Here is a short story i wrote, its not got so much to do with the truth movement, its probably more fitting for a blog but you might like it here for now?
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Crossing
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The Line.
We were on our way from Amsterdam, passing through Luxembourg on our way to France. Having already passed through Belgium, France and the Netherlands’s, we seemed oblivious to the fact that there would be any kind of ‘Border Control’ at all, here on the open roads of the great ‘European Union. Until Luxembourg we had seen nothing more than a sign of the country that we were about to enters name. Surrounded by stars, they would go by in a barely noticed blink as we hurtled along at 80mph. There had been no hint what so ever that there would be border controls and call me stupid, but nothing had led me to believe there would be. I should have realized there might be some kind of problem in Luxembourg when we passed what looked like a toll booth on the way into Luxembourg, that should have been a dead cert giveaway warning for the future, but it wasn’t. I kept cruising on and rolled another joint to pass the time as we drove onward through Luxembourg.
We had Frank Zappa blasting on the radio, it was a beautiful day and the blue sky up ahead was performing a summoning dance, seemingly beckoning us towards it.
There was no warning sign of the danger that lay in wait for us up ahead and if there was it was written in a language that I didn’t understand. We were rapidly approaching, what looked to previously have been the passport control booth, when sheer terror, I mean REAL terror, the kind that grabs hold of your soul and screams ‘LISTEN HERE BOY!!!!! Jumped right out from the side of the highway, like some find of green goblin staring us dead in the face, it spat out a venom of sickly realization and had me reaching to the glove box for the ‘Citrus Magic’ air freshener.
Two cars up in front, a group of smartly dressed people, were having there car strip searched at the side of the road. The police men seemed hell bent on finding something, most probably drugs. They had all the doors open and the boot was up, all the luggage had obviously been searched through and was strewn about loosely at the side of the road. One policeman was tapping on all the side skirt panels and looking underneath the car while four more police officers searched the people and the other area’s of the car. They looked like they were searching for the Holy Grail or something, I mean they even had a little air compressor to pump up the tires having already deflated them in their hot pursuit of illegal contraband. It was a moment of serious realization for us to say the least!
This horrible situation, the kind of situation that nightmares are made from, was staring us straight in the face from the side of the road and this could very easily have been our situation to be dealt with. If I hadn’t had to queue at the petrol station for 2 minutes longer than usually necessary that afternoon, simply because some lorry driver was asking for directions, or if I hadn’t spent so long on the toilet that morning because of what I ate the night before, or if I hadn’t missed the traffic lights in town earlier, because I let an old lady cross the street. For any number of reasons, a seemingly infinite equation of possibilities unfolded that day right in front of us, we were merely bystanders and were fortunate enough to have been on the right side of karmic consequences that day. We were lucky!
The cops wouldn’t have had such a hard time had they took a look around our van. We had a tobacco tin full of different varieties of weed that we picked up in Amsterdam, placed for convenience of use neatly in the driver’s door pocket. The whole van stunk of weed cause id just put out a joint 2 km’s up the road, There was a nice ball of bubble-hash in my coat pocket, we had magic mushrooms laid out on the dash board drying and there was another bag of weed and ball of hash rattling around the interior roof panel of the van that neither of us knew the exact whereabouts of. We both felt certain that the French police would find them a damn sight quicker than we could.
I cackled with laughter as we entered France and left that nightmare behind us in the rear view mirror. The full hit of that lethal cocktail of fear and adrenalin was over; the adrenalin rush that stops your body going into trauma in these kinds of situations was wearing off, now it was time to fight the fear. The best cure I’ve got for fear is serious uncontrollable laughter; the kind that makes you wet your pants. Caitlin looked at me as if I had two heads from the passenger seat as I laughed away the fear that had so rapidly reared its way into my head.
‘What if that had been us stood there at the side of the road having our souls and future’s taken away and robbed from us?, Those poor guys in front could have had there whole lives ruined and that could just as easily have been us and for what? a head full of mushrooms and a few joints worth of weed’. Caitlin laid it down in English for me.
I knew what she was saying and I apologized for laughing. I was fully aware of the possible consequences and shared the exact same fears, I laughed only because I have to.
When you live on the fringe of society, drifting in and around, you see things slightly differently. Sometimes, situations occur where you are presented with a close up, microscopic view of an event unfolding itself before your eyes, you find yourself right at the tip of it, the points in time, when all the equations meet up and for better or worse the end result, in all its glory or ugliness is revealed.
These situations are usually meant as a lesson and to teach us something. You will usually find you will have some kind of a role to play when these situations unfold themselves. Sometimes, it’s nice to be playing a leading role. Other times though, its defiantly nice to be nothing more than an observer and If you pay close enough attention you just might learn something that will help next time the star of the show is you. .
We made it to Switzerland, the mushrooms are dry now. |