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Somewhere a walk awaits my walking
A rail awaits my ride
An unfamiliar bed awaits my sleeping
Though early will I rise
Somewhere
My foreign coin will buy foreign coffee
Distant sunrises delay
And early morning markets beckon
To buy more than I can pay for something
Someplace else on other streets
I haven’t talked with friends
Old and new I’ve yet to meet
And with them take it all in
Then later do it again
Somewhere
anthony forrest
“What this?
“You have drugs?
“Is for party?!”
We had heard this and other inquiries like it for several minutes now. All around us, heavily armed soldiers stared at us, unmoved. We had been in Jerusalem for only a couple of days and it seemed that we were already in trouble.
Please understand this: Israel is safe to visit. The news publishes the exception, not the rule. That being said, bad things happen, terrorists attack, and the middle east constantly wallows in unrest and tiresome Status Quo. While we boarded our flight to Tel Aviv, a commotion caught our attention outside the aircraft. Several police cars and fire trucks congregated between our plane and another. After a 45-minute delay, the pilot announced that we would be under way shortly. Upon arriving in Israel, our friends met us with wide eyes and concerned looks. Our flight had been the target of a bomb threat. Later that day, a terrorist in Tel Aviv stabbed and killed 9 people on a bus.
And now here I stood at the Western Wall, trying to explain to the small army of Israeli soldiers that the small clear bag of Tums in my wife’s purse was not actually illegal drugs. After they we entirely satisfied that we were not starting a drug distribution ring at one of the world’s most important religious sites, we were escorted through the gate.
Men and women are separated here. Men must have their heads covered and never turn their back on the Wall. Women must have their arms, legs, and heads covered. The name of the game is respect. With our respective head coverings, my wife went to the right side of the gate and I went to the left.
After all of the intense security and unsafe occurrences, my heart pounded even harder at the peace that stood in front of me: an ancient, 62-foot-tall, limestone wall. Small slips of paper inhabited every crevasse of the old stones. Each slip had a prayer for something—most of them for peace.
And I shouldn’t be surprised.
This is Israel.
The land of war.
The land of peace.
anthony forrest
Unearth daily treasures
And unearth hopeful joy
Chip away at tomorrow’s sorrows
Serenity employ
Unearth the backward war
Seeds of trouble un-sow
Seek not strife and mischief
Un-fight friend and foe
Unearth something different
New and not imperfect
Unearth daily treasures
And unearth hopeful joy
anthony forrest
A dull hum roars in the back of my skull. Has it always been there? It must have a beginning. I can no longer remember what it is like in the outside world. But the passing of time is very apparent. Ah, I remember now. The droning began when our flight lifted off in Atlanta.
I’m on a plane.
Slowly I peel my eye mask away from my travel worn face. It feels like I’m removing a rejected skin graft. As my eyes come into focus, I look around. This must be what 14th century England looked like. What disease has taken hold of these flying peasants? Twelve hours ago, we all boarded with such high hopes. Smiling faces anticipated adventure. Small families settled and tucked into in-flight entertainment. The meal service stoked the fires of happiness and several opportunities for drinks and snacks have since come and gone. But now the romance has worn off.
As I look around this refugee camp, it hits me: I have to pee.
Holding it is not an option on a 17-hour flight. So, I untangle myself from the tissue-thin plane-blanket, replace my tray table, and begin the journey up the aisle.
When I fly, one of the first things I do is take off my shoes. My feet swell while flying and I hate to wear my shoes for so long. I opened the door to the bathroom (lavatory or lav). The garbage overflowed. Toilet paper lay strewn everywhere. And the little sink was filled with a residue of some scummy liquid. An airplane lav is disgusting at the beginning of a flight. But 12 hours in? You’d better be on a prophylactic antibiotic.
I stepped in to get to business and quickly realized that I was not wearing my shoes. Immediately my feet were soaked.
Water? I will never know. But deep down, I know the truth.
And I’ve learned my lesson:
Going to the airplane bathroom in solely one’s stocking feet is fraught with consequences.
anthony forrest
My heart tires of these needless worries
Backward care of this sick-sodden soil
Daily focus so earthly bound
The needless walk of human toil
That peace so longed for rarely found
Though searched for in every wrong place
Things and people and pleasures
None can satisfy
Only his grace
anthony forrest
We gazed back and forth—at the well, then up at the water storage tank. The only running water the farm had was a well system at the far end of a property. As water filled the well, a windmill pumped the water up and out, into a water storage tank 25-feet in the air. From there, the water gravity fed the Hacienda and the rest of the buildings.
For the past week, we had been experiencing reduced water pressure. And nobody knew why. So, there we stood, investigating. It was finally decided that the best course of action was to climb the tower and peer into the 600-gallon tank. We soon discovered that the tank was full of crystal-clear well-water. However, the two-and-a-half-inch pipe which fed the property was plugged.
Something was in there.
I might mention now that though my Spanish had improved greatly since I began living in Bolivia, there were still many words I did not understand. To make matters worse, the local dialect was awash with a rich Quechua vocabulary.
We both hung off the side of the sky-high tank trying to come up with a plan. It was decided that he would cut the pipe with a hack saw and I would hold my hand against the end of the pipe, holding back thousands of pounds of water.
Brilliant.
Surprisingly, it worked. Not because of my brute strength. But because of science reasons which to this day elude me.
As I gaped at my uncanny ability to stem this watery force of nature, I looked up and saw that my fellow tank repairer’s face turned an unpleasant shade of green. He looked up from the end of the pipe and coarsely whispered, “ch’uwaku.”
Not a Spanish word.
I scraped the bottom of my mind this new word and meaning. I asked for clarification and to my horror, found out that a bird (ch’uwaku) had died, been sucked into the tube, and evidently plugged our water source.
In silence, we finished repairing the tank. He disappeared and later returned with a jug of bleach. As he poured a ¼ cup into the tank, he looked up at me and said in a mix of Quechua and Spanish, ” bird water.”
anthony forrest
Black it starts
Unwritten and without ink
Before the words of birds and man
Yesterday’s tomorrow on the brink
Of beginning
anthony forrest
The fog lifted and the clouds drifted away, revealing a warm sun. I at the edge of a duck-infested fountain. The day had been filled with perfect clichés—cobbled streets, old cathedrals, and romantic statues. A perfect Paris day.
Hearing the bells at Notre Dame had meant more to me than I’d thought it would. There was something haunting about the ever-looming tower, protected by the watchful eyes of Gargoyles. The bells sang out and rang the hour—warm and mysterious.
I now relaxed at a fountain near the Louvre, eating a croissant and feeding the little birds directly from my hand.
A screaming 20-something cut though the ambiance. She walked aggressively up to her presumed boyfriend and began shouting in French. They argued loudly for a while.
My birds flew away.
The guy on the receiving end of this balling suddenly exploded. He picked up a metal chair and hurled it into the water.
My birds flew further away.
She was apparently part of a group. Her comrades beckoned her to give up the violent debate and move on. Before they left, a couple of guys did try to retrieve the chair. A kind gesture in a dark moment. But they eventually gave up.
No matter where you are or what beauty surrounds you, there will always be somebody screaming and throwing chairs into fountains. It’s human nature to ruin the good things, ruin peace.
But the angry girl and her angrier boyfriend eventually left. Heads and conversations returned to their previous state.
And even my birds came back.
anthony forrest
Walk with me
Where cobbled stones abound
Cross the street
To the tower
Soon, the hour
Will sound
Wait with me
On a courtyard seat
Under the tall
Dark tower
Soon, the hour
Will beat
Listen with me
To the ringing knife
Cutting hearts
Echo the bells
The song of life
anthony forrest
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