Jerusalem, Jerusalem

I wake up in the middle of the night and in spite of the deathly silence and the comfy bed I'm tucked into, I can't get back to sleep. I'm in Jerusalem, and, having ditched my already paid for dorm bed in the Old City for something with a little more comfort and privacy (that also happens to be much closer to the place I down my last drink) my mind is a jumble of the previous days events.

I had been up early to cross from Jordan to Israel at the King Hussein/Allenby bridge which I managed to do without any probing questions regarding my visas from Syria and Lebanon. I did, however, cop the exit stamp without even realising it- and when I notice it there later in the day I'm a little upset, as it will render any return to those particular countries (at least on this passport) an impossibility.

I tumbled out of the Sherut at Damascus Gate, waved good bye to the friendly old Muslim man who had tried in vain to foist his sons phone number off on me and step out into the chaos of Shabbat in Jerusalem. Saturday, the Holy day for the Jews, is market day for the Muslims, and the streets outside the Old City are packed with food and clothing being spruiked in loud voices for low prices.

I enter through the old stone gates and immediately I know I couldn't be anywhere else in the world. A bespectacled Jewish man, curls hat and all brushes past me, while up ahead a couple of Ethiopian Coptics glide along in shiny black robes.

'As Salam Aleikum', says one street seller, the ubiquitous Islamic greeting.

Peace be upon you.

And Peace is what is occupying my mind, lying in bed awake at 3:30 am.

This beautiful city, so full of history, so imbued with meaning for the worlds dominating faiths is covered in barbed wire and bullet holes. Wherever a flag flies, a challenge is issued, a challenge to Peace.

An olive branch offered outside a church causes moral outrage. The simple act of taking a city tour is seen as taking sides.

The footprint of Christ, set in stone on the Mount of Olives is believed to mark the place where Jesus left this earth to join his heavenly father.

And what did he leave? Two thousand years of conflict, bloodshed and hatred.

Those who come to kiss this slab of stone do nothing more than justify a mythology that grants sanctity to mere objects, giving validity to superstition. And failing miserably to bring about Peace, in any way.

I eventually drift back to sleep and awake to the sound of birdsong.

It is peaceful.

Another day in the Holiest of cities. Over my cereal I hope for Peace- not Peace bestowed by some unknowable Deity, but Peace practiced by men and women, through rationality, compassion and a sincere desire for harmony amongst human beings.