Today in the Jerusalem post office I bought:

2 stamps for Europe
1 stamp for North America
1 stamp for Israel
1 stamp for Ramallah
…

“Ramallah…where is this?” Asked the teller.

“Ramallah. You know, Palestine? Occupied Territories? West Bank…?”

She looked at me.
She looked at the computer.

“No – it’s not in the computer” she said.

She called one of her co-workers. He also shrugged, and when she went to ask the manager what to do, he looked me in the eyes and said sincerely “We just want peace for all. Really…even if we can’t send this. Really – peace for all is all we want. Really…” he repeated himself so very earnestly.

When she came back she said, “Can I ask you a question?” I said “Of course”. She asked, “Do you think Palestine is part of Israel?” I said, “No, do you?” She said “No – of course not”. She asked what it is I want to do – I explained that I want to send a thank you note to someone who helped me find a story through his book ‘Speak Bird Speak Again’. She said, “It is not possible”.

She looked me in the eyes and said angrily “They are our enemy”.

I want to send a post card to Dr. Sharif Kanaana in Ramallah. This postcard has an image of a green mosaic bird on the front. I want to say thank you for the story ‘The Chief of the Birds’ which I told last Wednesday as part of the ‘Two Sisters’ storytelling evening in Jerusalem. I want to tell him that the evening went well. That it was a full house. That people had shining, smiling eyes and were full of questions. That I told six stories and that his story was a bit of a bumpy ride but I did my best and hope that the bird was able to speak through me.

I want to tell Sharif and Pat Kanaana that after 1.5 hours of storytelling, I finally arrived in a place where, at long last, I felt my heart open and I could speak out the enormous gratitude I had for every individual’s presence.

I want to tell them that I am sorry I cannot visit, and I am sorry that I cannot share stories in Pat’s classes at Birzeit University. “People are simply too angry right now” Pat told me. I want to tell them that more than being sorry, I am frustrated (does ‘frustrated’ capture the enormous stifling quality of helpless sorrow I feel?) by humanity’s heaviness and propensity to violence and ignorance. I admit I am grateful for the incredible privilege into which I have been born; the privilege that allows me such freedom of movement – both in my body and spirit. I get to choose to say goodbye to this place. I get to choose my battles. I get to dictate the conditions of my labor.

I know this privilege is not something I can take for granted. I know that all systems are fragile (on the verge of collapse), and that we humans are so delicately balanced between our innate capacity for destructive greed and apathy and our capacity for creative beauty and delight…

While I am glad to be leaving this place, my heart is also broken because I have fallen in love. I have fallen even more deeply in love with Amal and Mariam Abu Regayak and their family- this tribe of strong women who gather every evening around the fire, and who go everyday to their permaculture farm to work (despite the scorn of their father, and the disbelief of the community at large).

Last year I struck a deal with Mariam Abu Regayak. She told me many beautiful Bedouin stories, which I knew would be woven into the core of the storytelling event I would develop, so I said, “listen…I want to give you 18% of all the money I make during these upcoming storytelling events -18 is the Jewish number symbolizing life”. We shook hands on the deal, and I took the business seriously; my word is my honor, our stories are all we have – our words which weave reality are our greatest tool as we tell ourselves back to sanity and regain perspective on our life. (‘If people break their word, why should the stars above keep their promises not to fall?’- Ramayana). So this year, back on the farm, I presented Mariam with an envelope containing some Canadian, Swiss and American bills. She looked at me and said, “You’re joking”. I said “No”. She said, “No really, you’re joking”. I said, “No, I follow through on what I say I will do”. She said, “This is the first time anything like this has ever happened to me”.

The following week I was back at the farm – weeding, moving garbage, clearing space, reading Bedouin warrior poetry, telling stories, laughing with Mariam about how really, secretly we would much rather be treated like queens… brought food, be massaged, be softly loved, be held in the arms of delight…

Mariam and her sister Amal are so beautiful and strong and inspiring to me. Together we help ourselves remember. Together we know that the dream is alive - She, the Spirit, is doing well in our Presence, and we will keep telling her to life.

When I left the farm, my heart hurt. Will I see these people again? Last night we were joking that the only reason the Israeli government could possibly be inspecting each of its citizen’s gas masks is cuz there is some big war move about to occur…we laughed. It’s no joke.

…

I write peace
I be peace
Breathing peace

Postage stamp or no, Peace is sent around the world with every breath.
…