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Bombs In The Olive Garden

by V. Vernon Woolf, Ph.D.

When we entered Israel, the Israelis made it very clear:

  • You are entering a war zone.

  • You must never leave your group.

  • You must never talk to an Arab without your whole group being present.

  • You must never talk to Arab terrorists.

  • You must never be out after 11:00 at night. You can be shot on sight.

We all meekly promised to obey. By the end of the first day I had broken all the rules. It happened quite innocently, really. Rama Vernon had organized a “dialogues for Peace” program between Israeli and Palestinian leaders and asked me to join the team of negotiators. We arrived late the night before and had arisen early in the morning to ride in a small blue bus and begin touring the points of interest throughout Jerusalem. After visiting some of the more prominent places we were dropped off on one side of the Old City and informed we could walk through to our hotel on the other side. It was my interest in the shops and the people that started the whole thing.

“Stay together” was the last thing our guide shouted as the blue bus pulled away. The shops were so interesting. I knew I was lagging a little behind, but I could still see my group ahead of me heading in the general direction, I assumed, of the hotel.Two cars tried to pass on the street.The streets of the Old City are very narrow and there was not enough room for the cars and me so I quickly stepped through a doorway to let them pass.As I turned around, I found myself in a very impressive shop.It was as large as a department store in America and filled with treasures.Ancient Persian rugs, huge jars, old jewelry, everything you could imagine in an Arab shop.I was drawn further inside by the magical things.

“Hi.How are you?” asked an Arab attendant in perfect American English. “You speak great English!” I marveled. “Yeah.We’ve got a shop in LA. We’re brothers,” another man said as he approached. “Where did you guys learn English?” I innocently inquired.And then it began.I could feel it coming.

“In prison,” they both grinned.I looked at the gleam in their eyes and asked, “When were you in prison?” “Since I was five,” said the first brother.“When I was six.” said the second.“Are you guys terrorists,” I asked with a twinkle in my eye. Their grins grew as they shook their heads in the affirmative.“All our lives,” said the older brother as their grins grew from ear to ear and prompting me to ask more questions. I broke the second rule.

“How do you feel about the Israeli occupation?”I quipped. Then it exploded. One of those holodynamic experiences you know you were born to unfold its fullest potential. Both men raised their right hands, clenched their fists and said with one voice, “We hate it!” Their fists came down at the same time.I immediately recognized the collective action as the work of a holodyne and so I began to track and asked, “What color is that hate?”

There was a star of David laid in beautiful tile in the center of the floor near where we were standing.They looked in the direction of the star but I could tell their eyes were not seeing it for they were widening first with amazement, “It is black and brown and... it is ...” and then they both backed up in stark fear.They jumped behind one of the counters and crouched, shaking from such fear that the whole counter shook.“What? What is it?” I asked but they did not answer.

I walked toward them but all their fear and shaking kept me at a distance. It took an hour and a half for them to calm down to the point where they could describe what they had seen. “It is the Great Beast!”

“We cannot look upon the Great Beast! It is forbidden!” The “Great Beast”, as it turned out, was black and brown, a great hairy creature which represented the evil in their world.We talked for a long time behind the counter, sitting on the floor and they so petrified about having the Beast around.They finally came to see that all their resistance to the Beast and the resistance of their people had not changed it in thousands of years.It was still around.They doubted anything could change the Beast but I insisted the reason I was with them might be so they could learn to transform the Beast.

I suggested they create a field of love around the Beast but they could not or would not even consider such a thing.Finally, I asked “What would Allah do with the Beast?” After discussing it for awhile, they decided Allah would know how to handle the beast.

I suggested they create an imaginary place in their mind, a place of peace in which Allah’s power would be undisturbed and they would be safe from the Beast. It only took a moment and they both described a beautiful oasis, peaceful and safe, filled with beauty and life. In this state of being in this beautiful place, I asked if they could feel the presence of Allah and they both agreed Allah was there. All fear left them and the calming effect was transparent. "How does Allah feel about the beast? I asked. "Oh Allah loves the beast. Allah loves everything," they agreed.

“Can you wrap yourselves in the love of Allah and look through the eyes of Allah?” I asked. “Yes, we can look through the eyes of Allah and are wrapped in His love,” said the younger brother. “Wrapped in the love of Allah and looking out, through the eyes of Allah, can you now look upon the Great Beast?”

Like little children, these two grown businessmen, such courageous freedom fighters in their defense of their land and their people, raised to their knees and peered out, over the counter, onto the Great Beast of Satan. Their eyes began to widen as if they did not know what to do next. They could face their worldly enemies but were powerless over their own holodynes. “Ask it what it wants,” I whispered.

The older brother asked in Arabic, “What do you want?” No sooner had he asked than both reacted. They ducked down behind the counter shaking with fear and holding on to each other.“What? What happened?,” I asked, but it was another half an hour before they could tell me.

“It wants to consume us!” they cried. I explained it was an ancient being seeking a solution to its own problems.I emplored, persuaded and finally got them to wrap themselves once again in the love of Allah and, looking through the eyes of Allah, find out what else it wanted.Eventually, they worked up their courage and peered once again over the counter.

“What do you want?” the older brother emplored with a quivering voice.“It wants to consume Palestine.”“What else?”“It wants to consume Israel.”

“Israel!Why would it want to consume Israel?” challenged the younger brother. “I don’t know?” said the other.They began to argue with each other.“Us I can see.Palestine I can see but Israel?It can’t want to consume Israel.”They both turned and looked directly at me.

I shrugged my shoulders, “What else does it want?”I asked. They looked back at the Beast.They were more confident now and began exploring the intentions of the Beast.“What else do you want?”

“It says it wants to consume everything... all life!”“Why?,” I asked. They looked back upon the Beast.“So it can have peace.It says life causes such conflicts, such problems and wars.The only way it can have peace is to destroy all life.”

“So it wants peace.”“Yeah.It wants to get rid of all the conflicts.”

I then asked, “Can you imagine what that peace would look like?”Even as I asked the question I could feel the shift begin.

“Oh.Oh...Oh! It is so beautiful.It is so pure!” They jumped to their feet and hugged each other and began to dance around the floor.“It is of Allah.It is a witness of the love of God!It is a great river of life flowing through all people and all life!”

They were dancing around the shop in total ecstasy.I had never seen anything so joyous in all my journeys.“Every foot which steps upon this holy land is brought by God to be here!Every deed is a witness of the love of God.Palestine is but a transitory state.A witness to all nations of the oneness of life and the wonders of God!”

It took considerable time for them to fully experience their joy and their prophecies. Finally I suggested. “Introduce the Great Beast to the River of Life.”

They stopped and stood still, both facing the Star of David on the tile floor but seeing through it to the Beast.“The Great Beast is tired.He very much wants to go into the river and change his life forever.”

“Then let it be done!” They both stared intently in the direction of the Beast. Suddenly they exploded, “It is a miracle!”They threw their hands up and began to dance again.They danced over and hugged and kissed me.They lifted me into their dance and we shared together an indefinable ecstasy.Time stood still. I became one with my Arab friends. We shared the joy of the River of Life together. Finally, they stopped and looked at me.“Who ARE you?” the older brother asked.

“My name is Vernon.”“Veeeeeeerrnoon.Veeeeeeerrnon.It is not a good Arab name!Come with us.”He motioned with his head to his brother.With a twinkle in their eyes, they guided me back into the depths of the shop to an elegantly tiled well.From what I could tell, it was ancient.

“This well has been in our family for over 6,000 years,” he said.“It is called the Well of Faraig which means in Arabic water where none should be.It has come to mean solutions to problems where none should be, an opening or doorway where none is evident.Here,” he said, “take this robe and put it on.Now this headdress.”They wrapped me up properly so I looked very much like an Arab, stood me beside the well and raised an ancient cane that was part of a display.

“We name you Foraig.From now on, wherever you go among the Arabs, you will be known by this name.You are now family and you may come an go among us as part of our family.”

I was deeply touched by the passion, openness and total involvement of these two men.I said, “We will be the Foraig brothers.I hereby name you both,” as I took the staff from his hands and raised it over their heads and touched them both, “my Foraig brothers!”

I looked down at my watch. It was 11:30 at night.Past curfew.Completely dark outside.The ominous blanket of the Israeli warning began to cloud my consciousness.“I really should get back to my hotel,” I suggested.“Oh,” the older brother said, “where is your hotel?”“I don’t know.I only just got here late last night and we went out first thing this morning on the bus.I have been separated from my group.”“Can you describe your hotel to us?”“Well, it is English, named after some saint, I think, and it looks like a castle.”“Oh we know that hotel.We will take you there.”“But it is after curfew and you could get shot.”“Don’t worry Foraig,” he said with a sly grin, “We know how the system works.Come with us.”

Silently we slid out a side door.In the shadows of the night we walked tenderly through the city.Hesitating in darkened doorways until one of the brothers or the other scouted ahead.As we approached the last gate, we watched in silence as an Israeli patrol passed not twenty feet away from us. Then, in the open light of the main street we crossed to the hotel and they walked me to my room to make sure I made it without any trouble.“We hope we can see you again soon,” the younger one offered as we said our good-byes.“For sure,” I said,“We are brothers.”I fell asleep almost before I could get into my bed.Jet lag set in. I had a great night’s sleep.

First thing in the morning, breakfast call, an early shower and meal and we were off on the little blue bus again visiting the sights and meeting with people. Once again the blue bus dropped us off in the Old City of Jerusalem.I took the group to meet my Foraig brothers but told them nothing of our experience the night before.We bought a few things, went to the hotel, had a good dinner and sat around discussing the situation as we saw it in Israel.At 11:00 PM, as I was getting ready to go to bed, I heard a knock at my door.

It was my Foraig brothers.“Foraig,” the older one said, “come with us!”“Where?”“Come.We have no time to explain.”I put my clothes back on and went.

An very small and very old car waited just outside the hotel parking lot.It was dirty and rusted away but it ran.I folded myself into it and we drove without lights through the city into one of its black out areas.In the Arab sectors, the Israelis allow only minimal electricity and, even though their own suburbs are well lit, the Arab sectors are dark.In this sector of homes, there were dirt roads, evidently no sewage system because it ran down the gutters, and little power.We entered a home with some lights.It was a nice home by Arab standards, and we were introduced to an Arab family of eight children.The mother was obviously nervous and the children sat in absolute silence.Then a young man of 18 entered.

He had a crippled leg so he walked on the side of his foot and with a pronounced limp. Both his hands and arms were contorted. He held them up to his chest to give him a measure of control on limbs that otherwise would just dangle. Other than his handicaps, he was robust and appeared like any high school graduate who might have played football in any American school.There was, however, no laughter in this young man.

I was introduced and he nodded his head to me and acknowledged his friends who had brought me and we sat down. His mother and his brothers and sisters all sat watching in silence.Then the youngest Foraig brother took his chair and, pulled it up close right in front of this young man.He put his hands on each side of the young man’s head and pulling his face within two inches of his own he shouted, “Mohammed! Pay attention!” It was obvious he wanted to track his young friend Mohammed.

It was a tracking unlike anything I had ever seen.First it was all in Arabic. Second it was done with my Foraig brother holding young Mohammed’s head in both his hands and forcing him to look straight into his eyes. No sooner had he started than he stopped, looked at me and said in English, “OK Foraig, now what do I do?”“About what?” I asked shaking my head. “Well he was tortured by the Israelis. He has such great hate, all he wants to do is kill Israelis.What do we do?”

“Take him back to the time his hate began,” I offered.“OK.”More dialogue inArabic and then, “Foraig, he says it started when they killed his father for no reason.”“What happened after that?” I queried. there was more speaking in Arabic, then “He says he started resisting and they caught him. They left him for five days and nights in a space too small to stand up or sit down.It was in the desert.They broke both his arms, his hands and fingers.”At that point the young man showed how all his fingers could be turned completely back to touch his wrists.The joints were completely broken away.

“How did he feel?” I continued. More Arabic talk and then, “He was consumed by hate.” Prompting him, I asked, “What color is this hate?”They worked at it awhile.The young man withdrew into himself and suddenly there was a great commotion in the front of the house.Cars drove up.Men got out.We could hear them slamming the doors and shouting to each other. They approached the house.The mother and children became very frightened.My Foraig brothers went to answer the door.Mohammed also got up.The three of them went outside.There was a great commotion of shouting and angry words.Finally, after about half an hour, the band of men left.The three men and the mother came back inside.“We had to explain what we were doing,” said the older Foraig brother.“Everything is OK.Let’s continue.”

I realized what risk they were taking. Once again we faced the young man’s hate.“It is black.He cannot see how big it is.His entire world is consumed by the blackness.”“Have him travel through the blackness to its outer edge.How far does it go?”“It goes to the edge of the galaxy,” the brother translated.“Good.It is the size of the galaxy.Now ask him to put a field of love around this hate.His love must be bigger than his hate.Can he do it?”

“He will try.”More conversation and the young man nodded an affirmative.“He is trying.”“Ask him to talk directly to the blackness.Ask what it wants.”They talked for a few minutes, “It wants to kill all Israelis.”“What else does it want?”More talk and then, “It wants to kill everyone who supports Israelis.”“What else?”“It wants to kill all life.”“And what would it have if it killed all life?”Into the eyes of my Foraig brother came an instant recognition.It passed between us in the twinkle of an eye and I knew he knew.With genuine confidence he spoke rapidly to Mohammed.Suddenly the young man exclaimed, “Oh.Ohhh!OOOhhhhh!!!”He got it.His family got it at the same time.His mother and all his brothers and sisters began to weep.They were so relieved.They knew he knew.

He sat for a moment in silence.There cam from him the most beautiful radiance.He spoke rapidly to my Foraig brother who then turned to me and said, “It is the love ofGod.”“Please explain to me what is happening,” I emplored, even though I knew.

“He says his hate is to teach him to love without conditions.He says his enemies have taught him unconditional love.He sees now that all his life has been to teach him love.”Then with a gleam my Foraig brother asked, “It is the River of Life, yes?”“Ask him” I directed as I nodded in Mohammed’s direction.

The young man got up and gave me the most gentle embrace.He held me for some time and then, as he let me go, I asked, “Mohammed, what about your hands and foot?”As my Foraig brother translated, Mohammed looked at me and said, through his translators, “Ah Foraig, these are my witnesses to all the world of my unconditional love for my enemies.”

I was profoundly moved. His family swarmed around him, hugging and kissing him and his mother cried her gratitude and took my hands and kissed them.They offered food and drink and we stayed awhile but the night was almost gone.In the wee morning hours I crawled into bed, totally exhausted but gratified to know that even the most hopeless of situations is driven by its potential solution.

It seemed only moments and the call for another early breakfast and off we went in our little blue bus.We visited a few more churches, began dialogues with heads of organizations, and met with some amazing people.

We visited more churches, were dropped off in the old city again to visit the shops and then headed back to the hotel.It became a routine.Every night at 11:00 sharp my Foraig brothers would pick me up and off we would go to visit another “terrorist”.

On the third night, Beanyo, a seventy year old woman who was more aware than the average bear, spotted me going out of the hotel.“Hey Vernon,” she called, “where are you going?”I stopped to talk with her just to quiet her down.“You got a girl on the side?” she chuckled.“No girl.” I laughed.“Then where are you going.I see you going out last night and again tonight.What kind of night life is this?” she prodded.“If you promise not to tell, I’ll tell you.”“I promise, I promise.”

“I am tracking Freedom Fighters—” she looked perplexed—“terrorists each night.”“Ohh.Can I come?”She was sincere since she knew my work.“Let me ask.”I conversed with my Foraig brothers, explained who she was, and they agreed. Off we went. The next night there were three of her friends with her.The next night the whole peace commission showed up.There are no secrets. The Arabs brought more cars.The whole procession looked like something out of a Key Stone Cops movie.No lights.A caravan of five cars all winding down through the dark streets in the middle of a war zone.Everyone ducking down but keeping a lookout for Israeli soldiers, going from one place to the next, meeting with so called “terrorists”.

During the day we would sleep on the bus and drag ourselves through the various sites and trying to stay awake during the meetings.Each time we met with an Arab group, the leader would always begin “I will tell you where we have been...”What followed was an hour and a half of memorized sermon about the history of the Arab people. It got so I quickly lost interest.

The forth day, one of the Israeli legislators joined our bus.He became our guide.His name was Danny, he was a great guide and a wonderful person.He introduced us to a special group, made of twenty Arab leaders and twenty Israeli leaders. He explained that they had been meeting for over a year and had never agreed on a single issue except that they would agree to meet every week. As we traveled on the bus, some of the people were talking about the process of tracking and holodynamics. Danny began to ask me questions. As our discussion developed, he invited me to attend the weekly meeting. I accepted and promptly invited the whole Peace Commission (they would never have let me go alone at this point).

The group met in a large room and sat in a circle.The meeting was opened by an Arab leader who took his staff, tapped three times on the floor and said in English (the common language of both groups), “I would like to tell you where we have been.”“No,” I said.Again, he repeated, “I would like to tell you...”“No!” I said more firmly.

“What!?Who the hell are you?How dare you interfere with our traditions.”He was almost uncontrollable with rage.It was as though I had stepped on his face.But my Arab friends said, “He is Foraig!”They were all pointing at me and saying “He is Foraig!” and nodding their heads up and down and grinning as wide as their mouths would go.Never had anyone dared to interrupt the “This is where we have been” sermon.I realized however, that some attempt must be made to break the pattern of the “gate-keepers”, those holodynes that closed the information systems and who never let anything new happen.Change had been almost impossible.So I said, “No.”

The leader finally realized his own people were agreeing and he was the only one who was angry.He must have noticed this because he forced himself to gain control.“Foraig?” he raged.Then a little more calmly, “Foraig?”Then finally, “What do you mean, Foraig?” with a little challenge behind his sarcasm.

“I mean you are meeting here to solve the issues between you.There are no solutions to anything in telling where you have been.It is only the continuation of a past which was not successful with the hope for a future that cannot possibly be any more successful than the past.”

“What do you want?” he asked a little perplexed.

“I want you to stand up.” “Me?Stand up?” “Yes.Please.Stand up.” The man shook his head and mumbled, “Foraig.Foraig.All right, all right.I will stand up for any man they call Foraig.” I stood with him and addressed the group.

“I would like each Israeli in here to imagine this man at his fullest potential. Can you sense the strength in him, his loyalty and faith for example?” There was silence for a moment and then Danny, who had been with us and learned to focus on the potential of every person, said, “He is a very kind and dedicated leader.I trust him.”Then another said, “He is very courageous.He works very hard.”Their acknowledgments began to flow then, these men who had never agreed upon anything, except to meet, flowed with the inner knowing they had gleaned about each other over the many, many meetings.After about five minutes, the Arab leader said, “This is really great.I never knew.I never knew.”He almost cried.I stepped in and invited, “Now, would the leader of the Israelis please come to the front." There was a moment of hesitation as they each looked at one another. TO fill in the gap, I suggested, "Danny, would you come on up here.”He did.

He stood beside the leader of the opposition so to speak - two men from warring tribes.“You Arab leaders focus on this man.What do you sense in his fullest potential self?What characteristics do you sense about this man?Do you recognize his openness, his sense of justice and nonjudgmentalness?Can you feel his love for his people and his country?”They were nodding their heads and then they began to flow with the knowing of Danny.“He is a great leader.”“He is a wonderful father and a real gentleman.”For five minutes they continued.Danny beamed his acknowledgement.   

I asked them to face each other Full Potential Self to Full Potential Self.They looked at each other. First they smiled and then, they fell into an emotional embrace.Both cried.Then the Arab leader exclaimed, “This is the place where we can agree.This is the place of solutions where none were possible.Thank you Foraig!” Both opened their arms and embraced me.

A sense of peace permeated the room. I suggested the group divide into smaller groups and do the same process with each other so everyone would have the experience of relating Full Potential to Full Potential with each other.It was a very lively and interesting group. It ended around the same time as the sermon would have ended had it continued in its traditional way. But, today, new dimensions were explored and they brought new understandings, agreements, and visions of possibilities

The last night we visited with a man referred to as “the most holy one”. In America he might have been one of the nameless and homeless. It was immediately obvious that there was no two-way conversation in him. Any attempt to address him, was like pushing the button on a tape recorder.He kept telling stories.Only stories.Never a direct interaction with initiative or meaning, only stories.He lived entirely in the past. Any attempt to reach into his holodynes was thwarted by another story.

The Peace Commission sat in a circle looking at this person, treating him with respect but unable to make any difference at all.Compared to the adventures of the previous tracking sessions, this was not going anywhere. I realized I had been developing an agenda and so I let go of any expectations. I looked around the group and separated myself off to talk privately with one of his devotees. I quietly tracked one of the Arabs and thought perhaps, that it was enough that I would have just met this reverenced man. I forgot the whole event until six months later.

I was back in my home in San Diego, California and I received a phone call from one of my Foraig brothers. He was back in LA and had a gift from his “holy man”. We arranged to meet and there he presented me with a shoebox filled with key chains cut from an olive branch. My Foraig brother explained that the branch had been cut from “the most holy” olive tree in Israel. Each key chain was about the size of a silver dollar and each was carefully hand painted on both sides. In the painting was the River of Life and, dancing on the shore of the river were two men. One man held the flag of Israel and the other the flag of Palestine. To my amazement, on the other side of the olive cutting, some contained the dancing men with the flag of Russia and the Flag of United States.

There, among the olive trees, in a sacred garden, a holy man took the time to create a symbol of gratitude and hope from a holy tree. He painted the River of Life, he painted men dancing and sent me a reminder of what is possible in a land where bombs abide in the midst of the olive gardens.

When we left the Israeli airport we were warned that airport security was tight. Each person would be required to go through an intense interrogation process in which the names, phone numbers, addresses and details of every conversation, would have to be reported. Since we allegedly were never separated as a group, this caused a great concern from some of the Peace Commission. We attempted to calm their fears but it was obvious to everyone, we would never be able to tell even similar stories. I led the way through the airport.

When I got to the interrogators, I was asked who I was and why I had come to Israel.I said I was tired.I was with this big group and we had visited so many churches I never wanted to see another of these types of churches as long as I lived.The interrogators looked at the group, saw how tired and bored I was and asked if we had ever been separated from each other.I said “I can hardly wait to get out of their sight.All I want to do is go home and be with my family.”They passed the entire group through at once.Just as well.What is there to say to those who are dedicated to owning the olive garden or planting it with bombs?


The above is a true series of events, taken from my notes made during my first visit to Israel.From this initial tracking effort came the movement called The Order of the River of Life that is instrumental in transforming both the Israeli side and the Palestinian side of the seemingly irreconcilable war which had lasted over 50 years.

I returned to Israel a few months later to learn that two members of my Foraig brothers family had just died in a car accident. The family was in mourning so no further contact was possible. I know the results we obtained while we were together. Similar results are obtained by Holodynamists around the world in every imaginable situation. In my experience, those who understand Holodynamics hold the keys to some of the most natural and >powerful transformation tools in the modern world.


This is an excerpt from “The Dance of Life: Transform your World NOW!” by V. Vernon Woolf.

This book is written for those who want to learn to make a difference in the world. Holodynamic processes can help every person unfold their personal potential, transform their mental processes, own their personal power and help others improve their own lives.Tracking is combined with reliving and pre-living for those who are interested in shifting the field of our collective consciousness. These process are part of a series in Holodynamics which views the world as one whole dynamic.Those who are “holodynamists” get extra ordinary results in solving the complex problems and unfolding individual and collective potential.


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