The hidden years in Canada 161, the waste land

Door San-Daniel gepubliceerd op Saturday 05 September 07:53


The wastelands

We raced on in a snail's pace over the ice and Bill looked at me. 'Been thinking a lot', he asked, ‘That is what long distance does to you, especially when there is no one to pass and you drive continuously at one speed.’ I nodded, ‘quite a lot of thinking,’ I confirmed. ‘Here you solve problems, for which you otherwise would not have time,’ laughed Bill, ‘who can sit now nine consecutive hours pondering on a couch in the living room?’ I understood that he was speaking from experience. ‘Bill,’ I asked, ‘where do the fish come from?’ Bill looked at me and grinned. ‘What do you mean where do the fish come from?’ 'Here ‘I said,’ in the lake. ‘My boss filled his pipe and held a cigarette lighter in the head and sucked deeply. ‘What do you mean where do the fish come from?’ He repeated. ‘Bill does a river run through this lake,’ I wanted to know. ‘I would not know,’ replied Bill.’ I thought you wanted to know where fish generally came from.‘ ‘No, just here,’ I continued, ‘just fresh water fish in a freshwater lake that is remote from everything except the salty sea '

Bill blew a big cloud of smoke out, ‘it is indeed strange,’ he agreed, ‘I never thought about it. They were always there, I guess.‘ ‘Impossible,’ I replied, ‘the lake has not always been there.’ ‘I see what you mean,’ Bill said thoughtfully. ‘You just have to accept that they are there, we are here now and so are the fish, if they have any thoughts at all, they are probably asking themselves where we came from. It's a bit like a phone.‘ ‘As a phone,’ I asked, surprised. ‘Yes,’ laughed Bill, ‘I have no idea how they work but I can use them. Sometimes you just accept what is, otherwise you go crazy.‘ Sometimes you can not accept everything you encounter in your life, ‘I said,’ and then you are thrown off balance. The stem and the bowl of the pipe made rattling noises as Bill drew a bit extra. ‘Those would be matters of the heart,’ he mused, ‘you must solve those, or they will chase you forever. This land is rotten, it makes you aware of what's taken place in your life, this is waste land. Everyone goes here for their own reasons. The snow and cold do not wash you clean, some events can not be glossed over or ever be washed clean. Give those nasty things in your life a place before they overtake you and knock you over. ‘


I listened in amazement, was this Bill, strong rugged Bill? ‘Just like in a photo album,’ Bill continued, ‘every picture has a story. You just have to look at the pretty pictures.‘ The track now lead right to the land and I understood that everybody had his own story in life. Bill was right, if you could bring yourself to it, than you had to let insoluble events rest, otherwise they would haunt you forever.The rotten land, the waste land, forcing you to think about your life and throwing you back on your roots. I had just been lost in thought, when Bill said, ‘surely you are listening to what I am saying?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘It may not have seemed that way but I was regurgitating what you said. I think you'll find this is a rotten land as time catches up with you and forces you to look at events from your life. ‘ ‘Oh yeah,’ laughed my boss and it's so much cheaper than a psychologist! You do not think Sam McCee was born as a dangerous idiot? ‘I shook my head, although I could hardly imagine him normal. ‘He was a boy with his stamp collection or whatever and slowly but surely life has molded him into what he is today,’ continued Bill, an irresponsible dangerous fellow who does not concern himself about anything. But now it's time to put this monster on dry land, ‘said Bill,’ and then the session is over and I'll change places with you, because we will be bouncing a bit over these lordly roads before we arrive ‘So I drove up the road and dropped of gingerly to the side of the lake and climbed onto dry land and moments later I parked, the monster.

San Daniel 2015

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