-It was, a time, yes that time, my time, I remember it now-the facts seem to be blurred somewhat, but clear enough to tell the story: it all started-I mean the turning point was, perhaps was-in fall; no, perhaps not, it was hot and dry, and dusty. I felt in those days like a big air bubble inside that white foam that is brushed up and pushed onto the beaches by the waves coming off the Sea of Galilee. When I walked about Bethsaida, north of the Sea of Galilee, across the River Jordon, I wanted to disappear, disappear to anywhere, and the sooner the better, back in those days. I was young, so very young then. After I met him, I never felt that way again of course-the Healer, they called him by many names, but I thought of him at first as the Healer, then the Galilean. I was always crying back then, before I met him. I followed the Healer to Capernaum, to Magdala, everywhere-even in the boats. I loved the winds, the breeze coming off the sea those waves splashing on my knees and face. But before that, before the Galilean.



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