I can not believe it.  All those cartons I posted last week are now burned to charcoal crisps.  It is done.  It was a process but really, I let it burn.  Let it burn.  From delivering the "package" of cartons to Jerusalem, and finding a good day, after rain but not rainy, to trecking with my shopping cart and knapsack of burnables to the forest with my childhood friend (well she came half way) and mother (she made it!) and finding a good camping sight.  And then for two hours me and my mother let it burn.  We talked about burning stories from the past, and let it burn.  A mix of anxiety, fear and shame, lest we burn down the forest or be caught red handed for making a purposeless camping fire, no hot dogs included, managed to live side by side with enthrallment, beauty of view and of flames and of ashes, sharing, and learning how to trust ourselves.  We found a spot in the Jerusalem forest, trees felled everywhere from the snow fall last week.  Our burning was situated right across from the holocaust museum Yad Vashem.  Sight Specific, perhaps yes, or not, against a breathtaking backdrop of hills.
So it happened.  And at the end we coached the fire to burn out,  poking deeper to bring up the unburned to be processed too. I mustered the courage to gather all the warm ashes into a tin, to take home with me.
Totally wiped out, like a rubber doll, yet with color and a grin on my face, we walked home.
What a day.
Meaningful yet purposeless.  Does "art for art sake" encourage meaning or discourage it?  Is just "aesthetics" shallow when it is found in the greatest mundanes of daily life?  Sublime, right infront of my eyes.  And somehow it is just the right thing to do for my soul.
Oh.  Today is my "english" birthday.  What a day.