Tomorrow I will be going to NewTV to do some acting. I have to remember to bring an onion with me to induce the flow of tears. I hope that I do not over-dose on PTSD or scare anyone. I hope that it goes well. It will be just me and the cameras. Gonna be interesting, for sure. Augusta and Mary Francis interviewed me last week. They are such spirited young women, felt a very strong connection to them and am very grateful that they have joined my journey here. The genital pain journey. I will upload pictures of the collages that I made. Pat created a web-site for me where I can upload all the art-work that we do together in our workshops. This is exciting! I like the feeling of having things come together, of feeling progress and evolution. And it is nice to have Shabbat to feel this a bit more. Though tomorrow won't be a day of rest, rather a day of drama. A day in the life of me. Purim has been fun, wearing my wigs and going dancing and socializing. Tomorrow night there will be another Purim party. Ah, to have fun, to dance, to socialize...dancing to my body, to the gratitude of feeling okay/safe in my own body again. Dancing to the gratitude of being able to have sexual relations. Dancing to life again.

Even though there are days that are very hard and long nights of complete sleeplessness and then a day of utter exhaustion.... I feel grace in the life that I am able to live. I feel gratitude in the meaning that I can create and in the insight that so much suffering has given me. There are aspects of life that I will never be able to take for granted again; a moment of peace in my body is an eternity of prayers answered; the ability to dance and feel no conscious pain for a few hours is the resurrection of the body that lay severed and derailed; the things that 'normal' people take for granted to me are a celebration of life, a waterfall of grace, redemption, revelation....And so, though my life is hard and my existence within my body is a challenge, my spirit has grown and grown so much further that it encompasses a joy that is my deepest secret. I drink from life with a thirst and a patience. I know the value of every moment of the life that I can live today.

I called the Rape Crisis Centre and will soon have an intake meeting there. I will be given three months of counseling for free. I look forward to this with the hope that I will be able to untangle some of the pain and the fear and the hatred that I carry from the sexual assaults that I experienced while traveling in India, on the Tel-Aviv beach and in the Israeli army. An unwanted penis never entered my blessed vagina. I was attacked on the Tel-Aviv beach and managed to free myself. In the army I was bullied by some of the officers in my platoon. I was the only female among 80 men. It was tiring being hit on by so many men at the same time. But stupider then that, it was psychologically exhausting and spiritually draining to have to deal with their meanness once they understood that I had no intention of responding to their advances. That screwed with my head a lot. There was the ass-hole who picked me up and put me on the table calmly saying to me "How would you feel if I raped you now." There was India.
India. Oh India, how you fucked with my female mind. How you tormented me. And mocked me. And terrified me. And threatened me. And watched me suffer with glee in your eyes. How I screamed and prayed and meditated and conjured in my mind all the meaningful moments of my life in my mind so that you would not be able to take my body or my spirit. What was I? Was I strong? Was I foolish? Was I so naive? I did not know that what did happen could happen. I thought that I was safe. How dangerous could a train-ride with so many passengers be?
I carry it still.
Still, I carry that pain.
I hope that the people at the Rape Crisis Centre will help me see that it was not my fault, that I was not stupid or foolish or naive, that I was me on a train-ride stuck in a small and crowded compartment with a gang of men that wanted to shame me, to rape me, to what?

Will I ever understand what happened there? Will I ever come to terms with the way that I was treated there? Maybe they can help me put in a framework that will make it easier to carry, so that the fear and the anger won't seep into rabied generalizations about "all men."

After India, I was scared of men. So many Israeli men who came near me got the cold shoulder. Whether they deserved it or not, I don't know. Today, I want to know. I want to trust my instincts more. And I want to be wise, even if the truth hurts. I already know pain. I can take it. What I don't want is to lose faith in men in general. I want to know that there are beautiful men. I know that there are and I want to be near them. And to feel grateful that they are in my life.

Like the way I felt when I taught the Buddhist Monks. Protected, safe, respected and deeply valued for being a living being. Thank You Dalai Lama, thank you Yarpeh the monk for helping me find healing in your presence and in your wisdom.

Love,
Atara