Tag Archives: Pain

Return to the core

At the end of the 4th year of my blog, this is my 200th post. Had I kept the weekly posting up for the past months, I’d have had an average of a post per week. I’m just short of that now, but that’s fine.

When I started this blog, early 2012, I intended to write a pathway into my own subconscious. Digging into darkness and light, expressing it by doing. I also intended to experiment with writing, get myself into the flow. Try out some styles, do interviews, poems, ramblings, short stories and testimonies of my adventures in life.

As I wrote about love, hate, social injustice and the limitations of the mind, as I condemned superficiality and took part in it, the desire to be recognized grew. I could see viewer and follower statistics. I discovered tricks that increased my readership and secretly hoped that one day, independent blogging might become my livelihood. But tricks result in temporary pulses, and Sailing on Dreams did not gradually expand in the way I hoped it would. This became a struggle, I put an effort in making the content more interesting, but discovered that joining trends had more effect. The amount of people who read my blog seemed unrelated to the quality of my articles as I perceived it, but far more linked to the effort I put in attraction. That was, possibly still is, the strongest disillusion I have had as a blogger.

Assuming that good work promotes itself, I started to wonder if my work was good enough. Is the blog’s title too pretentious? Does it miss the match with what I actually write about? Does it work against my words? Do I create the impression of being ungrounded? Is the work itself ungrounded? Not developed enough? Are the topics boring? Am I using bad English? Have I milked myself too far? Am I wrong?

Meanwhile, the lack of real breakthrough in my career and some concerning geopolitical developments grew onto me as a darkening cloud. Some of the stories became darker, too. And who wants to read sad, negative recountings? I usually don’t. But yes, I did get positive feedback from dear friends, and even from strangers. Also a single quite painfully negative one from a friend. Still, it seems as if some people were touched by some of my work. And I did realise that it were never the numbers that mattered, but the motion when touching each others’ souls.

I stopped using that word. Soul. What does it mean, after all? Its smurf-intensity is gi-normous. And it turned into cliché. Trying to be original, I have learned to despise repetition. But repetition gives structure. Stability. Accountability. And the sound of the word soul is good. It comes from deep. It hits breath-bottom.

Perhaps I forgot to find the magic in my words. Judged their enchantment as something self-centred, narcissistic. Perhaps I saw through my own marketing, and lost the capacity to convince myself.  The capacity to surrender to the dreams I sail. In attracting the invisible you, I sometimes forgot about  me.

As I did before in this time of year, now, for my 200th post, I find it time to return to the original intention of this blog. To recalibrate. I still think that in its spark, this blog has the right aim. Some of the series I wrote, such as the words for emotions, tuned into that well. The desire for readership fundamentally does not match that intention, and yet I could not ignore it. The expansion of the original intention towards ‘persociety’, as an attempt to dive into our collective subconscious was also good, as it possibly made the texts more relevant. But the fact that the collective subconscious of the modern west hides some very dark aspects is clearly not popular. I can imagine that exploring it that way, even if playfully, could feel like an accusation of the innocent public. But if that’s where I want to go, then that’s where I will be. Digging tunnels, in the cavities of the internet, sharing happily with those few souls I meet down here.

Thirty years ahead in life, 200 posts on my blog. On the threshold of 2016. You can divide that number by two for five times. Where this year will lead I don’t know. For what it’s worth, it will not stop me from rambling.

Calming Volcanoes

Rainbow Thunderheart or Bavado LeBeau is a Native American shaman from Wyoming, concerned with the healing of mother earth. He is part of the bird tribes and sound healers. His ancestors have asked him to teach the people of the world about the laws of nature. He has travelled to 28 American tribes to get to know them. His teachers educated him on how to maintain a good relationship with nature and its spiritual entities. He now acts as spiritual guardian of the Yellowstone Park and has travelled to the Netherlands to give teachings on his work. I have asked him for an interview and he agreed.
(Picture: Aljaz Gabersek)

College
Lian organises the session; it comes with several landscape healing rituals and a sweat lodge ceremony. She invited me to join diner. It’s hectic when I meet Bennie, right before we eat. He’s in blue with nice ornaments. Gentle, to the point. Diner is vegan, made of rice and local flowers. Before we eat, we hold our hands above the food to get rid of the bad energy. I feel like making lots of inappropriate comments, but manage to keep most of them in, where they light up a little flame that makes me smile. The companions smile back. An airy young blond man on my right explains that he is from a far away galaxy, and that he always purifies his food this way. He gives me some tips on how I can do the same. I try. It seems to be a big deal for him.

The college room is full. When no more people enter, the group gradually becomes silent in expectancy, until we cannot even hear whispering. “I’m not going to talk yet” says Lian. The humming starts again.

Bavado gets the stage. He stands legs wide and his voice is peaceful but loud. After introducing himself, he sings a song that he calls a message of his culture. He blows on a whistle. The high-pitched sound, he explains, scatters the negative energies in our minds. It’s beautiful. In a long presentation, he sketches a paradigm that is for a part new to me. Some words I find hard to digest, with others I feel as though I know exactly what he’s talking about. I’ll give you a short personal summary.

Central in Bavado’s vision is grandmother spider’s web. This is a pattern similar to that of the seeds in a sunflower. It is spread all over the world and the intersections of the lines have sacred sites, to wich everything is spiritually connected. Bavado says that the problems are global and they therefore concern us all.

The large-scale mining and transportation of gold, oil and minerals of the past century has put the weight points of the earth’s tectonic plates out of balance, comparable to removing a piece of a spin and sticking it to the other side. Consequently, the earth spins into a new equilibrium, which causes tsunamis, earthquakes and volcano eruptions. This process has been predicted by tribes from all over the world, who learned this information from inhabitants of different star systems. Some of these legends were passed from parent to child; others were carved as drawings on stones. It was predicted, for example that when the White Buffalo returns, the nations will stand together as brothers and sisters to heal the earth. The process goes hand in hand with the coming of a generation of children who are born spiritually awake. Today, Bavado says, people from all over the world are having vision dreams about volcano eruptions and they have the chance to do something about it. The global reset is going to happen with or without us, but we have the potential to smoothen it a little.

Rainbow Thunderheart has himself once dreamt about a super eruption of a volcano in Yellowstone. To prevent this, he has made a journey by 19 sacred natural sites surrounding Yellowstone in a wheel with a diameter of 1200 miles. On each of these sites, he taught volunteers how to engage in a healing ceremony with him. After he motivated all groups, they did a joint ceremony where every group was located on every sacred site to send their positive energy to the centre, the volcano itself, where he did his prayers. During this process, a hole opened in the ground that allowed steam to go out, relieving the pressure of the mountain. He says the ritual  also helped reduce the impacts of weather hazards in the area.

For the solutions, Bavado explains, it is important to understand that the elements, earth, wind, fire and water mimic our thoughts and our actions. Throughout the generations, atrocities such as rape and violence fell upon the heads of children. Parents had no control over it, the behaviour was embedded in the DNA. Today, we have the chance to heal this pain from our past. In this process we should be aware that we can not always sense the bad energy. We should therefore bless everything we take in: tap water, food, emotions, words, thoughts, you name it. In this process we should all have complete faith in love.

Someone in the public asks: what to do with the new forms of radiation such as Wifi or nuclear radiation? The answer for Bavado is simple: “I love the radiation, so I send my love to it. That is what shamans do. That is the essence of the power and it is true for everything: either you stop resisting, or you get ill.” Doubt can kill us.

Cleaning the thoughts
It is about ten O’clock at night when the presentation ends. We clean up and part ways. I go to the Lian’s house to meet Bavado for some questions. It is a walk through an alley with many trees. They calm my mind as I wonder how far I really go along in this. In the past years I have lived in the conviction that there is no such thing as bad energy, that it is all part of a huge energetic circle of life and death, but I sometimes felt this vision took the sting out of me. Bavado’s advice is to let go, that’s precizely what I stand for. But let go of what?

Part of the diner group is present in the living room where we have our chat. They are jolly, playful company. I ask Bavado how exactly he obtained his knowledge. He answers that it’s in the myths and the legends of his tribes. The way to understand it is to listen between the lines of the tales. “But if you listen to these tales, be careful with the thoughts that are already in your head, they may change the vision.” The basic teaching of the elders is that you should continuously put effort in keeping your thoughts clear and clean, just like you always have to clean up your house. A practical tip: replay your spoken words in your head. Look into them to see what you created.

I ask about the role of emotions. He says they are important. We are made out of twenty emotions, he explains, all ruled by the moon. Like the tides, there are higher emotions and lower ones. But we don’t usually notice our emotional cycles because we are distracted by the events in our lives. They’re easier to feel during sunrise. It is important to be with your emotions during prayer. Just like in a relationship: when you really love someone, you feel it in the words you speak. If you feel the love for the mother earth, she can hear you.

But what if you are divided between different thoughts or emotions? Then they work against each other and create a conflict. Bavado points his fingers to each other. A part of your energy can splinter off, leaving you more vulnerable for negative energies. It happens quite often in the case you follow a command of another person, and then blame that person for what you did. It does not work that way. You are the only one responsible for your actions.

Bavado distinguishes between different kinds of dreams. Some represent one of the four elements. If you get a dream like that, it tells you to go shape shift –impersonate – that element. Then there are vision dreams that give you a glimpse into the future. Bavado tells a most fascinating thing. Before he came into this life, he agreed to the events in it. Everything was shown to him like a movie in fast forward. He remembers being sent here to do what he is doing now.

So what are the most valuable lessons you learned from your elders? I ask to conclude. “Well, he says, once when I was young my girlfriend broke up with me. My grandma said: get over that girl, because there are plenty of fish in the sea. What she meant was that you should not get stuck onto things. My grandpa sat next to her. He said: that’s ill advice. If I would have taken it, you would now be alone”. He pauses for a while. “Yes and my grandpa also taught me to be gentle to girls when they are in their moon time. They could cause an earthquake five states wide…”

Gutwrench

When I make up words for emotions, I look them up to see if they exist already. This one did. Not only is it slang for – apologies for the upcoming graphic in your head – large penis, it also has the meaning of emotional scattering, anxiety and despair, sometimes caused by uncomfortable images. Do take a moment to enjoy this inconvenient homonym for our brothers with whale-sized willies, then let’s move on to the emotion I’d like to discuss, shall we?

I considered deathsqueeze and lossgrip, but gutwrench works better for me, because I don’t think the the word should encompass it’s cause. It’s as if somewhere central below my navel, around the exglow area, an invisible hand grabs my intestines and suddenly wrenches them like a wet towel. It comes together with pulsating pulls at my adam’s apple and uncontrolled crying. Surrounding belly muscles contract as well. It draws my full attention to that inner spot, much like a 220 volt electric shock, if you ever had that.

Some clear triggers for this sensation are the death or the long-term departure of a person close to me, and the breakup of a relationship. In fact, looking closer, the trigger is usually a very specific, self-centered memory, such as that persons expression of appreciation for me, or the image of me staying behind on my own. I believe gutwrench has a lot to do with a turn of attention from something shared to something individual. I oversee the beauty of what is lost, wishing to be able to express that to the person, but I can’t, because he or she is gone. The hole that person left behind is painful and at the same time there’s new freedom. That realisation feels good for me, but it is a type of betrayal too. Everything is intensely happy, yet intensely sad.

Because this experience squeezes my being so tightly, the relaxation afterwards is very deep. As if some weight has truly disappeared, I see the world under a different light: more laid back than usual. I’m open for new things, ready and obliged to dive into new experiences, into new beings. Even though I went through gutwrench, I’m still here, and that knowledge has primordial power.

The word gutwrench existed as something negative. I understand it as a manifestation of a bond. How about you?

 

Turn

“Look at me”
“You don’t really want that”
“Yes I do”
“No you don’t”
She allowed some silence to seep in between them. It filled the void she felt with a little bit of trust.
“Why are you here?” she asked, and she detected a hint of his curiosity in a twitch in his left leg.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Again, she kept her mouth closed for a few seconds. If he would speak now, she practically had him in her pocket. If not, she’d have to do some more work.
“I mean… It seems clear what you are planning to do… the question…”
“Say it” He interrupted her.
“Say what?”
“Speak out what I’m planning to do.”
“Would it make you feel better if I did?”
“Of course not.”
This guy was tough. She was not sure what to do, but she could not wait for too long.
“Why are you planning to jump?”
“Exactly! I’m planning to jump. Was that so hard?”
“Not it wasn’t. Why was it so important to you that I said it?”
“I was going to be an actor.” He said. Okay. He began to share his frustrations and by that, would start feeling the relief necessary to persuade him to turn.
“Studied for it, then had my first contract. I was brilliant! I let my voice roll over the audience as a king does with his people. I was a king! I had a car, a nice apartment in town, a very cute cat. I had friends. I even had servants. Everything was sorted out.”
She was quite sure where this was going. Her colleagues were sometimes astonished by her instinct. To her, it was simple deduction. This man was in the force of his life, a great communicator, built attractively and even quite charming in this vulnerability. He had a cat to care for. Clear case of a heartbreak.
“Then I met her.” He said.
“Her…?” acting surprised was always the best way to seem interested.
“Jara.” From the position of the back of his head she judged he must be looking beyond the city lights, towards the pitch black horizon. “Then I met Jara…”. This time it was him who created space through his silence.
“Tell me about her.” She did a small, inaudible step forward.
“Jara’s parents had a small hut in the jungle of Papua New Guinea. But she had adventure in her blood. And she was smart, so she left to study.”
This man clearly was a story-teller. She considered sitting down to listen to him, but knew that would make it impossible to make an emergency move if her estimation turned out wrong.
“Anthropology”
“In Papua New Guinea?”
“At first, yes, but then she came all the way here to study us.”
“Really?” she said it just a bit louder than she’d planned to. She coughed.
“Does that surprise you?” He asked, still without showing his face.
“Well… yes” she uttered. The timing of his question made her suspect that he probably never wanted to jump off the roof of this skyscraper. If that was true, there was going to be a confession of some sort. An issue he needed a second opinion on, possibly related to guilt, but more likely to his loneliness itself. She needed to be patient.
“Me as well.” Said the man. “That’s what attracted me in her. She always knew how to surprise you with her exceptional curiosity for so many things. One day, she came home with a fox skull she found in the forest. The way she studied it was just fascinating. I can still see her holding it, with her fragile wrists… So smart…”
Why the wrists? She wondered.
“Do you see that bar down there?” He pointed down steeply along the west side of the building. She had to take a few steps forward to follow the direction, but she could not discern a bar.
“It has a very warm ambience. Candles, pillows, jazz on the background. They serve great wines.” He paused again. She was now looking for a reddish light among the brighter ones. “It’s called Sheila’s. Jara loved that place. She would write her thesis there. One day I walked by, and it was as if the bar called out to me… Invited me in. So I went. I still see her sitting there, with her brown laptop. I went to the bar and ordered a ginger beer. Great drink. She came to the bar to pay and I looked at her and she looked at me and that was it. Our spirits merged. From that moment on, we were together.”
She started to doubt again. Perhaps there was more going on than a girl leaving a boy. Or perhaps he thought of her as the one but Jara didn’t, and did he need convincing that there’s no such thing.
“She specialized in western suicide.”
Okay rewind. This man knew more about her job than the usual suicidal. Why did he mention it? She had to be careful.
“Do you know that most people kill themselves because they don’t feel loved? It depresses them, so they take their own life away. Jara didn’t get that at all.”
Perhaps he’d cheated on her?
“She studied, I acted. At night we’d hang out together, alone or with friends, and drink a bit, often in Sheila’s. Or we’d watch TV, or dance and make love in the living room. Life was good and simple. The only thing in between us was that she missed her parents at home.”
She sat down on the floor. It was cold. She felt like standing up again, but didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself. She’d have to go with her choice for now. Expression of the comfortable atmosphere.
“Then one day I found her at home in a state of panic. She said something was wrong back home. She had to go there. We booked a ticket. She would fly in three days. I called in sick for work and cancelled all appointments. They were the most intense days of my life. We made love and declared our love for each other, and spent time in the parks around and cooked some of our favourite dishes. Then she’d tell me about her tribe and her family, as if they were there with us. I could see how much she loved her grandma, and how much she’d learned from her. And from her dad, who had motivated her to learn the letters of the alphabet and to get out of her little jungle world. I saw how much she missed her people, but in the mean time felt more connected to her than ever. I could feel her pain, and at the same time her joy over our coming together. These three days were probably the most complete experience of the whole emotional spectrum I ever had. But then I had to put her on the plane. She explained on the way that we could not stay in touch because of the lack of internet or phones in the village, but that she would try to contact me instead. I drove back home on my own, thinking only about our last kiss. I could feel it in my mouth. Moving delicately. It slowly dissolved over the hours, then it was gone. I sat on my couch for the rest of the day, caressing the cat. The next day I couldn’t act, only cry. I went home. That lasted for a week at least. The director started to worry about me and told me to pull myself together. Then I did. I could suddenly work again. Strange how you can just ignore your feelings like that, right? As if I’d run out of sadness. But I knew that wasn’t the case.”
He turned his face. Looking into his eyes shook her heart. There was suffering there. She saw him look from inside his pain. It infected her. Nested inside her. He looked away, and stared over the lit towers again. The pain was out of her reach, but she longed for it. She was suddenly convinced that this man knew exactly what he was doing, but kept her in the dark. Even so, all she wanted him to do was to keep talking. “Yes…” she answered softly.
“It took a few months before I started worrying.” He continued. “I was so occupied with my work again, that I decided to trust her in her choices, and also that I would hear from her as soon as she’d be able to contact me. Meanwhile, I was loved for what I did and that was great. My cat enjoyed the attention. But something was gnawing away inside. The discomfort grew until I could no longer hold it. My director did not allow my leave, so I quit, rented out my apartment, housed poor Lixy at my moms place and took the plane. In her address book, I had found only one Papua New Guinean address, so I thought that must be it.”

“It took me three days to find the place after I’d arrived. It was somewhere on one of the bigger islands in the east. An old woman opened the door. She had messy greyish hair and a very wrinkled face, but she stood straight and her movements were agile. Very agile, actually. She seemed strong. She didn’t know Jara’s name. She also had a hard time finding out what I meant when I explained about the girl who left to the west. I don’t think she knew where the west was. But her English wasn’t too bad, and she got it eventually.”
From his description, she liked the woman.
“She called me inside, and showed a map of a different island, where I’d find a man called Makali. I was outside before I realised it. She didn’t even offer me a drink. And I couldn’t keep the map either! I think she was related to Jara, but she clearly didn’t treat me that way. I don’t blame her. But at that moment I felt very abandoned.”
“And now?” she felt as if she had to take control somehow. Over him or over herself? She could not say.”
“I don’t feel abandoned now…”
“Keep talking”
“What are you? My therapist?”
“No, no, no! I’m just interested!”
“In many ways, the search for Jara was the biggest adventure of my life. I realised that there was so much more to it than the acting and the love. We live in a human industry. There are jungles, and people who are entirely different. Their lives take place in nature. Always. They have no need for the devices we so heavily depend on. Of course I knew those people existed, but to see it for yourself is a different thing. Some offered me to stay at their huts They were beautifully helpful people. Gave me food and everything. Some didn’t even speak English. There turned out to be lots of Makalis, and I wouldn’t have found the right one without them.”
“Who was he?” she asked
“A local man of knowledge. I’m still not sure how it all works there, but he knew that Jaras tribe had disappeared, together with their land.”
“Disappeared? How?”
“Trees were sawed  and removed by machines that had docked near their village.  None of the villagers were found. I told Makali I wanted to look for them, he answered that the mere sight of their old home would hurt me more than I could imagine. I told him that it didn’t matter, then he told me that he could not take me there because it would hurt him too much. I told him I’d find it on my own if he just pointed me the way, then he walked out of his hut and convinced another tribe member to accompany me there. We had a long walk through the jungle. Even slept there one night. He cooked for me, just from the roots, fruits and herbs he found around. The next morning we walked on, but at some point he stopped. He waved his hand in the direction he wanted me to go in. I went there by myself. The beautiful coloured plants and butterflies and birds and frogs and insects we saw on the way, were suddenly gone. There were just enormous stumps. I fell down and cried. Don’t know for how long. Then, when I stood up, I could only think about Jara. I panicked. Started to run in a random direction, looking for her. But the vastness of the empty land was overwhelming, as if the disowned spirits of the forest told me to give up. I went numb. Went back to Makali. He took me into his place and offered me to wait for them here, but I couldn’t: sitting still drove me insane. I just had to go find her, but I had no idea where to start. Makali didn’t know either. They’d just disappeared. The other tribes had been looking for them for some months, but found no trace. It was as if they’d been taken together with the plants around. I left Makali’s house in three days afterwards, on an impossible quest. I wandered through the country like a ghost. All that I could tell people was that I was looking for a tribe that disappeared, one of whose members was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. They all knew where to find great girls, but no-one had seen a homeless tribe. I managed to find the docks where the company’s trees were shipped to. All I found was a lot of resistance. I went to the company that bought the trees. Equally resistant. I even consulted witches in the area. They told me not to mingle with such dark forces. None of them wanted to say more. I would usually try to convince them that it was love I was dealing with, but could convince only one.
“One?”
“Yes, she was a very nice lady in fact. Gentle. She wore very colourful feathers, of birds of paradise, she said. And she served delicious tea. She tried to persuade me to go home, and that Jara would contact me there, but I kept going for a few more weeks. Looking back, it was she who planted the idea in my head that Jara would keep following our love.”
The gentleness of his voice confused her. It seemed as if indeed, Jara contacted him. If that was true, why was he on this roof?
“For those final weeks I was lost in the jungle. Maybe I was afraid to go back. As that was admitting my defeat. As if I had put my life at stake for nothing. After all she promised to contact me. By coming here I broke her trust in a way. Nevertheless, my presence there felt more and more futile. One day I gave in and left. The plane trip was horrible. The nerves were pumping through my veins like a rhythmical demonic rage. At some point I almost fainted, when I stood up to go the airplane toilet. Once I got there at looked into the mirror, I felt an incredible sting in my heart, as if I’d die.”
“And here you are, on the point of throwing yourself of a building. ” His whole way of being now told her he wouldn’t.
“Don’t joke about it… When I got home, my tenant gave me a letter that had arrived for me just after I left. Do you want to read it?”
His right hand slowly entered the left inner pocket of his long black coat. It took out an envelope, light brown coloured. It had an odd glow about it which accentuated the wrinkles on the hand that held it. He seemed much older than she’d estimated him. She stood up, stepped up the ridge where he stood and received it in her hand. Warmth entered her body in waves. She and the man were now hovering in a never-ending space with an envelope in it. She opened it carefully, then took out a letter. A breeze gently folded it somewhat, then let it rest upon her hand. It looked as if she was the first to read it.

My Dearest Love,

I know you came to look for me, but I was already dead. Please don’t take our act as a message to you personally, or as a decision that had anything to do with our relationship. It doesn’t.

While she read the message, an image appeared in her mind. It was beautiful Indonesian lady with long straight black hair and light brown eyes. She threw both arms around her neck in a delightful embrace. She loved this woman instantly.

Isn’t it interesting that I, who left my home to study suicidal behaviour in the Western world, now ended up killing myself? Don’t worry, I wasn’t alone. My tribe joined. We had a final party, actually. It was sad, I have to say, but it was one of the deepest and most beautiful experiences we had together. It’s sad that you never got to meet my friends. I hope you liked Makali though.

The embrace of the woman became tighter, as if she was afraid to let go. It was delightful. She saw green and blue hues around her. All she wanted was to protect this fragile soul.

You’ve seen what they did to our home. You cannot imagine the terror among us when they hunted us away. Or when they started cutting. If you could, perhaps you’d join our decision. If you cut a tree from its roots, it will not survive. That’s us. We’ve been cut, and have been slowly dying since.

Do you know what? I suddenly understood why Western people kill themselves. Many have never been able to make roots. Your system gnaws them off as soon as you try to grow them. They do whatever they can to avoid you from growing towards the light. They want you to bow for them. Poor souls! After returning from such an intense meeting with your world, I get why some want to leave it.

A tremendous sadness captured her heart when the truth in these words hit her. She fetlt that her life had caused the mess in Jara’s. Meanwhile, Jara’s embrace tightened further, like a snake’s, when creeping around her prey. She started to have trouble breathing, but felt compelled to keep reading.

Nature always strikes back, my love. And that’s what you and I are going to do. I know you’re with me on this. I knew from the instant that I saw you at Sheila’s that we would follow each other anywhere. Please don’t join me among the dead, I’ll come to you instead. We need allies on both sides to make our vengeance felt. Together, we will free the poor beings from their suffocating illusions.

She felt the grip tighten until she could no longer concentrate. Her life was now in Jara’s hands. Her diaphragm made rapid contractions. She felt intense fear rise up her chest. Then, suddenly, peace, deeper then she’d ever felt before. She must be turning blue by now.

I’ll always be with you, love. Warm embrace,

Jara

When she finished reading, she gave the letter back to the man at her side. He put it back in the envelope. The grip loosened, and she felt the blood come back to her head. The sensation was euphoric. She felt tremendously grateful.

“Well?” asked the man.
“You were right” she answered, and she took her final step. The man turned around, and stepped of the ridge.

While falling, she wondered if she’d done it out of pain or out of joy. A combination of factors perhaps. Anyhow, she’d never before been as convinced of a decision. In her last meters above the ground, she caught a glimpse of Sheila’s. It looked cosy indeed.

Million Masks

I should perhaps start this post by admitting that I was not present on the streets last Wednesday, the 5th of November. Were you? Did you know about it? There was a global demonstration.

The March against Monsanto on May 25th was the first global protest in history that aimed against a single global company. Even though the Amsterdam Dam Square was filled, the protest barely reached the Dutch news. The Monsanto Stock market did drop temporarily. This week, the European Commission nevertheless recommended the Council to grant permission to breed the genetically modified maize 1507 which, by the way, was not produced by Monsanto but by a Dutch company. Where are Greenpeace when you need them? I suppose they are too busy saving Faiza from the Russians.

Back to the Million Mask March. They have called themselves an alliance between Occupy, Anonymous and Wikileaks. From the online information sources the magnitude of the actual events are hard to grasp. Mass media have smaller head counts than some twitterers and smaller media do. We know for a fact that Russel Brand was there. And the Vendetta masks, imitating the face of Guy Fawkes,  involved in attempt to assassinate the king of England on, guess what, November 5th 1605. Not so long ago, people wore scream masks. What happened there?

V. Vendetta. A rebel with a cause. A legend, who decides for himself what is good and what is not. He suffered. His goal justifies his means. He is an example now. His mask enables others to express their pain. It helps them say that the big ones have messed up. Once again, a movie character stepped off the screen.

The call for peace is loud and clear. It’s message is not so much rational as it is ethical. You guys are cheating! You’re ignoring the rule of respect! You’re not cleaning up after you played the game!

Even if few people have heard of this one, such movements have impact. Occupy encouraged a first indigenous rise to politics. It inspired the guy who makes clean phones to start his business. It opened the dialogue about the banking system. Has it been enough? No. Yet the ball is rolling, and symbols of change keep joining the field.