This morning I woke up early, lying outside in the hammock. I could see the flat leaves of the tree, whose fruit we don’t know. Now I am in Tel Aviv, in my apartments which is like a cavern. a womb. a safe place to be, except it didn’t feel so safe today. it felt uneasy, disorienting. i already feel consumed by the city. so many lights and sounds and the air is heavy and sunlight ablaze, everything bright with a restless energy.

Now it is the evening and I sit on a pillow on the floor, looking at the lamps and wood and artwork wround me. It is quiet here. My neighbors moved, I knew they were planning to but I thougth it would be after I returned. When I arrived home, a different woman was there. She is the daughter of the landlord, and now she is moving into that apartment. Change is unsettling. I feel unsettled, my body feels heavy and ungrounded.

In one week I fly to the states to see family. part of me is already there — sitting at the airport, feeling the anticipation and nerves and calm before the flight, the moment finally of getting on the plane and easing in. It is its own realm of time and space. I love the experience aznd ritual of it, the flight attendants coming by and the prepackaged food and discovery of what the meals are. I love to watch movies during the flight, watching one after the other and the next... I never watch them otherwise, and in the air there is a special sanction, a permission,

She woke up while the air was still cool outside. She hadn’t slept much in the hammock ,but she never slept much the night before leaving somewhere. She was nervous about going back to her home, and lthe transitions awaiting. For the last six weeks she had been mostly alone, mostly outside, or sitting at the dining room table with the window open. She became accustomed to the view and the green and the quiet of this home, which was her sanctuary.

In the evening she was in another sanctuary.

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Yael Shira

Creative practice, chronic illness, and everyday healing. Writing to write, 25 minutes a day.