...And the Walls Came Tumbling Down

 I am finally on the beach in Tel Aviv.  Really, literally, on the beach.  I wake up and the view from my bed is the ocean.  I fall asleep to the sounds of waves breaking on the shore.  My sunsets are beyond spectacular, and it's really, unbelievably, the view from my living room, from my balcony.

I am starting to detox from the constant state of hyper-alert that comes with being the kid taking care of the parents. It's been my daily and much more scary nightly existence in LA for over the past six years. Now my shoulders around my ears drop along with each setting sun, disappearing into the ocean. I've only just watched my 4th sunset tonight since arriving and my body, mind and soul are reacting to it all. Emotionally, this is like getting off the roller coaster while it's still going 90 miles an hour.

There is irony here: my state of hyper-alert is less in Israel than in LA.  Seriously. This country is the definition of constant mind-numbing adrenaline specializing in the "just-in-case."  My walls are tumbling down a short city journey from where the still standing Wailing Wall is the embodiment of the joy and pain of sacred devotion.

I can't seem to connect with any physical memory of my previous life in LA.  It only appears as spontaneous tears. These past couple nights it comes, making my eyes all swollen along with allergic reactions to the toxins leaving.  There is only now, and it is so disconcerting at times.  Maybe that is what being in Israel does to you: makes you let go of who you were before, beckoning you to become who you are meant to be.