El meu insurrecció

Between Two Worlds (for Sammi)(for Palestine)

{On May 26 of this year, 2016, it will be 47 years since the IOF took Sammi away from me.}


Between Two Worlds

(for Sammi)

by M. Dennis Paul

(Part One)

I feel angry and hurt. I feel pain. In an instant, I feel compassion and healing. I feel Palestine.

I talk with friends, read Tweets and emails, view videos and gaze at photos. I cry and shout at a flat screen and I type words. Angry words. Fearful words. Sad words. Feeling words. In my mind, my heart, my blood pulsing against every pore and every follicle I feel Palestine.

I read and analyze. I listen and watch and I learn. I learn questions and sometimes answers. I question and sometime answer.

(Part Two)

I feel Palestine.

I understand the imperative to resist. Resistance is a beautiful thing. I understand the hardship to resist. Resistance is a harsh thing. Resistance brings and it takes away. Resistance is Palestine. Palestine is resistance.

I realize resistance portends the life of coming generations. Resistance. Generations of resistance. Never ending cycles of children without childhood. Perhaps a moment happens on rare occasions. Interruptions of sadness and foreboding. Afraid to look back. Back is where my family is buried. Afraid to look ahead. Ahead is where I will be buried. Everything happens in a moment and the only expectation is that moment ending somehow.

(Part Three)

If I die I am gone. If I live I will live ….

People have created themselves to be my enemy. Taking everything from me and at end trying to take my spirit. My essence. Existence. Their decision. Choice. Creation.

I have no choice other than to run or fight. The little corner is all that is left of what was once vast and inviting. In that corner there is no longer any place to run. I have no choice. Fight.

(Part Four)

Children. Eyes dark and swollen. Faces gaunt. Lips parched. Belly close to forgetting what food feels like inside it. Horrible unyielding sadness locked into every muscle. Unyielding horror in dreams and re-emerging images. Living dead memories. What to do but resist. What to do.

Find moments. Have children. Try to help children have moments. Moments before they must resist. Moments before they are buried. I feel Palestine.

(Part Five)

I feel alone. I feel there is no world to which I am attached. No world I am a part of. I feel everyone has turned their back to me while the schoolyard bully punches away at my skull. My mouth and nose catch sand and stone with every pinpoint blow.

If I die I am gone. If I live I will live ….

(Part Six)

I feel Palestine. In my mind and my heart. In every pulse against every pore and follicle. I feel Palestine.

(Part Seven)

I do not want this never ending cycle. Children and grown ups do not want this never ending cycle. Children forced to be grown ups do not want this never ending cycle. Only people who have created themselves to be my enemy want this never ending cycle. We can live without it. Live. They cannot. It is what they have created of themselves. For themselves.

How do we break the cycle without destroying them… in the process or as a process. How do we break these cycles without destroying us…in the process or as a process. How do we live in this moment ever fearful there will be no others. For us. For our children. For Palestine.

I feel Palestine. In my heart and in my mind. In every pulse against every pore and follicle. I feel Palestine.

(Part Eight)

In the middle of a moment I close my eyes and dream of my feet in warm moist sand. The spray of our ocean mixes with sand to create tiny sparkles of light on my face and my arms and my legs. I look toward the waves and see the sparkles of my childrens’ flesh and hear the light in their voices and I breath. Only for that break in that moment.

(Part Nine)

I feel Palestine.

(Part Ten)

Palestine is this moment passing and perhaps another. It is a moment in which every emotion washes over our faces like the salted water. Palestine is the moment in which we feel so deeply in love with our children and our partners. Feel the pain if they aren’t there. Breath the air that would have been theirs.

(Part Eleven)

Palestine is this moment when the beast kicks in our doors and steals one or another of us and carries us off blinded to buildings we do not know but know what will be in them. It is this moment when pain and humiliation are fighting with the memory of those we love.

(Part Twelve)

Palestine can never be taken from us nor we from Palestine. It is made from everything we are. Our blood and bones over generations are the soil in which our homes are built and rebuilt, our children play, our gardens grow, our martyrs rest. I feel Palestine. The beast who steals may take our land but what grows there will be us. Let them eat knowing that what they eat is us and that we are inside them. The beast can never escape us. Can never erase us.

Still, the thought persists trapped between two worlds…

If I die I am gone. If I live I will live to kill you.

—— M. Dennis Paul


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