The hidden years in Canada 170, time travel

Door San-Daniel gepubliceerd op Monday 07 September 13:20


Time travel

It kept me busy for days, that black ribbons board. We had been driving again for many a day and the days followed each other in way that became routine. You took turns at the wheel of the Combi and you went on a lake and after some time your thoughts began to whirl around . The white plains, broke up your concentration and you drove into dreamtime. Yesterday was like today and like last week had been. The only time you got out of that dream was when you were refueling at the happy Moose and that happened about once a week. Beardy would tell a few jokes and fill you in on the news. Your white world was interrupted by messages from another world. You looked at the newspaper in Yellowknife, which Beardy got along with stocks and even though that was mostly a few days old, you read it with an eagerness that later in the ‘real world ' would never be put on display.

I read on one of these 'stops' an article about the Middle East, where I myself had lived only a few years ago. A man with a tea towel around his head attracted my attention, Yasser Arafat, and I read the article with attention. The man was a terrorist who now headed the PLO. ‘Let's see,’ Bill said, and after having read a few lines, he gave me the newspaper back. ‘That's nothing,’ he said, ‘put that stuff down. You wrap a tea towel around your head and you're going to liberate a country by hijacking airplanes. ‘They fill your head with nonsense anyway, this is the real world, here at Beardy’s, with a good moose steak. That man is short-lived.‘ It would be one of the few times that Bill made a total misjudgment, just as so many in the world.

Yasser would terrorize the world by fire and the sword, and then, in another world in another time frame, he would receive the Nobel peace prize and that while there were thousands of deaths or injured sticking to his fingers. But the rising 'freedom fighter' for a free Palestine, was not taken seriously by Bill and his peers. The events were still in the offing, they were waiting execution in time, slowly but surely. I saw his picture and a shiver went through me, this was not a stupid terrorist, who killed from fanaticism. This was a man who had studied in Cairo and had an engineering degree in his pocket. A man with no empathy, who years later would be concerned with killing Jewish athletes at the Olympics in Munich, riddling them dead with bullets. Then the games went on again.

A man who hijacked planes and overpowered a cruise ship and threw a disabled passenger in a wheelchair overboard because he was American. In his name people would be slain, murdered and he would sow terror. He would get a Nobel Peace Prize because organizations do not understand the true mental state of the Middle East and they tried to appeace and manipulate the same protagonists in the complex chess game. A shiver went through me. Bill looked at me quizzically, ‘What do you know about such people,’ he said, ‘they are nothing but a bunch of pathetic goatherds which enslave their women.’ I understood that the Western world was suffering from misunderstanding the danger and that like Bill, many would underestimate the threat. That caused the gap between the two tribes. Those who called themselves Christian and those who called themselves Muslim. ‘You know Bill,’ I said, do not underestimate them, ‘they are dangerous, they are really different,’ and I thought about how I had almost been stoned by ‘goatherds.’

‘..and how would you know,’ asked Bill and I just answered, 'Well I lived there. Four long years, they were awful. Where you felt the hatred for us deflect from the walls, a hatred that chased after you through the streets, without reason, a deep-seated hatred. ‘ ‘Well that's right fine,’ said Bill, and he burped once in his hand. ‘ Those towel guys are just a bunch of schmucks and now another cup of coffee and we’ll carry on. ‘ Thus ended one of the few conversations we had had about another world and we drove into the fourth week and I counted down, a happy Moose stop. There was a cloud hanging over the work, there was something that hung threatening over all of us who worked in the lost land, impending doom. I could not name it, but I felt the presence, push, almost pushing against the truck and I was wondering if this was the beginning of how people would slowly but surely go insane.

San Daniel 2015

for more info concerning San Daniel press the following link/ voor meer info betreffende San Daniel druk op de link a.u.b.:

Reacties (1) 

Voordat je kunt reageren moet je aangemeld zijn. Login of maak een gratis account aan.
'you drove into dreamtime' prachtig verwoord zo alleen in die witte wereld, je waant je bijna in een andere dimensie.