There is at least one time in your life where you should sit down and think about what your whole life is about, and this should happen when, ‘they say’, you’re around 40, and as I’m already 42, it’s more than time to submit to such an exercise, were it in an approximative way.
It’s more than important. I usually think life before 40 is some kind of almost irrational expression of more or less intuitive reactions, whose rational principle has to be determined a little after, seen the mass of empirical evidences gathering around your consciousness. There must be some kind of principle which explains the whole more or less, if you don’t forget the section of what is hidden away in bad consciousness realms, and whenever you manage to seize it, you must necessarily know who you are, where you belong to and where you’re going to.
I would never fall in love before 40, just because not knowing who I’m, I would necessarily not know who I’m falling in love with. Luckily most people don’t develop so much reticence around their private lifes, otherwise it would look quite dark for the future.
The ‘I’ feels better in mythological realms and understands itself much better in symbols than under empirically determined categories, reason why I approached my task under this perspective, which, I admit, was not excessively easy seen the horrible amount of endless investigations my mind had been dealing with apparently from the second or third day of its earthy existence.
In fact, if wanting to resume my life in an appropriate way, I’d say that I was given before I saw the light – and this in order to avoid I may forget it after – some kind of jewel as intuition looking like a brute emerald in the depth of my unconscious, whose exact signification I couldn’t grasp and whose affirmation against the world’s beliefs would have to mark my paths around existence. In order to maintain the truth of such intuition, I was obliged, like some contemporary Hercules, to move tons of stone blocks and even heavy amounts of dirt out off the way, as it would otherwise disappear under the pressure of masses of contrary beliefs.
This intuition had rather little to do with angels and saints, although I would have to ask even those for help in order to reassure my beliefs, if ever of need. In fact, inside of my symbolic understanding of myself, I was nothing but the ‘double’ of someone else, someone who was very important and had some definite historical role, and who had left the keys of her destiny inside of some empty jar, as I was myself, just in case something may happen to her. It’s an evidence that she was always there, from the very beguinning, and that the characteristics of her identity were transmitted by a certain number of tones linked to questions and answers related certainly to other subjects.
I’m very lazy. She decided to die when she was about 21, I think, although she factually never managed to, and this she had planned when she was 14 or 15, as, she maintained after, ‘there is no way out to this issue if I don’t die, and you are my warrant holder’. Of course I did not agree with such a step backwards, but couldn’t avoid it, as this would burden me with the excessive weight of the realization of the destiny of someone else.
‘Why did you die?’ ‘Because love is stronger than death.’ – That’s a reason, I argued, somewhat puzzled, but if you say so.
In fact Hannah was horribly worried about the destiny of Israel and ment that necessarily it would end up very badly, as the real causes of the happenings during second world war had not been cleared up and it would, necessarily, she said, happen again. Even if they have a state now. It won’t change anything at all, but worse, it will look as if they were the only responsible for their own distruction.
‘And why should this be of my concern,’ I kindly asked one day, as extremely reluctant while considering to attach my mind to other people’s affairs. ‘Well’, she said, ‘you have some sentence somewhere saying ‘Moses will judge you’, and this concerns Israeli.’ ‘That’s true,’ I answered, ’so what.’ ‘I haven’t any such sentence,’ she said, ‘which may allow to find in principle the restoration of the understanding of law.’ Hmm.
“That’s a nice excuse for you to die, but it does not warrant in any case, anyone is ever going to listen to your explanations even if spelled with my words.” She ment, don’t hide away. Which was to say, that I had no choice: I had to assume my responsibilities as warrant holder, whatever happened or my destiny would look very ugly. It wouldn’t look much better if assuming it, but at least I could push the responsibility on someone else, which left some kind of reassuring aura on the attempt.
When I was about 24 some other ugly monster appeared, and this one, whose link had to be linked somehow to Hannah, and who later was to be called Sask, derived itself from some tones in Shiri’s voice while pretending in Paris that the very fact of maintaining God’s existence, necessarily implied a ‘trauma of childhood’. Shiri had just left the army in Israel after a three years stay in some army linked radio station, and this because she belonged to the privileged who didn’t have to keep guards because her father had been a doctor of reputation during one of the endless wars. She even had a bible with signatures and aprreciations of some prime minister and that determined more or less her environment. It was an evidence that Shiri would not have concluded such thing if not as a derivation of stronger currents inside of the army, under whose obvious influence she staid.
Who is the tone holder of such pretension? Seeing some slightest light for Hannah’s purposes inside of it: if it is possible to find some radical opponant and prove that he/she’s wrong in blunt ways, it would become possible to induce this way some different understanding on things. But what, even this means almost to know law by heart and the principle of reading is lacking. Doesn’t matter, let us find the opponant first, as perhaps the very principle of reading is inside of the opponant. You can not deviate but from a determined principle, and the deviation is already the path to the principle in question. Do two tasks, thus: create the opposition while showing me the path to the principle.
I arrived first in Israel in 1993. It was not a long path up from Haifa to Jerusalem and although it was raining that last day and Jerusalem looked like burning fire in the night, with all its red and orange lights bursting against darkness, some horrible evidence appeared that very day, and this was, that unable to understand what all these texts were about, I may better consider them as belonging to an identity than as a fleshless amount of bones, and this identity could be talked to were it in a not very precise way. I was horribly happy that day and this thought I considered as some kind of crown obtained from heaven’s after such an effort so that I wouldn’t care about night and rain.
Arriving to En Kareim it was already so dark that it became impossible to orientate oneself and I was obliged to ask where Jerusalem was, a somewhat stupid question as it was obvious that it was exactly above our heads.
My adversary was somewhere around in the wherabouts, hiding itself behind bushes and woods. I had just needed a few reminders of conversations in order to tipify almost hypothetically some character corresponding to the coordinates ‘God’s belief is some trauma of childhood’ and Eymel Wardi said, after having invited me to coffee in a hotel in front of King David ‘That’s King David. Where the bomb attack happened to british headquarters.’ Which bomb attack, I said to myself, in complete lack of knowledge of such historical events. It didn’t matter: the tones obviously revealed that my adversary had some link to Hotel King David, which looked impressive enough so as not to want to provoke a too frontal crash, at once.
My adversary was, it seemed, a woman, a little younger than myself, somewhere in the training for the intelligence service as from some diamond linked family, and not exactly Mossad, something starting with Bes or Sev or whatever. Probably, seen the kind of exposure she was able of, specialist in psychological torture and manipulation. (I don’t have to be kind with my adversaries.)
The strict application of a submission strategy to this somewhat cloudy psychic type had horrible side effects. Imagine you arrive on your way down to the Dead Sea a little after Bethlehem to a closed kibbutz and you have to spend the night outside, and it is raining, and some airplane has decided to pass on your head constantly and insistingly with a shining white light in front and making exercises inside of some wady. After a while you decide to shelter yourself outside of its field of action and get nearer to the kibbutz, and of course, the guards do immediately discover you and start shouting around in unknown languages and without knowledge of any other. Such a peaceful night.
It’s true that after some intuitive negotations, we’re allowed to stay in the guard’s ‘garita’, a construction of about 2mx2m, where 6 people lying looked like fish in a dose, but never mind, at least there are no planes and it is not raining. At about 5 we’re torn out of sleep by hundreds and hundreds of orthodox jews of who one, does invite us to breakfast. Follows a long conversation of unknown contents.
We leave a little after and arrive after a tired walk to a military camp down south where a bus gives an artistical expression to a bar or restaurant. We buy something to eat and walk outside for a rest when a car arriving at high speed does stop in front of us and two men, of which one of the kibbutz, jump out of it. ‘Can you show us your maps’, one says, luckily in English. ‘Of course’. ‘These maps are not good enough,’ he says’you’re going to get lost in the desert. Better go to Jerusalem and buy better one’s.’ (Don’t think I’m going to believe I’ll find some 1:50.000 maps while just walking into a book shop in Jerusalem, I wouldn’t leave them all around that easily.) “Doesn’t matter,” I say, “1:250.000 is good enough.” “There are people who have been found eaten up by wild beasts after having fallen down some cliffs, and it was not even possible to establish who they were.” (Are you wanting to make me afraid?) “It’s easy, Sir, the sun goes up the east, the Dead Sea is 3o km away from here to the east. If we walk in perpendicular direction to sunrise, we necessarily are walking north. The Dead Sea will always stay to our right – there is no possible loss.” They left after a while.
Of course we got lost, but that was because I really didn’t want to fall down the cliffs on a path that wanted to go down in a too sharp way. ‘There is a wadi there. If we turn around the wadi tomorrow, we will arrive to the Dead Sea without confronting ourselves to too sharp edges.’ There was even a kibbutz there where we had coffee and some antilopes shew their heads while jumping around the cliffs. We staid at the Dead Sea for a few days and Jordan looked red and salty the other side of borders.
After we hid away in some cave in the whereabout which should help the location of the adversary. Which, if I’m not completely wrong, must have been some hospital in Jericho at those moments.
Some family members of the expedition arriving more or les at those times, insisted in ours going for a bath at the northern borders of the Dead Sea. We hadn’t reached the sea yet when some soldiers arrived running behind us accompanied by a beduin ’step mark reader’. (Working with traditional methods?) It looked very grave. We were said to sit down and show our documents and then we had to wait for a long time. “It’s the border here.” “There is no fence to show.” “Some German was shot while attempting to approach the fence at night.” “It was night.” A long long silence followed. “Can we go to swim now,” I asked. “You better leave from here,” the officer answered, which after all, was what I had been aiming at.
After that last confrontation to military forces, soldiers disappeared from our vision field for the rest of our stay in Israel.
It’s not but after having left borders that a very ugly war started between myself and my adversary. Not that I may have taken things personally. It was just a very influent pole of thought I was seeking the weakness of, in order to test whether there were slight possibilities of finding principles and distroy evidences.
That it finished by being taken personally was a bad side effect I hadn’t considered in my abstract innocence.
After 10 years of peaceful contemplations, I had put an end to my adversary’s strength and can even go so far as to invade her territory without any kind of opposition. Don’t ever think it was that easy. How do you knock out ‘a belief in God is a trauma of childhood’ without too much of a discussion? Simply in undetermination. If you are talking about traumas of childhood you’re moving inside of a freudian structuring of understanding. The rejection of God as concept or even regulating principle does make of you an admiror of natural rules. If you’re respecting natural rules, you will necessarily reject homosexuality. To push you into these realms will break your conviction of yours as being a honorable representant of a naturally correct individual. To pretend to a love affair or to indirect determination is going to be blocked by walls of defenses. But a strategy?
I don’t know whether you’re homosexual or not, but I know that your defenses are stronger in a heterosexual environment. What you can’t deal with is a homosexual attack on basis of strategy. Bet? I had already found a volonteer for my experiment, a Japanese called Leya. How much will it take until she has the psychic coordinates of my adversary? 6 hours. How long until this one falls into my trap? 3 months.
You see, Doris Wilheim, – who was the opponent to my adversary in the Mossad, in my configurations, – she’s not interested by young handsome men who may justify the accusation of adultery. At most she’s going to seize your lines out of your trap and make you fall a little after into a divorce. Betta be careful. She wasn’t. My adversary run into King David around April 2003 accompanied by a young handsome man. Sorry for you, Frau Wilheim, I thought.
In the meantime Leya was given whole sorts of instructions that staid outside of the field of knowledge of Wilheim, too much concentrated at those moments in blocking a counter attack, which were much more effective. I never asked what had happened, because it is actually of the private realm of people. A fact is, though, my dear Sask, that your concentration did not seem to stay on plans of expansion justified by the defense of a possible attack during the Irak war, and Israel staid peacefully waiting for coconuts to grow – which may be an indirect proof of the fact that Leya had managed to deviate some attention somehow. No, I don’t know how.
See, how easy. You’ve gone out of natural rules, which is to say that you’re ‘bad’ inside of a certain ideology, which does allow no pardon. You’re bad and you’re really bad, Sask. Better ask for God to be in order to give you some light on the most evil interventions of wicked adversaries in the attempt of restoration of fundamental truths.
‘It’s an evidence, Frau Wilheim, homosexual tendencies are often justified by childhood traumas, don’t you think?’ – ‘Now, please do me the favour and don’t exploit such weakness, although …’
Manishma 
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