No one looks you in the eye here.
There's no music.
Divisions and barriers.
Trampling over each other to get to heaven.
Jerusalem has lost its sparkle.
City of fire - rising to nowhere, dropping ashes, sizzling.
Where are my mystics?
This place is holy. This place is holy.
This place is being abused.
Uptight warriors. Depressed mothers. Cold stares. No subtlety.
A young boy with a black hat and payos winked at me.
I can feel his unconscious pain.
The light is burried beneath every one's hurried shuffles.
And nobody's crying out.
I feel lonely in our holy city...and a little confused - but a lot guilty.
I selfishly await my return to Tzfas.
Meanwhile, I'll try to snap myself out of this bewilderment, try to find thr light and spread what I can.