trimmed off, it looks almost like an opossum. Wonderful, I thought. Anything else?

-A story happened here, Jim drawled, almost without taking his lips off the bottle. –shall I tell you? –I nodded. The air was so heavy, and sticky, that I wondered, how they survive here. I wouldn't. Worse than Southern China in the summer.

-You know the Wall? The place we call the Wall. Of course you don't, you only see the ships and the air base. It's in the depth of the jungle, and every living creature avoids it. Of course, we didn't know it in the beginning. We just saw a side of a mountain that was bare of all plants, not even moss grows on it. Just bare rock. Greenish-brownish, very rough, something like silicon and bits of copper in it.  So, we wondered, and came there one day with our equipment. Radiation – normal. Electro- magnetic radiation – like a whole TV tower. Beta-waves- crazy. You get the picture. Then we start coming closer, and Captain Grant – you know, the one who came here with his teenage son and nobody else –the one whose whole family got killed back then - disappears. I could've sworn the wall swallowed him. I'm telling you, Richie, gone, in seconds. Like whoosh- and pop- and gone. And then we all step back, of course. And when we step back, we see – Richie , I swear to you! –we see his face and hands sticking out of the wall. Looking like silicon, too, greenish-brown like the rest of it. He's engulfed, as we call it now. How's that?

-Incredible, I say. -So, you held a funeral and carried on?- I couldn't quite gather why he was telling me this. So, another form of death. Besides radioactive eels, and spitting transparent spiders, and tentacles and poison glands, and strangling trees and fuming pits. After everything I've seen as a delivery man for the Allaince, this was hardly impressive. I could've told him another dozen stories like that without straining my memory in the least.

-That's not it, Richie, -he says, and fills up my jar again. Are you listening?

-Sure, I say. Have I got anything better to do, till there is another opening in the asteroid belt? Absolutely nothing. –Shoot away, I say.

-So, yeah, we did make him a funeral. And his son was ever so brave, and didn't cry, at least when we were around. We all said speeches and like, and praised him to the sky, and said good bye. And life went on – but the boy – Robby –started sneaking to that wall. To look at his father's profile again. Once he sneaked away at night, and we nearly got eaten looking for him. Wanna see the Wall?

-Sure, I say. – Why not? It's just a dream of mine to plow through sticky jungle with god-knows- whats lurking in it.

So we start for the Wall, with Jim providing more stories as we slice our way through the moving and breathing wall of yellowinsh-green plants in front of us.

-          Look, - Jim points out a herd of some stripy creatures, chewing some fruits with strings on them   - those stripy things – we call them zebras, even though they are purple and yellow and look nothing like a zebra – we have never seen any babies in that population, only mature animals. They are the greatest mystery on this whole planet. Only one gender, and nobody knows –

 And then we hear a scream. A human scream. Coming from the area of that mountain, where the wall was. So, of course I grab my gun and run, as fast as I can. I look up, and I see Rob, the Captain's son, running and then rolling down the mountain, and one of those flat creatures after him, and after the flat one runs another beast with a trunk like an elephant, but in the wrong place, and hair all over him, about the size of a tank, and spitting fire. Not a friendly one, let me tell you. So I aim, but can't shoot, because I'll hit the kid, sure as day.

-          Any ideas?-  I scream to Jim, as we are running, very slowly,  through the sticky mess.

-          Run! Run! -He pants.

 Oh, the jungle stories. There is one unfolding in front of us, and who knows if we come out alive, and if we'll be able to tell it by the fire with a mug of beer. Or others will tell it at our funeral.

We are nowhere near enough to make it in time. And I see Robbie rolling off the mountain, landing not near enough to be absorbed, just like his dad, but near enough, and then the crocodile creature lands smack on top of him. Robbie is knocked unconscious, and bleeding from his mouth, and then the creature begins to tear at him. Luckily he was wearing a leather jacket, and it took time to chew through. I'm sitting there, trying to aim, with my hands shaking, and I see him being mauled. I see more people running to him, but they're having to deal with the elephant, or whatever they named him. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see the wall behind him change texture, and I lower my gun.  It goes transparent, hazy, there are waves and ripples on it. It's blue-ish and hollow inside, like a cave. With sparkles like that, beautiful, really.  I see all the animals that were caught up in it and frozen, and I see poor Captain, standing there. And – I know you don't believe me! – he starts walking. The Captain breaks through, and walks right out of that wall!  The statue starts moving, walking, slowly, robot-like, to his son! He was alive in there! For this whole time! Have you ever heard of such a thing? A whole month! He walks to poor little Robbie, and kicks the beast in the eye, or the tentacle he has there, and the thing clambers off Robbie and turns to him, and then I shoot him. The beast, of course. And then we all finally get there, and grab the Captain and his son, and carry them both right to the doctors.

Later, much later that day, the Captain and son, and the whole crew of the station, and my co-pilots, are sitting inside, and we are looking at the man who survived a month without food and water, inside a Wall. Somebody jokes that had it been 40 days, we'd be able to call him Moses, but a month is barely enough. His face is thin and hollow, but his eyes are shining, just like in those days when he was still training us to endure anything that could be survived. We are all waiting to hear his story. He is very weak, with his voice barely audible, but he can talk. We all hush, and he begins.

-          Are you ready? So, the news number one is.. that Wall  – it's alive! And intelligent!

At the word "intelligent" I nearly jump out of my skin. Whaaaat???? The third intelligent life to be found outside the Earth – and on this dingy planet of hurricanes and not much else? I grab Jim by the sleeve. - Are you in earnest? An intelligent what? The Wall? The Captain's voice is drowned by everybody shouting, jumping, jostling each other.

-I swear,- he says, -I am sane, and I mean what I say.  When I got "absorbed" it felt my brain waves and kept me alive. And established some kind of a contact with my brain, directly. I heard its voice in my head, it asked me questions about where we all came  from, how life developed on Earth, and what we are doing here.  And when Robby was attacked, it felt such pity for him, got flooded with my pain , it just had to let me go. I heard you guys organized me a nice funeral, - the captain chuckled. I thank you muchly. So,  it's a "she". "She" is an intelligent being, who managed to somehow preserve its race after some kind of cataclysm hit the planet thousands of years ago. There are lots of them in there, with one ruling the rest. Their life span is very short, about twenty years, by the time here. Whereas on the Earth we need two to reproduce, on Tau-Callipso it somehow takes three. And – you are not going to believe this! – the males do not possess intelligence, lost it as a result of mutations and easy life in the jungle.  They are hardly above animals. They know when to come to the Wall, and then a miracle takes place. When the planet was hit, another mutation deprived the females – those who now live in the mountain – behind the Wall – of any kind of a body, almost. They kept the molecule that works as their DNA, but the 'males' nearly killed them out, before they found a refuge in the safety of the Wall, the third gender adapted to carrying the "females". Some technical invention allows them to watch the planet while being safe. Not sure yet, how. That's why any creature that comes too close gets immobilized, and eventually dies. So – they have the "males" – just body and not much of a  brain – and one kind of a "female" – all brain and no body to speak of. And the Wall – the third gender that protects them from each other. Not sure how intelligent that is, yet… it acts as a communicator. They barely need any food, and all their processes have slowed down almost to a standstill. Have you noticed that there are no baby "zebras", ever? – oh but of course you did. I forget you've all had the best training, -  he chuckled again, and stopped to get some more air. He was breathing with some effort, still, after a month of not moving. They grow inside the Wall… it's their birthing sanctuary. Then the "females" stay, and the others go into the jungle.  And every few hundred local years, a new Wall is born, and then there is another colony. Come, let me take you there. It knows us now, and won't  "engulf" humans anymore.  – it's waiting for us.

Captain got up, but he still needed to be carried. – I  explained to them what we are and why we came here. They want to help us, and we must help them. – he kept on talking, but I wasn't listening anymore. I'm about to meet an intelligent life of another kind, for the very first time. A very, very different kind… We plow through the sticky, sickly dendrites that try to grab every part of me and hold it forever. Eventually I have enough and pull out my folding knife. "No!" – Jim grabs my hand. – Didn't you hear what he said? They are watching us! They want to make sure we mean no harm. If you start just chopping around, they will not trust us! We now must ask permission, before we chop a tree, and they show us which ones are ready to go, from old age or disease. It's their planet!

I'm wondering how I could've been so careless. This is the age when humans have finally learned to appreciate each other, after there were almost none left. Maybe that's why now we are mature enough to encounter another kind of life? "I'm sorry", I mumble, to none in particular.

I stand in front of the rough, ancient Wall. It's exactly as the Captain described it, bare and full of animals' profiles, and has bits of copper in it. I guess those must be their nerves, or sensors, or however the Wall feels for the little creatures hiding in it. Alive and intelligent.  I put out my hand and gently rub the stone. It's warm. I feel my heart welling up, and almost spilling over. My eyes tingle. Silicon – based life, that scientist predicted so long ago. Here it is… I'm so full of joy, and some of it is coming from elsewhere. "I'm here", I say in my mind. "And I've been here for such a long time" – a voice answers in my head. It's not words, but I somehow hear. I feel tears on my cheeks, the joy is so great, it just can't fit inside me, it's burning, expanding, swelling, and I feel the Other's voice in me, and feel the warm stone getting warmer. "Tell me about the place you came from" – she says without words. 

It's me, Judas. ( a story)

                                               It's me, Judas.

After a long day at work, Dena was scrolling through her Facebook page, waiting for her supper to warm up, and listening to her boys' quiet snoring in the next room. Beyond the usual inspiration pages, quotes and numerous cats, there was nothing new. "What a waste of time", she thought. She went over to the "find friends" section. Suddenly, a dear old face was looking at her, in miniature, from the phone screen. Lisa? Could it be? Really, why can't it be?

It's been so many years, she thought. And yet, you don't ever forget your childhood best friend. Not quite. No matter how many years pass. How long has it been? Say, twelve years…  Once upon a time, everybody knew them together. They were like sisters. For all the times Lisa's mother told her off just as if they were really sisters. All the camps they went to together. All the parties, and family trips, and shopping, and silly fights, and walking around town arm in arm, and doing the craziest things!  All those secrets that only they knew about each other. First date, first kiss, first boyfriend…  And the time when Dena took drugs, and only Lisa knew. And battered her with her tiny fists to try and make her stop… And only Dena knew about that pregnancy that didn't end too well…  And it was Lisa who stood right by her on her marriage day… yeah. So many years ago. Always, always together. Till Lisa started dating that man. Oh, that man. With eyes like burning charcoal. Flashing green lightning bolts when he got angry. How could eyes be both black and green? But his were.  He even moved like a big cat – noiselessly. Maybe because he'd been a soldier, and that's what they teach them. A bragging, boasting, useless man. They call it post –traumatic something. Yet he didn't seem traumatized. He told people openly about the time he shot an Afghani boy by mistake. And sliced someone's throat – not by mistake, but quite intentionally. He had a score of horrendous stories, bombs, beheadings, amputated limbs, always ready to be produced into the light of day. Always got people's attention, people are drawn to horrors. The bloodier, the better.  Yet, he escaped the war without as much as a scratch. He gave Dena a feeling of a toothache, mixed with nausea. To put it plainly – she was afraid of him… Yet Lisa seemed to have lost her mind over him, even though she wasn't a little girl by then. She didn't see anything wrong at all. He carried her away from a party once – just across his back, as if she had been an injured soldier.  She was drunk, and laughed and laughed, and didn't know, of course, how eerie and silent the room became when the door closed behind them. Holding her wrists together, so she couldn't move, as a joke, but way too often. It wasn't just Dena who was afraid of him. It seemed that Lisa lost all of her friends at once, but didn't seem to notice. Dena was the last one to let go. After that time she visited her in that remote town he took her away to. The house looked more like concentration camp than like a home. Bare walls, bare beds, locks on every door. The toilet only locked from the outside. Oh, how he laughed like a hyena, after locking Dena in for half an hour! He said it was a joke. The same kind of joke as telling  her on the phone that unfortunately, Lisa was no longer with us, every time she called. Then laughing that blood-chilling laughter again. Telling her she was run over by a car, or hanged herself, or jumped out of a window. And every time, her heart stopped. Till she heard her friend giggling in the background. Her tastes changed. No more movies with popcorn. No more strolling through the mall. They went camping and hunting. Hunting, for God's sake!  They ate road kill and offered it and prayed to some pagan deities before consuming it. Then that man held a gun to Lisa's head, and said to Dena, shall I shoot her? And still, Lisa laughed. The laugh was so unreal, so did not belong in that house, or to the friend she knew all her life. Dena did not know if the gun was loaded. She barely remembered how she packed her bag, and promised to call… gave her one last hug and ran nearly all the way to the train station. And the guilt, oh my… Years and years of guilt. Why, why was she such a coward? He couldn't shoot anyone through the phone, so why did she stop calling? Lisa needed her, even though she would rather die than say so. And eventually, she stopped calling, too. Twelve years passed since that day.  

Dena gently touched the "add friend" icon. Add friend…Lisa. Add friend?! Oh, the newspeak of today. How absurd. Maybe she just forgot to grow up. She was too busy, too selfish, and abandoned her friend at the time of the worst need. She could've told her parents, if not the police. She could've done so many things. Yet, she just walked out of her life. Betrayed her. Yes. That's what it's called. Betrayal.  A Judas of a friend, that's what she was… Maybe Lisa didn't want to be saved? Maybe she really loved him? Oh, sure she did. It's a wonder she's still alive.

It looks like a very old picture. I wonder how she's changed, she thought.  Is she still with him? Does she have children? She doesn't even know about mine. Doesn't know mom died almost ten years ago. Doesn't know my dad is completely senile. Doesn't know… What don't I know about her? Lisa sat down wearily on the couch. It's going to be a sleepless night.

It turned out that it was a lot more than one sleepless night. It took a few days for Lisa to notice the friend request, and Dena lost her sleep altogether.

The conversation was quite strained at first. It's always difficult to figure out what the person is feeling on the other side of the chat window. It's them, and yet it's another person entirely. They never communicated in writing before. Lisa refused to speak on the phone, but wouldn't mind meeting up. She was coming to town in a couple of weeks. No, she didn't have any children, and that man was gone. That's what she said – gone. Not exactly clear, is it? Dena was quietly wiping off tears, when she saw those words. Gone. At least that.

The time left till Lisa's visit was a restless one. She barely gave any information online, and Dena was beside herself worrying about the meeting. What if she is angry? What if she is not what she used to be? Will they 'click' like they used to? Will she trust her again? What happened to the man?

The evening before the meeting Dena spent pacing her living room with a glass of wine in her hand, until she heard a familiar "clang" of a Facebook chat. She wrote "See you tomorrow."  That's all. Dena suppressed a sigh, and decided to hold all the questions till they finally meet.

When she parked by the hotel, the wind was picking up. Heavy, lead –coloured clouds obscured not only the sky, but seemingly, the air itself. She regretted driving here. All she needed was to be stuck in another snowstorm. The wind made her ears and teeth ache, her eyes were watering badly by the time she got into the lobby.

Lisa was standing outside, waiting for her. In the cold.   Unrecognizable.  If she didn't know her every move, she would've walked right past her on the street. She was even thinner than in their youth, tiny, like a sparrow. Dressed as befits a date – stylish. Heels, short tight skirt. She never used to wear that much make-up, though. It was more than make-up, it was what they used to call "wall plaster" among themselves. Now her face was covered in it, half an inch thick. And the glasses – they were so big, there was no hope of seeing what was hidden behind them.

They walked in, ordered some drinks. Dena smoothed her own clothes uncomfortably. She had a feeling of talking to a mask. Lisa's lips were barely moving. The voice was the same, but her face… there was something alien about it.

-Why don't you take those glasses off? I can't see you properly. – she asked.

-I can't. There is a problem with my eye, - Lisa answered.  It was then out of the question to open up her heart to this stranger, whom she couldn't even see properly. Who answered almost abruptly, nodded, and didn't say much. They talked about parents, children, the past.  That old abortion did ruin Lisa's chances of ever becoming a mother (and I'm glad of it, now! – she added hastily.)  Some romances were mentioned, but never the man with the gait of a cat and the habits of a gangster. Dena just couldn't master the courage to ask directly, and hints weren't working. They ordered more drinks. Dena noticed that she pulled the straw out and put it on the table, and drank very carefully, as if a cocktail was hot. It's all too strange…

At last, the conversation seemed to trail off. It was like having a party in a house where someone just died. Dancing around the place where the coffin stood, not mentioning it and not acknowledging it. They walked outside together, only to find a blizzard raging. There was no use even trying to get out of that hotel.

-I think we might have to stay here for the night – Dena suggested. Lisa remained silent.  But at the reception they said they had only one room left – one with a double bed. "If the ladies don't mind", they said. Dena looked at that expressionless mask that used to be her best friend, and said, "We don't mind". When they went up the elevator, Lisa took her hand. Oh, the familiarity of her touch. Like finding a piece of her own soul that's been missing. Dena's eyes were stinging badly, but she didn't dare take her hand away to wipe the tears. "I must tell you something", - she said. –"I'm going to spend the night on the sofa, if there is one, or on a chair, and you mustn't be offended. And I won't take the glasses off. Do you understand?"

Lisa paused with her answer. What on earth could be wrong with her eyes?! "No, I don't understand. I refuse to. I want to know what happened to you. I.. I am … really sorry for losing touch with you then."

Dena opened the door with the key they got, and switched on the light, still pulling Lisa by the hand. Lisa pushed her away, gently, and dimmed the lights.

-I can tell you my story, - she said.  -But it will most likely make you run off again. It's not for the weak-hearted – she added with something like a laugh, which seemed to get stuck in her throat.

Dena sat down on the tasteless ottoman, perched awkwardly in an equally tasteless room. "I won't move from here till I hear it," – she declared.

The make-up mask turned to her. -You'll regret it, Dena.

-Please. Not just mere curiosity. I was so sad, and sorry, and missed you so, I swear to God!

Lisa sat next to her, and folded her arms in her lap, like a schoolgirl.

-So, you left me when? When he held the gun to my head, right? Just one of his diabolical jokes. He would not have shot me then. He still needed me. I began to wake up a bit then. When the vacuum around me because audible. An audible silence. No friends, no family, no jobs of fun of any kind. Just him, and his tricks. I was slowly losing my mind… he made me do things that would've made another woman lose her sanity. Yes, he was a real, real psychopath. He would walk me on a leash, naked, back and forth across the garden, on my fours. He would suspend me by my hair, and draw with fire on my backside. Somehow he got into his head that I knew who wanted him dead, but wouldn't tell him. He thought I was communicating with them, trying to get him killed. He thought I could communicate with spirits.  So he tortured me… again and again. Threatened to kill me more often than said hello. I was a slave. He took away the phone… so even if you wanted to speak to me, he would not have let you. And one day – after about 3 years of that – for I have lost the count of time – as there were no clocks or calendars in that house ( intentionally, of course!) - either somebody really chased him, or he lost it altogether – but he lost it. He brought acid home. Yes. Acid. So… " – Lisa paused for breath. Dena was sobbing into her sleeve, trying not to look at the talking mask. Dear, dear friend… 

-Did he throw it at you? Tell me! Where did it go?

"So… - Lisa took up some air. –No, he did not throw it, he tried to make me drink it. It spilled.  On my face… The lower part of my face is a transplant.  There was nothing left. No bones, either. I lived on life support for a year...  That's why all that make-up. To cover up the scars, and the fact that it doesn't quite move naturally".

Dena raised her hand, and slowly, gently, reached for her cheek. A wave of warmth was rising somewhere right in the middle of her chest. Lisa caught her hand, but didn't stop her. Dena caressed her cheek, her forehead, her chin. Waves of pity. Rocking, swaying on them. The whole room is in motion, here-there, back-and-forth.

-It's still you, though. Still you. Same girl, just the same. Do you feel me? –the heat was now spilling through her eyes, burning her, blurring everything, giving the room a hazy glow.

-Yes… I feel you. Thank you… it's been many years since anybody but doctors touched me. The pain… I cannot describe it. Liquid fire, for months and month. I had fifteen surgeries, and there will be more.

-Why more? You look fine! Really!

And before Lisa could stop her, she pulled off the sunglasses in one swift move. What she saw, however, made her jump back. Half of Lisa's face was burnt, and instead of the eye, there was something that looked like raw meat at the butcher's shop. Raw and moving and dropping tears.

Dena jumped back and covered her own face. She just couldn't look at .. that… again. No, no. Why did she come here? And what will be now? There is nothing to say, nothing to do… and now she has to sleep with.. that.. in the same bed. Oh my God, she kept on repeating in her mind. Oh my God. Be a grown up, for once, for God's sake, she repeated her husband's words. Oh my God, he is so right. I can't. Just can't.

-I told you! Told you you'd be scared! Disgusted. It is revolting! That's why I hide as much as possible. Only in the last few months I started daring to leave the house. Why did you do that? I'd rather you didn't see! I'd rather you remembered me as I used to look!  This is not me , anyway. The real me nobody could see…

Dena looked, through her fingers. The glasses were back on. She was rocking gently, not knowing if those were the waves of pity, or horror, or just plain alcohol. Silence. Silence stretched out like sticky web from the sickly ottoman to the bed, and from the window to the door, blinking at them with the red security light. Silence stared from the ceiling, and whistled into the window, swung by the curtains and peered from under the bed.

-Come. Come here, she said at last, opening her arms. Lisa walked to her slowly, slowly, not daring to believe it. She turned her face away, as far away as she could, almost onto her back, and that awkward hug did not break the silence. The web was growing, expanding, engulfing them both.

When Dena woke up, the room was grey in the first light of dawn of another snowy day. Lisa was next to her, still holding her hand, with a towel over her face. I wonder if she always sleeps like that, she thought.  Images were slowly floating before her. Cinemas, malls, parties, school, parents, cookies, trips, hugs, tears.  What will it be like when she brings her home?  Home.  What will be if… I just can't leave her like that… leave her like that. Home, she must get home at once.

 She  got dressed quickly and quietly, thought of leaving a note, then decided not to. Outside, her eyes felt stung by the wind and tears. The blizzard was only gaining power, and the car was stuck for good, at least till the end of the week. Dena abandoned her bag in the car, and walked away, ran, almost, as fast as a heavy middle-aged woman could move in the snow, till her lungs seemed to be filled with it, and she did not know where she was anymore. She looked around, and sat down right into the snow. That eye… Oh my God.

-Judas, - she said out loud. -You are a Judas. Second time over. I hope you freeze to death here, miserable traitor.

Slowly, slowly, she got up, and started back, the wind trying to push her off her feet, losing her hat and gloves in the battle, not feeling her fingers or toes.

The door was locked. She banged on it, and cried, and whispered sorry words into the keyhole. I came back… Lisa, oh my God, I'm so sorry. Please. It's me, Judas. Please…

Am I a believer?

How do I know I am?  How honest am I when I look into the depth of my soul, and then claim to have an attachment to God? What does that attachment look like? Is it only obvious from my actions? Most of the world does not murder, steal and commit adultery ( forgive me my youthful naivete!) - does it mean they all carry God in their hearts? Or are just afraid of the police? If I don't throw rubbish onto the street, am I more of a believer than someone who does? Wow, this could take us far.  And what if the thought of Mashiach on a white donkey makes me smile? I find it easier to imagine Mashiach as a time period ( see the GRA explanation on Had Gadya in the  Hagadda), than as a person with a long white beard. And if you add to that some thoughts along the lines of the Sages' words on women being questionable in this generation? I think I've become a feminist. Is that contagious?  But I still won't litter, mind you. What does that make me?

I think faith is a process. Just like settling the beautiful Land we live in. It takes time, and sometimes we are forced to retreat.We plant forests, bus sometimes they burn. The trees get eaten by pests. They dry out without rain. And then, if we believe, we plant again.
It starts with a small seed. Most people don't even remember it being planted in their hearts. They take it as a given, that there is Someone who made us and everything around us, Who cares for us and showers upon us things good and bad (babies, cars, houses, gadgets, food,  disease, love objects , - cross out what doesn't apply) -and it's all very simple. You are good, you get good. You're bad, there is fire and brimstone. The thing is, you don't become a believer, till you doubt it. Till in your very heart of hearts you say, hold on, where is God in all this? When you see God's followers follow their desire and not His word, you see brimstone coming down on all the wrong people and the fire eating at the garden you have so lovingly planted, and you say, huh? Hallo, God? Where art Thou? And that's when you begin to grow up. You abandon the God you imagined in kindergarten and search for Him all over again. And again. As many times as you need to grow up in this life, sometimes very suddenly. And most of the time - against your will. But I thought I was all grown up already! But no. You don't become a believer till you choose Him all on your own accord, not because mommy and the teacher are watching, but because you need Him. Even though you might never find out exactly what it is that He wants from you.
And even more so - it's a frame of mind. One of never giving up. When I think about the last 2000 years of Jewish history, I see people, who were too stubborn to give up. This is what I carried out of my visit to Yad Va-shem with my kids today.  And listening to the survivors' stories, both at the museum and on the radio. Jews just won't give up. We can't afford the luxury. I saw it in the eyes of the Jews whose pictures are magnified for us to see and to remember, I saw it in the eyes of the visitors, and I saw it in my kids' eyes. I don't know if we don't give up because He is there, and makes us carry on,  or because we all really are believers, deep down. Regardless of what we all say and do, we all just KNOW. For me that is faith, somehow, that never giving up.  It's the faith in our unique mission and in the One watching us fulfill it.
After every king and ruler was gone, the Jews just calmly carried on. Can't be artisans - so we invent the modern banking system. Can't bring the Jews in legally to the Holy Land - so we'll smuggle them in. We are best in cheating out of our own restrictions. Halacha has more exceptions than rules.. We bend and twist, sometimes even die in the process,  but don't break. We just carry on.
We are so very stubborn, always doing things our own way, and never giving up. When I look into my soul, and see that I won't give up, either, I know I'll keep on looking for Him and choosing this way of life anew, each day of my life. Consciously and willingly. I'll keep on looking for my garden, till I've planted it. Happy Independence day, everyone.