WTF?

Yesterday--mid-morning--on the back porch, wet from rain-- skies a patchwork of every shade of gray, changing into another quilt every moment-- chilly, but not cold-- second cigarette of the day--
the little lawn littered
with Bella's forlorn toys, and Bella inside the house, not even interested in coming out-- and there in the corner of the little yard there are three little shaggy ink caps sprouting up, and the hunter narrows his eyes, and says, "I will let you go today, little mushrooms, but tomorrow? I will decide tomorrow."
And I still haven't decided, little mushrooms. Little mushrooms, trembling with fear.

I feel a little evil in me, having just written that.

Today it is foggy, but I am feeling only partly cloudy, Thomas.
Thomas, whom I walked with for a bit in Turkey, is now in Israel, walking for peace, and I am with him. Yet, I am not, as I am a bit jealous.

I was not allowed into Israel, you see, where I also hoped to walk for peace, but perhaps the security lads caught a look of something other than peace in my eyes? Perhaps they saw that little bit of evil in me, that would cause me to make little mushrooms tremble with fear? Or could they see the chimp on the bike, cycling around in my head, holding the handlebars with one hand and a 'Palestinian Rights' sign in the other hand? And a black and white checked keffiyeh on his chimp cranium, folded stylishly, like Arafat's, it's tail fluttering in his wake?

As for their eyes-- the eyes of the Israeli security team that boarded the ship in Haifa-- all I could see in them was fear. 
I understand why the little shaggy ink caps growing in the lawn tremble with fear, but I couldn't understand why grown men with weapons feared the mushroom hunting peace vagabond. But in retrospect, it is because they have been trained to fear anyone who isn't a mere tourist.

I was not a tourist, though I would have done some sightseeing. Tourists fly in from New York, while I had walked most of the way from Portugal. And tourists carry a lot of luggage for their one week of sightseeing. I carried 20 kilos, mostly on my back, my worldly possessions, the weight of which included two petitions; one for Israeli settlers, and one for Hamas-- the two biggest obstacles to peace in the region.
Many peace activists thought my petitions were one-sided, favoring Israel, because I asked Hamas to resist non-violently, and to recognize the state of Israel. I wasn't allowed into Israel though, as I apparently favored Palestine, having declared that I was walking for peace, and having also declared that I believed in the rights of Palestinians.

Shongajongajonga, as they say in the Netherlands.

I believe Thomas was allowed into Israel, while I was not, because he hugs trees, and almost anything else that is vertical. I will pat a tree, and scratch it behind the twigs, but I do not hug trees, and this inability to unabashedly demonstrate a love all of creation was what kept me out of Israel. Thomas was not perceived to be a threat,  because he will hug TAR-21-toting Israeli soldiers and Neolithic-minded Israeli settlers and rock-throwing Palestinian teenagers and AK 47-toting Al-Qassam Brigade members. He may have hugged those who interrogated him when he came into Israel. I will not hug any of these guys, though I would have sat at a table with them to have a smoke and a vigorous chat.

I might have stood between the IDF's  bulldozers and a Palestinian home though. I did not say this to the Israeli security team, but perhaps they saw it in my eyes.

But now, it is past 9 o'clock in the morning, and I shall venture out for the first cigarette of the day.

And now back, a mere instant for the reader, and much less than an instant for the Universe's perception of time, but a thousand laps for the chimp in my head as I smoked on the back porch, as I pondered the ice in my water-filled ashtray, and thought, 'it is a bit chilly, standing here in my t-shirt', my perception of cold having changed since the Balkans last autumn and winter, when it was truly cold, yet, even then, nowhere near Absolute Zero, which is the Universe's average temperature.

And the fog that enveloped me as I pondered the ice in the ashtray, and I, exhaling smoke back into the fog; it was also foggy much of the time in frozen Bulgaria,
the ice and snow and fog
blending,
bleak,
unending.

And there, in the corner of the little lawn, three, nay, there is a fourth-- four tiny edible mushrooms trembling, quaking with fear at my hungry gaze.

Though the Israeli security team did not quake or tremble, they were afraid, and though I did tremble and quake, I was not afraid, or at least, not in the way they were.

But my trembling and quaking were the outward manifestation of the possibility of my standing in front of the IDF to prevent them from destroying a Palestinian's home to make way for a new Israeli settlement-- the possibility, I say, as it was not in my plans. But the possibility was there and they saw it, and I did not say it except through my own trembling, and that was enough for them to deny me entry into their country, though it is not only their country to deny anyone entry.

And then, the mushrooms, and I am filled with a love for all sentient beings, and for beings not sentient, but what beings are not sentient? And I love the mushrooms, and I tell them telepathically, 'I love you little mushrooms, I will not eat you,' but they are wise, these prehistoric beings, though they are little, and they know I am simply being maudlin, and a time will come when I feel no empathy for them, and I will pluck them and devour them, so they tremble, not for themselves, but for me.
Can one hug a mushroom without destroying it?
Or perhaps they are like the enlightened one in the story, who threw himself to the starving tigress that she may live and feed her starving cubs?
Are mushrooms Buddhists? Or Buddhists mushrooms?
And what makes mushrooms edible or poisonous, anyway? Only that we eat them.

And then I think about the fog, and the brutal devastation that happened here a lifetime ago as armies clashed, and I wonder how they went about the business of destruction when it was as foggy as it is now?

'Shongajongajonga', as they say in the Netherlands. Or, 'WTF?'  as they say on Facebook.

And the mushrooms, really though, they are only fungi, only mushrooms.They are not emotional creatures. They do not quake, for instance.
Quaking, trembling mushrooms.
'What the fuck?', as we used to say in the navy, without abbreviation.

And I sigh.

A pause.

Did I mention quaking?
As in Quakers?
Well it just so happens that I call myself a Quaker. 

Yes, I, Schroeder,  am a Quaker, though , perhaps, not a model of Quakerism.

I smoke.
I drink on occasion.
I play poker, though not for money, and I teach others how to play it, yea, even children do I teach this game based on deceit.
If someone suddenly attacked me or someone I was with, I might whack them, and with vigor.
Sometimes I use foul language.
I sometimes speak with a hint of wrath in my voice.
I appreciate irony.
I ramble on and on.
I use psychological torture on tiny mushrooms.
I walk past trees without hugging them.
And some un-Quakerly things that I do,
I simply will not say,
though I may seem to be one
who says all.

Does thee raise an eyebrow, Quaker, at what this Quaker has said?
Perhaps I raise an eyebrow at all that thee has not said.

Does thee raise an eyebrow, Quaker, at this Quaker's doings?
Perhaps I raise an eyebrow, Quaker, at thy lack of doings.

The Quaker testimonies of Simplicity, Peace, Integrity, Community and Equality speak to my condition, just as they speak to thy condition, Quaker.
But has thee tested thyself and thy beliefs beyond the comfort of thy home? Beyond the comfort even, of having a distant home?
Even I can be a model Quaker when overly comfortable. 

And the Divine Inner Light that we must all pay heed to,
this I also heed, Quaker.
But perhaps too many of us look at this Light from a comfortable, condescending distance,
rather than plunging into its core, where everything is consumed by fire.

Is thee willing to strip thyself naked, Quaker?

But perhaps I ramble heavily. Let me take the weight off of my shoulders,
and off of thy shoulders,
and we will ramble with more levity.

Another time.