Dallas – Day 4 / pt1

I woke up at 4:48am.

The people next door woke me.

Shaking the bed.

Shouting. Or at least talking loud.

They’re still talking loud.

They woke Jennifer too.

I asked her to tell me what they were saying.

She said she didn’t want to.

I asked her why.

She said she just didn’t want to.

She went back to sleep.

She’s lucky.

The trains are wailing.

I can feel their engines throbbing.

Today is Day 4.

The astrologer said that after three days, good things would begin to happen.

He said that the first three days were about clearing out the old cosmic rays from my body, and allowing the good cosmic rays to flow from the air into my lungs, from my lungs into my blood, and from my blood then into my brain.

And to allow good thoughts to come.

No good thoughts have come.

Yet.

Maybe I should have breathed deeper.

I have a work colleague in Australia who is a very dear friend. She has a sister in Dallas. I haven’t seen the sister in a long long time.

She is a strikingly beautiful woman.

She has a son who was six years old the last time I saw him.

Now he’s twenty.

And smart.

VeryΒ smart.

We talked last night, and I filmed it.

It was an extraordinary conversation.

The young man was articulate and intelligent way beyond his years.

His mother called him an “old soul.”

Interesting term, that.

It implies he’s been here before.

I believe so.

I believe his mum has been too.

The young man said he would really love to follow his dreams – to act impulsively and intuitively – but he couldn’t.

Life wouldn’t let him.

He said his generation was under so much pressure. The kind of pressure our generation never had.

He envied us, our freedom.

He said he didn’t have that freedom, and possibly never would.

But I believe he will.

The world is evolving, not devolving.

The man next door has raised his voice again.

Loud.

He’s walking around the room, agitated.

Jennifer said that she’s not afraid of staying here, she’s only afraid of violence.

Through the walls.

Hearing it.

That doesn’t scare me.

It just makes me question what I would do.

Would I like here and allow it to happen?

Or would I get up out of me bed, knock on the door next door, and try to stop it?

What would I do?

Would I be brave?

Some people say I’ve been brave coming to Dallas.

I don’t think that’s bravery.

I think bravery is getting up at 5am and trying to stop someone in the room next door from beatingΒ up someone else.

That’s bravery.

My first inclination would be to pull these thin sheets over my head, try to block out the sound, and ignore it.

Pretend it wasn’t happening.

But if I search in my heart, deep within my heart, I really couldn’t do that.

I think I would have to try to stop it.

I couldn’t lie here, listening to it, and allow it to continue.

I would be complicit in the violence.

As though I was hitting the other person myself.

I’m not saying I’m brave.

I’m not.

I’m not trying to elevate myself in your eyes.

I would be scared.

This occurred to me the other night, in Los Angeles.

I’d stopped at a traffic light under a freeway in a very bad part of town, and there were two people on the sidewalk in the dark under the freeway, having a conversation.

It could have been a drug transaction. I don’t know.

One was male, the other female.

As I sat in my car, watching them, I wondered what I would do if the man began to beat up the girl.

Would I call 911 and drive on?

Or would I get out and try to help the girl.

I came to the conclusion that I would have to help the girl. Even though there would be risk to myself. And there would be a strong possibility I would get beat up, or worse.

You read about that in the paper all the time – Good Samaritans, coming to the aid of someone else, and getting killed.

When I read these stories I ask myself what I would have done in that situation. And invariably I regard the question as being too hard, and I forget about it.

But as I watched these two under the freeway having this conversation, I asked myself: If I went to the aid of the girl and I got killed, would it be worth it?

What about the family I would leave behind?

My beautiful wife?

As I sat in that car, thinking about all this, I figured that really, I have nothing to lose.

My life means nothing.

Or at least, this body means nothing.

It’s just a shell.

Shells get crushed, eventually.

Jennifer would understand that.

My phone just rang.

I answered it.

It was Dr. Bimal Bhatt – the Indian Astrologer, calling from Bombay.

I haven’t heard from him in ages.

I told him it was 5am and he said he would call back in 3 hours.

And he hung up.

He doesn’t like to waste money.

The shouting next door has died down.

If they’ve been living there for eight years, then perhaps their relationship is like any relationship that lasts eight years.

Full of ups and downs.

I just wish the downs wouldn’t happen at 5am.

Getting back to bravery –

I didn’t say that stuff to make myself look good in your eyes.

I don’t care what you think of me.

That should be obvious by now.

I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, anymore.

It’s not important.

I only say I would feel compelled to knock on the door next door because I would have no choice to do otherwise.

We each have to live in this world and feel good about ourselves.

If I allowed violence to happen I wouldn’t feel good about myself.

So it would not be an act of bravery, it would be an act of selfishness.

Pure selfishness, on my part.

I hope that makes sense.

It’s Day 4 today and I hope something good happens.

There’s a lot happening on the periphery – people circling me, telling me good things will happen. Wanting good things to happen for me.

And for them.

But so far it’s talk.

Talk only.

I’m still in this motel.Β The Shady Oaks Motel.

I won’t move – I CAN’T move – until something good happens.

The man next door is shouting again.

Shaking my bed again.

The trains are wailing.

I think if I left this place, I wouldn’t miss the noise next door, but I would certainly miss the noise of the trains.

He’s moving again.

And shouting.

I haven’t heard him urinating yet.

But the shouting has got louder.

I think I will pull the thin sheets up over my head and try to go to sleep.

The door just slammed.

Maybe he’s going to work.

Yes I hear a car door slam.

The car has started up.

He’s driving out.

Good – I can go back to sleep.

And hope that Day 4 delivers me some good news.

bail bonds collar

11 thoughts on “Dallas – Day 4 / pt1

  1. Like I said … who took this photo? πŸ™‚ Since it’s just past midnight here, I’m off to bed and will be interested to see what happens tomorrow, blog or otherwise πŸ™‚

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  2. I am with Steve here… as to the picture – it speaks volumes. Sepia, that is what it looks like. Black and white with a touch of colour. You are purging, you are rambling, you are doubting, you are unseated… yes that is a good word.. unseated… you are not in control. And it is only day 4.

    It will be an interesting night…

    Ingrid

    Liked by 2 people

    • Of course I’m not in control Ingrid. Don’t you understand that this is what this experiment is about? Letting go of control. Putting myself into the hands of the Cosmos. And you might think it’s a ramble but that post took me one and a half hours to write. Every word, every sentence, is thought through and crafted. I thought after all this time you’d know that of me.

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      • It does not sound like you have let go of control at all, you are just approaching it differently. Of course, that is only my observation and definitely not a judgment. You are a compelling writer and in some ways have reverted to your investigative reporter days as you report on the minutia of your surroundings. Entertaining, but not the same writer of the Camino blog. Better? Worse? Neither. Just different. Of course evolving should be a good thing. Perhaps you are evolving. Or perhaps, my observations are full of shit. Wouldn’t be the first time. πŸ™‚

        Your Mate, Steve

        Liked by 1 person

      • Bill, oh I touched a nerve… it was not intended to upset you. But you also should know me by now, that I will call them as I see them. And yes I know it is all about “loosening your grip”, knowing that, does not always mean we like it.

        As to my comment on your “rambling”, your response so much shows that you do care what others think. This was not mend to be a put down, far from it, it was my acknowledgment that you are going through something unusual and it comes through in all of your posts and the pictures you choose to show.

        Give me a little bit of credit that I too have a bit of an insight.

        If I have hurt your feelings, I am sorry, please forgive me.

        Light and Love, Ingrid

        Liked by 1 person

        • Hi Ingrid – no offence taken, and sorry if I was terse in my response. I didn’t mean to be. You’re my friend from way back!! As for my writing, that’s not personal vanity, which is what Steve was talking about – that’s professionalism. There’s a huge difference. πŸ‘„πŸ‘„πŸ‘„πŸ‘„πŸ‘„πŸ‘„

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          • Hey Mate, One thing that never changes is that you are the consummate professional no matter what your endeavor. I remember when we were writing blogs side by side. You would photoshop your pics and labor over your writing. Perfection was your keynote and still is I believe. Me, I just downloaded the photos directly from my iPhone, rarely reread what I wrote, and simply hit “Post”. But, we both communicated and that was my objective.

            Never change. I know you wont. πŸ™‚

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