Walking, s l o w l y, quietly, where all the dry leaves lay on the ground. Standing silently listening to the air passing, leaves move, minute gestures. No one is here, cool clear Jerusalem air four in the morning forgotten park in some neighborhood Friday night just me and the leaves. Birds sleeping on the trees above me, mother sleeping, the window above me, and I wanted to be dead.
Not to be somebody, not to have a body, to be spirit. To be able to stay there without time, without people looking at me or talking to me, to be invisible, to just observe, only experience, without any fears. To be a thought, to feel a leaf, the wind, float to the top of the tree and stay near the bird, sleep beside her, share her dreams or dissolve to the tree trunk. Not to interfere, not to influence, not to be part of anything. No more doing, just being.