I woke up this morning at 4:24am – Thanksgiving Day in America – to the news that a young talented cricketer has died from an injury received in a cricket match.

His name was Phillip Hughes, and he was 25 years old.

My wife and I are avid cricket fans, and we’ve followed his career from the moment he burst onto the world stage with flair and prominence several years ago.

As a young batsman he was a prodigy. He was audacious, and thrilling to watch. He played gutsy courageous cricket with immaculate style.

And now he’s dead.

Two days ago he was playing in a Sheffield Shield game – a regular state level game – when he was struck by a bouncer. A bouncer is what’s called a “short pitched delivery” – a fast ball bowled to the batsman that bounces up suddenly and erratically – most often at head height.

A cricket ball is a lethal weapon. It’s hard as a rock, and fast bowlers send it down the pitch at close to 100mph. When the ball is a bouncer, the batsman has very little time to react.

Within the rules of cricket a bouncer is a legal delivery. It’s often used to intimidate and unnerve the batsman so that in subsequent deliveries he might make a mistake.

Phillip Hughes saw that this particular ball was coming for his head and he turned slightly away, to protect his face. The ball hit him on the back of his neck just under his helmet. It stuck the main artery leading to his brain.

Doctors later said that the burst artery immediately flooded his brain with blood. Evidently this happens very rarely, and is always fatal.

I haven’t watched the video of what happened – it would upset me too much – but after the ball struck him he stood still gazing blankly at the ground for a couple of seconds, then fell face first into the ground like a sack of wheat.

Those that saw it said it was a sickening moment.

Hughes was treated immediately on the pitch, then taken to hospital where he was put onto life support. Two days later – today Sydney time – he died.

It saddens me beyond words.

He was young, he was freakishly talented, and he always played with such grace. People who knew him said that he was a “good bloke,” which in Australian slang is about the highest compliment you can give a man.

Certainly watching him on the field he always seemed a gentleman. He came from a small country town and he exhibited old fashioned values of respect and decency.

Australia is grieving.

According to the newspapers I’m reading, there has never been such an outpouring of grief in my country to the passing of a sportsman.

Phillip Hughes was loved and admired by cricket fans. Certainly by Jennifer and me. I feel very sorry for his family and those that are personally affected by his death. But I also feel very sorry for the bowler. It wasn’t his fault. It was an accident. Yet he will live with it for the rest of his life.

At Thanksgiving lunch today I will be thinking of Phillip Hughes. And thanking him for inspiring me with his courage and flair and grace.

You’re a good bloke mate and we’ll miss you.

The Indian Astrologer, Dr. Bimal Bhatt, said that I should go to Dallas Texas on the 23rd of November, and stay in a cheap motel and eat cheap food.

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

Today is Day 4.

Today we were invited to stay in a five star hotel for the rest of our time in Dallas.

Today we were taken out to dinner at a fancy restaurant.

Today we were invited to a beautiful Thanksgiving lunch tomorrow.

Today good things began to happen.

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.

Very 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 beating 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. 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.

Various photos taken today –

Motel owner Nick, with his teeth –

Motel rules:

Dallas skyline:

Me with Cosmic Collar –

I’ve woken up and it’s 2:23am.

That pisses me off.

Why not 2:22am?

Are they messing with me?

Showing me who’s boss?

If I remember right, 2:23am is the exact same time I woke up the first morning I set off on my first Camino.

Is that a coincidence?

What woke me was someone walking around outside my room.

Walking up to the door.

Standing there.

I could feel it. Feel the energy.

It was a presence.

And then they walked over to my car.

I’d locked the car. Taken everything out of it.

I’m not stupid.

Am I?

The trains with their mournful whistles are going nuts tonight.

Do more freight trains come into town because of Thanksgiving?

Thanksgiving is the day after tomorrow.

The people next door are muttering.

Even at this hour.

Don’t they sleep?

They might ask the same of me.

But at least I don’t mutter.

Last night I went to a smokehouse just down the road.

Texas beef.

Yes, I ate meat.

I must be a disappointment to you.

I am to me.

Sometimes.

More times than I’d like.

The meat made me feel slightly nauseous.

The cosmic rays in the morning will fix that.

I have people now who are trying to help me.

Do they pity me?

Or do they believe that with the help of the Beneficial Galactic Cosmic Rays, (which are their official title) I can truly manifest?

There’s a motel just up the road called The Galaxy Motel.

It looks nice.

More expensive, but nice.

How come an Indian motel owner is called Nick?

These are the great imponderables.

Note to myself: Take a photo of Nick, with his teeth.

The man who does housekeeping looks like he just got out of jail.

He’s large and he shuffles and he has long thin greasy hair and shifty eyes.

His teeth are worse than Nick’s.

I like him.

I made him smile.

I’d worked hard to make him smile, but I made him smile.

That’s how come I know how bad his teeth are.

The smile cracked his face.

It was apparent to me, at the exact moment of smiling, that he hand’t smiled in a while.

I felt proud of myself.

That I’d made him smile.

And then I felt disappointed, because I’d allowed in ego.

I try to keep ego out.

But with me, it’s hard.

You know what I mean.

The people next door are still muttering.

At least they’re not moving around the room.

Shaking my bed.

Every now and then I hear a sharp noise from their room –

Like they’ve put down something metallic on their bedside table.

A gun?

A knife?

A prosthetic?

Now I can hear one of them urinating.

I’m not kidding.

They obviously needed to go, because it’s lasting a long time.

Male? Female?

Prostate?

These are the great imponderables.

They’re still muttering.

Jennifer has better hearing than me. If she were awake now, she would tell me what they’re saying.

Jennifer has better everything than me.

My mother tells me at every opportunity that Jennifer is “a great asset” to me.

She has no idea how much that pisses me off.

I try not to take it personally, but I’m a deeply flawed individual.

More trains.

I can hear their engines too. The throbbing diesels.

And the mournful wails.

It’s beautiful.

I love this place.

Truly, I do.

Last night, before I went to sleep, I panicked.

I stepped back for a moment, and saw what I was doing in overview. Like I was standing on a high hill, looking down on myself, walking through a valley in shadow, full of swirling mist.

Lost – confused.

And I panicked.

What am I doing here?

Really, what am I doing here? 

Do I truly believe that something will come of this?

Or have I become so delusional that I can’t see clearly anymore…

I felt scared.

I felt scared to my bones.

And then I called in Trust.

And I felt okay again.

The terror – and it was terror – passed.

The mist in the valley cleared, and I could see my path ahead of me again.

It led out of the valley, out of the shadows.

Yesterday we walked into Starbucks. It was in downtown, in a little franchise store in the basement of an office block.

But there were windows on one side, and the morning light was streaming in.

There were three tables – one in shadow, one in partial sunlight, and one in full sunlight.

Jennifer wanted to sit at the table in the sunlight, but I wanted to sit in the shadow.

We sat in the shadow.

I chose the shadow because I know that Jennifer doesn’t like to sit in the sunlight.

But as I drank my Short Double Cappuccino Half Milk, it occurred to me that Jennifer had wanted to sit in the sunlight so that I could take in the Beneficial Galactic Cosmic Rays.

Even though she hated sitting in the sunlight.

She would have done that, for me.

And me, I chose the shadows because of her.

What does that say about our relationship?

There is someone walking outside in high heels.

It’s coming on 3am.

The woman, I assume it’s a woman, has gone to her car.

Didn’t she read the sign?

No trespassing
No loitering
No prostitution
No drug dealing
No weapons

The people next door have lifted their muttering to a chattering.

They must like each other, they talk so much.

Like me and Jen.

I love this place.

I just wish the lock on the door worked.

I will now try to go back to sleep.

Tomorrow – or at least today – is another big day in the beneficial cosmic rays.

Today was all about the Prince of Bhutan.

Yes, the Prince of Bhutan.

Bhutan is a small country way up in the Himalayas, near Tibet and Nepal.

Bhutan is reputed to be the happiest place on earth.

The Prince’s brother is the King.

What does the Prince of Bhutan have to do with me and Dallas?

You’ll have to wait to find out.

Today was weird.

Through circumstances which will have to wait for the film, I found myself outside the big Cathedral in downtown Dallas.

It’s called the Cathedral Guadalupe. It was built in 1895.

The Indian astrologer had said that I should go to the biggest church I could find, to let the Gods know that I was being respectful.

I’d forgotten that he’d told me that, and only remembered when I happened to drive past this magnificent old church.

I parked and walked inside.

The Cathedral was enormous, with exquisite stained glass windows and an elegantly simple altar.

It had a powerful vibe.

I meditated at the altar, and that’s when the Prince of Bhutan kicked in.

I can’t say more at this stage.

I’m not being cute, and I’m not joking.

Today the sky was bright blue, the air sharp and crystalline.

Perfect for beneficial cosmic rays.

The motel owner’s name is Nick.

He has teeth like a Port Jackson shark.

They changed the towels.

Under duress.

I like this place.

But I like Bhutan better.

It’s a happy place…

I woke this morning at 4:14am

I don’t make this stuff up.

There are people in the room next door that have been living here for eight years.

Whenever they move around their room, our room shakes.

We can hear every conversation.

Which means that they can hear us, if they care to listen.

They probably don’t. They seem preoccupied with their own lives, which from all accounts are colourful.

Right now at 5am they are talking, volubly. Intensely. Non stop.

It’s 5am guys.

What’s to talk about at 5am?

We must be near a train line because every ten minutes or so, I can hear the mournful wailing whistle blast of a freight train as it passes in the night.

It’s somehow romantic.

Huh.

Romance in an hour-by-hour motel.

That’s funny.

I like this place.

The sheets are clean.

Stained, but clean.

And the wifi works. For $28 a night, I must be grateful for these small miracles.

We’re under a flight path.

And right by the freeway.

Noise is my friend.

Jennifer feels uncomfortable here. The lock on the door doesn’t work.

It looks like it’s been jemmied open many times.

When we went out to dinner last night we had to carry all our valuables.

There’s no safe in the room, of course.

We’re lucky there’s a bathroom.

The towels they’ve given us are the size of handkerchiefs.

And as thin.

No soap.

No toiletries.

No coffee maker.

The tv is a museum piece.

The conversation next door has raised a pitch.

I hope they don’t start fighting.

They’ve been walking around the room a lot.

Their footsteps shake our bed.

Like I said, I don’t make this stuff up.

Last night, before I went to bed, I got an email. It was from my university Professor, to let me know that an amount of money which had suddenly and unexpectedly landed in my account was for work I’d done earlier this year, which I’d forgotten about.

I’m in a joint venture with the university to develop a global online educational resource for film students.

The money was like a gift from the heavens.

I got another email yesterday – this one from the Parmarth Niketan ashram, in Rishikesh. They want me to do a promotional film on their ashram, and to film it next year at the International Yoga Festival, which they mount each year.

It’s a huge event, and it attracts spiritual leaders from all over the India, and indeed the world.

I would love to do the film.

Strange – these two emails out of the blue, on my first day in Dallas.

Before I went to sleep last night, I did my first entry in my video diary.

I was exhausted.

It had been a long and tense day for me.

I’d been anxious.

But I sat in front of the camera and just did a stream of consciousness purge of all my thoughts, all my feelings.

It was from the heart.

Unrehearsed, unwritten, unprepared.

Just me, talking to camera, revealing all my thoughts and fears.

I’ll do this at the end of each day.

I don’t know what I’ll do with it – all these video diaries. But the astrologer in Mumbai told me I had to keep a diary, and I thought it was better I do it on video.

The people next door are getting agitated. They don’t seem happy.

My god, is this going to happen every morning at 5am?

Literally, our bed is shaking as they walk around, going to the bathroom, whatever.

Wherever.

And I can hear every utterance.

It’s anthropological here.

Last night, again out of the blue, I got a phone call from a lady who has been emailing me lately. She knows astrology, and heard I was coming to Dallas. She lives in another state, but says she wants to come and meet me.

She says I’m handsome.

She was a former futures trader.

She knows rich people. Very rich people.

She seems smart and sharp and tells me I have to wear red, because Mars is very strong in my zodiac. She says my red Swannies cap is the reason I walked the Camino so well.

I’ve brought one red t-shirt with me.

I must wear it today.

She’s read my book, and quotes back to me passages I’ve written.

She says I’m a warrior, in zodiac terms.

I hear police sirens out on the highway.

They’re angry and insistent.

A lot of them.

Something’s going on.

The people next door have calmed down a bit.

I must be thankful for small mercies.

I’m writing this more for me than you.

I hope you don’t mind.

I’m sorry
I love you
Please forgive me
Thank you. 

I’m now in Dallas.

I found my cheap motel.

$28 per night.

I’m not kidding.

$28 per night.

It’s called The Shady Oaks Motel, and its reception is behind bullet proof glass.

They use a grilled speaker system and a metal slide box to give you your keys, and take your money.

There’s a sign up saying:

No trespassing
No loitering
No prostitution
No drug dealing
No weapons

It’s owned by Indians, who don’t believe in astrology.

Jennifer took all my money.

I’m not allowed to carry any money.

And then we found a cheap place to eat.

Lupitas.

Meals for $4.50

This is a Bail Bond neighbourhood.

A scary place.

But the Cosmic Rays are very beneficial for me here…

I am not kidding you!

There’s been an earthquake in Dallas.

http://thescoopblog.dallasnews.com/2014/11/3-3-magnitude-earthquake-rattles-irving.html/

Cosmos, I told you to be GENTLE with me!!!

Well, I woke up at 3:33am.

I’m not going to google what that means. It’ll probably have something to do with bloody angels.

I wish the little pesky critters would leave me alone.
I would like an ANGEL FREE ZONE for a while, guys.
Buzz off.
Get lost!
Go annoy some other cosmic sucker.

Okay – now that’s out of the way…

I haven’t been able to get back to sleep. Today is November 23rd after all, the day I fly out to Dallas.

Last night I went through all the gear with Ratshit. (Gee I hope he doesn’t read this blog….) I still haven’t figured out the radio mike. I’ll have to read the instruction manual on the plane.

I can’t believe I just wrote that. I’ll have to read the instruction manual on the plane.

Jeeeeees. I’m winging this.

But there’s no other way to do it, other than intuitively. I have to play by the rules. And as soon as the Indian astrologer Dr. Bhatt said that I had to go to Dallas, I knew that I had to go to Dallas.

Soon I will head to the airport. I have nothing lined up in Dallas. I don’t know where I’m going to stay. I don’t have a clue. On arrival I’ll get the free shuttle into town, and then I’ll allow my PGS to guide me to wherever I should stay.

All I know is that it will have to be under $50 a night.

I’d prefer some place where there’s not a strong likelihood I’ll get shot, or robbed. But hey, I’ve got those little pesky angels to protect me, right? So I should be sweet, wherever I go.

What’s going to happen over the next fifteen days? Is my life going to change? Will something happen that will lead me to this immense wealth that Dr. Bhatt predicted?

Who knows?

I’m giving myself over to the Cosmos, to do with me as It so chooses.

Please, be gentle with me….