"I've looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down, and still somehow
It's clouds' illusions I recall,
I really don't know clouds at all."
From up and down, and still somehow
It's clouds' illusions I recall,
I really don't know clouds at all."
(Joni Mitchell/Both Sides Now)
The sudden autumn winds through the heat-struck streets of Kyoto sent me on a nostalgic ride to Jerusalem, where I'd been watching the changing seasons (all 2 of them) the last 5 years.
The series of flashbacks were triggered by a tea cup. I was watching a movie at my dorm neighbor's room, and we didn't have enough cups for all present, so I went to bring mine. I pictured it in the eyes of my mind standing on the counter, from which I shall take it and return. But as I looked and looked in front of me I couldn't find it. Took me a few minutes to realize, that the cup I was visualizing didn't exist in my room, or in Japan, or in my present life. I had it in several dormitory rooms of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, in another lifetime.
There were 2 of them, both brown and light beige, but the colors inversed. They had on them thin flower drawings and the saying "look at the jar". (The one you are not supposed to look at in the Hebrew equivalent of "don't judge a book by its cover"). All the friends I have in Israel now had the opportunity to drink something from them one time or another. Coffee between nights of fun and days of school, at winter all kinds of herbal tea infusions bought in a small shop at the market, red wine of different quality, improvised cocktails, warm wine with cinnamon and oranges...Damn, those were the days.
The series of flashbacks were triggered by a tea cup. I was watching a movie at my dorm neighbor's room, and we didn't have enough cups for all present, so I went to bring mine. I pictured it in the eyes of my mind standing on the counter, from which I shall take it and return. But as I looked and looked in front of me I couldn't find it. Took me a few minutes to realize, that the cup I was visualizing didn't exist in my room, or in Japan, or in my present life. I had it in several dormitory rooms of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, in another lifetime.
There were 2 of them, both brown and light beige, but the colors inversed. They had on them thin flower drawings and the saying "look at the jar". (The one you are not supposed to look at in the Hebrew equivalent of "don't judge a book by its cover"). All the friends I have in Israel now had the opportunity to drink something from them one time or another. Coffee between nights of fun and days of school, at winter all kinds of herbal tea infusions bought in a small shop at the market, red wine of different quality, improvised cocktails, warm wine with cinnamon and oranges...Damn, those were the days.
Jerusalem is a Dream-City. It was made so by history, religion and literature. Its geographic existence is inseparable with everything that has been said, written and felt about it through the ages. There are many cities like that in the world, they differ from one culture to another, and change with time. The general rule is, that having never visited it doesn't keep people from idealizing Paris, Venice, or Atlantis for that matter. You know what they are, and why you like them. You know which of them is your kind of place, and why you have to go there, otherwise your life will never be complete.
Unlike other Dream-Cities, Jerusalem also has the holiness factor going for it, and its name is filled with all the passion of monotheistic
religions, the drama of history and civilization in progress, and a lot of personal stories and human feelings building up to make its unique aura.
The heavenly, shining city on the hill of the Puritans I'm supposed to be writing a paper on, the anchor and object of longing, the heart of Jewish existence, the place where Jesus was just a man and so on.
Unlike other Dream-Cities, Jerusalem also has the holiness factor going for it, and its name is filled with all the passion of monotheistic
religions, the drama of history and civilization in progress, and a lot of personal stories and human feelings building up to make its unique aura.The heavenly, shining city on the hill of the Puritans I'm supposed to be writing a paper on, the anchor and object of longing, the heart of Jewish existence, the place where Jesus was just a man and so on.
But of course, each person has a personal relationship with his Dream-City. It wasn't for religious reasons I fell in love with Jerusalem on my first visits, but perhaps its multicultural-ness had something to do with it. It was a real City, unlike many places in Israel including my home town.
It was attracting people from all over the world, and its narrow streets were filled with stories of the old world and the new. It was beautiful too, and different, with its Jerusalem stone and its green hills overlooking the desert and the Dead Sea. Another object of admiration, and, in the end, my ticket to life in my Dream-City was the Hebrew University. Its shining stone buildings on top of the sunbathed green hill, its library with books in exotic languages, its atmosphere of liberalism, it was everything missing in my highschool years.
So I moved to my Dream-City and it became my life, with all that life is. Exams and lectures, lousy student jobs and cold rainy w
inters. My greatest moments of happiness and despair, my wonderful friends and our simple pleasures, my little love stories that blossomed like flowers between the city's cold stone fingers. My dormitory rooms, temporary like the seasons.
And with all the inevitable bitching and complaining at the time, I loved my life there madly and I loved the City that made me what I am and brought me where I am, how ever ridiculously far that is. It was beautiful when I was miserable in it, it was holy when I was gazing into my own drunken eyes in a mirror at some bar's restroom, and it was shining when it was crowded and dirty, terror-struck and abandoned by tourists. It never seized to be my Dream-City. Not even when the desire to travel and to find me a new life became so strong I lost the peace of mind the City gave me.
Kyoto was also a Dream-City of mine, long before I had any reason to believe I'll get a chance to live in it other than my unreasonable optimism. First, I read a lot of Heian literature so for me it was the capital. Second, Kyoto too was both ancient and international, attracting more scholars and artists than people trying to get
rich. It was also a meeting point between the old world and the new, and in these aspects it didn't disappoint me. Though it is a bit too rural for me at times, and at other times resembles a big souvenir shop, I'm steadily growing to love Kyoto, the way it is in reality. The serenity of the river running through its heart, its numerous temples that reflect through the ages the human respect for beauty and nature, the paradox of its Japanese-ness and the many foreigners that live here. The interesting people you meet here, and how easily you all feel at home all of a sudden.
I don't know if the way to make a City yours is by being happy in it or the other way around. What kind of experience makes a place more than a place? But as I walk the streets of Kyoto these days of early autumn, looking at the streets and the people walking them, sometimes I get this fragile, evasive sensation. One of being exactly in the right place.
That's it for this long hideous introduction. Next posts will contain pictures and anecdotes of my life in Japan, starting with my latest trip to Gifu prefecture. A new year begins in the Jewish calendar, time to clear the heart from illusions and disappointments and go on discovering and trying to enjoy the ride.
It was attracting people from all over the world, and its narrow streets were filled with stories of the old world and the new. It was beautiful too, and different, with its Jerusalem stone and its green hills overlooking the desert and the Dead Sea. Another object of admiration, and, in the end, my ticket to life in my Dream-City was the Hebrew University. Its shining stone buildings on top of the sunbathed green hill, its library with books in exotic languages, its atmosphere of liberalism, it was everything missing in my highschool years.
So I moved to my Dream-City and it became my life, with all that life is. Exams and lectures, lousy student jobs and cold rainy w
inters. My greatest moments of happiness and despair, my wonderful friends and our simple pleasures, my little love stories that blossomed like flowers between the city's cold stone fingers. My dormitory rooms, temporary like the seasons.And with all the inevitable bitching and complaining at the time, I loved my life there madly and I loved the City that made me what I am and brought me where I am, how ever ridiculously far that is. It was beautiful when I was miserable in it, it was holy when I was gazing into my own drunken eyes in a mirror at some bar's restroom, and it was shining when it was crowded and dirty, terror-struck and abandoned by tourists. It never seized to be my Dream-City. Not even when the desire to travel and to find me a new life became so strong I lost the peace of mind the City gave me.
Kyoto was also a Dream-City of mine, long before I had any reason to believe I'll get a chance to live in it other than my unreasonable optimism. First, I read a lot of Heian literature so for me it was the capital. Second, Kyoto too was both ancient and international, attracting more scholars and artists than people trying to get
rich. It was also a meeting point between the old world and the new, and in these aspects it didn't disappoint me. Though it is a bit too rural for me at times, and at other times resembles a big souvenir shop, I'm steadily growing to love Kyoto, the way it is in reality. The serenity of the river running through its heart, its numerous temples that reflect through the ages the human respect for beauty and nature, the paradox of its Japanese-ness and the many foreigners that live here. The interesting people you meet here, and how easily you all feel at home all of a sudden.I don't know if the way to make a City yours is by being happy in it or the other way around. What kind of experience makes a place more than a place? But as I walk the streets of Kyoto these days of early autumn, looking at the streets and the people walking them, sometimes I get this fragile, evasive sensation. One of being exactly in the right place.
That's it for this long hideous introduction. Next posts will contain pictures and anecdotes of my life in Japan, starting with my latest trip to Gifu prefecture. A new year begins in the Jewish calendar, time to clear the heart from illusions and disappointments and go on discovering and trying to enjoy the ride.
