As a writer, i get inspired by my personnal life as well as what i observe around me or hear here and there. This serie of short stories is about different experiences of surviving.
(version en français)
Mad Bear. This is his surname. That’s how they call him in the street. He lives in city center under the stairs in an alley. When he is hungry, he snif into the trashes of garbages for left over sandwiches or burgers. In his lucky days, someone leaves some hot soup and croissants just outside his cave. He eats it even though he knows this is coming from the Devil.
His mind is full of swords transpercing the hearts of everyone passing by him. He starves for justice, for freedom and equity. His madness, which is like a state of hallucination for those surrounding him, keeps him in a dissociative physical and mental state. A pile of pills beside his makeshift bed is waiting to be taken. He cannot live without them. He never swollows any but as long as it’s along is side, just like a best friend, he feels more secure. It will be there when time will come to use it. As a day can change from daylight to nightmare in 24 hours, life can twist around on a dice thrown to bet on an information that ended up a fakenews. Life is fakenews or at best a burning hole that only want to consume you, your energy, your intelligence, your money, your emotions.
Mad Bear is ageless and stay as discreet as possible. Looking old with his long white beard, he dresses in sober clothes of gray tones. He wants to be looked at as a shadow that is sliding on the walls and on peoples.
The man believes his life is a coup monté by them, his family and the Devil, the Devil being also the Government and Society. He left his house because they were spying on him, his brain, with cameras and micros placed in his fridge, his drink when using ice cubes, and anything electronic or electric, microwaves, television, radio, computers, electric plugs, the toaster, the kettle, lights, etcetera. A total surveillance. A Big Brother. His wife and kids were telling him there was nobody and nothing about what he was talking about. They were trying to convince him that these images or sounds he was perceving were misconnections in his brain. He decided to leave them the day he met with the psychiatrist he’d met at hospital. His family could be in danger because of him. He had stayed in psychiatric hopital under supervision for a couple months with medication and talk sessions in order to heal his visions. Even thought he’d asked the Dr to withdraw the microchip he believed that was installed on the top of his skull, nothing had been done. The doctor kept telling him there was no microchip there. At the end of his stay, Mad Bear was better and very obedient to the hospital rules. In fact, he wanted to get out of there and acted as if he believed what he was told. He turned his behavior around just like they were doing with him. The best strategy ever as it gave him the OK to go back to society. But he choose to live in the streets instead of going back with his wife and children. He prefered to control his own state and life and not confine in any pseudo-medical scientific weirdo talking bullshit. After all, he also went to school and studied brilliantly sciences and politics, maths and biology. And what was that good for? A big NOTHING, because what he has learned can now be learned on google, on youtube or Twitter. Who ever contacts him through this microchip will not armed his family, nor his friends. The Devil hole will burn on emptyness, no souls will be hurt but his, Mad Bear.
In State of Emergency
Once upon a time, there was a young girl living in a small village who had visions in her head, like some kind of flashes. This realm of visions were a special gift that was given to her. Yet, as a child, she did not know how to use it and how to control it. Sometimes, she was even fearing those flashes as they were terrifying. As an example, she wants me to share here with my readers, this one about a terrible image that came to her head at 9 years old of kids being thrown over the high Red bridge at the bottom of the hill of her village. This bridge is as high as a 70 storeys building. This terrible image made her walked then many time along the river that is passing under this bridge without finding anything. She had talk to her mom about it and she’d tell her to not tell anyone and forget about it.
Some years later, one father pushed his 2 kids and himself over that same bridge; the kids died but the father survived his horrible maneuver. So she could never forget.
Now, as an adult, she has been able to understand how it works and control it much better. Less fear, but still quite frighting sometimes… I am going to tell a bit more about her story.
To help understand how this realm of visions works, as a grown up, she went to see and talk to an elder who has initiated her to Shamanic practices. Dreams and journeys helped her in this quest of connecting into the realm of visions. For the last three years, when the end of the year arrives, the equinox and in early January, She visits these realms and receives visions of how is the year going to unfold and see events that will happens. In fact, she sees metaphores of these events that she can translate into human language. In her dreams, she receives messages from the Helping Spirits who want to share information with the humans. To make sure that this information is heard by others, she shares it first hand with her family and close friends, and she writes it down in her journal of visions. Sharing them here is another way to transmit them.
Beware: For 2022, she sees lots of aggressivity towards humans and communities of people. This agressions will be cercling houses and no one in these houses will be able to go out without the fear of being attacked. These beasts will even attack doors in an attempt to enter in. There will be a lot of fear, aggressions will come from everywhere, this is a dark moment in Humans’ history. The law is kill if needed. There will also be a lot of solitude for the new generation that is living this troubled period of pandemy. Even those with success will stop seeing sense of their famous life and commit the worse by ending their life to search freedom. Also, there is a false sense of security in communities; when time seems fine and sunny, many clear lights orbs like will show up as strangers will to lazered those who are with a sense of being well protected and start moving because they are thinking that the sky of viruses has cleared up. Those moving will be hatch while those standing sill like statues will be saved.
So she said.
I witnessed the Covid-19 epidemic turn into a pandemic during my first sick leave in January 2020. Suffering from a concussion as a result of a bad fall on the stairs, I tried to recover during this period by resting on my couch and follow the radio news to entertain my mind or listen to Ohdio de Radio-Canada. Everything we hear echoes the talk of China, mother gagging her doctors wanting to warn the rest of the world of this deadly new virus that is spreading like the plague. This emergency makes me go back to work as I excel at coaching my colleagues in distance learning. I want to be one of the superheroes working on the front lines. In teaching, all my colleagues are superheroes for managing to turn on a dime and get back to distance teaching and learning in a week to redesign their face-to-face courses into virtual ones. Yet, my hasty return to work only makes my health problems worse. I will not be a hero. I will become a teacher at the end of her rope, encumbered by too many demands (students, administration) on too many digital resources. Requests come in from everywhere and technical support is poor. Insomnia accompanies me every night, I burst easily for little matters. I have to do everything I can to control myself, especially for the students who also have a hard time to adjust. Burn out. Capoute. Everything collapses in my head, my heart, my spirit. Physical rest and especially mental rest is much needed.
In 2021, pandemic events are piling up: more variants, more restrictions, a race to find vaccines, drugs and rapid tests. Thanks to Big Pharma’s vaccines, humanity will soon be saved. One vaccine, a second, a third, and even a fourth for Israel, whose people are the guinea pigs of the moment. Which one is the most effective? Moderna, Pfizer, AstraZeneca, Johnson & Johnson? At the international level, the data collected on the injection of these different products becomes essential to judge their effectiveness and their danger.
Besides the three injections of Moderna received in 2021, the last of which was for prevention against Omicron, and their side effects, the first seven months of 2021 were painful for me. I cumulated six falls, one of which resulted in an infection close to sepsis and all these side effects, requiring two series of antibiotics, several medical visits including a visit to the emergency room of the Montfort Hospital. Of course, these falls multiplied the concussions and the risks involved. A year on my back. I’ve had plenty of time to listen to the news and reflect on my life. But I can’t seem to get out of my slump. The whole earth is spinning with the arrival of the variants Covid-19 and its data collected– Alpha, Beta, Delta, Gamma, Kappa, Omicron, Mu and all the others that have gone unnoticed as not very contagious.
What I understand and take away from all this commotion, this media noise that blurs my daily life, is that this information seeks drama to get ratings. The information that circulates on social media with insults and fake news is the reflection of the drama, the negative version. Humans sadden me with their stupidity and amaze me with their fragility.
In parallel to these variants we have to hide from and ruin our air, I have to find a physiotherapist who will get me out of this ‘cul-de-sac’ because all the services received between 2020 and July 2021 are not effective. They are acting like a band-aid. The pain accompanies my daily life. The fear of falling too. Thanks to a work colleague, G.L., her advice led me to a Cranio-Cervical and Temporo-Mandibulare Physiotherapy Clinic in late May. Hallelujah! The first appointment took three months to obtain. Since the end of August, I have been receiving difficult but effective treatments that have improved my general condition and my mood caused by the pain. I was distressed for the first three months. Then I take one step forward, two steps back, then three steps and one back. I am slowly healing. I hope to regain my former focus, my usual enthusiasm before these times of concussion.
Some say you have to reinvent yourself. I am doing it by engaging more with my dogs who take me to discover the most beautiful dog parks in the Outaouais. I am not looking to move to the country since I grew up there. I am looking for a physical rather than intellectual occupation. Doing my housework, walking, training my dogs, cooking. It can be that simple.
This virus gives me the creeps. I curse the travelers, those selfish ingrates, because they will be the best vectors of contamination for the whole planet. Office work is forbidden and for the whole planet, telecommuting is established in our homes. Our borders for domestic and professional matters are now closed. Goodbye private life and hello technical multitasking on computers, tablets and smartphones. In March, I returned to work very part-time and decided to make my civic effort like a hero would do and volunteer to help teachers who were about to embark on distance teaching and learning. One night as I was going to bed, I decided to put my divinatory abilities forward and questioned what would be the consequences of this virus on the world. I saw that this virus would steal lives like a thief decides to empty a house of the jewels and precious belongings of its owners and kill them if necessary. Like the canary in the mine that dies when it runs out of air, the human lungs would be the most attacked and those who would come out of it would be radiant, happy and grateful to have survived, because they would need a lot of care, attention, compassion. I made a live youtube video about it in french about this dream divination.
You may wonder where I get these divinatory abilities from… In short, I am also a survivor, not of the 19 crown virus, but of various youth and younger adult abuses: sexual, parental neglect, physical and psychological violence from family and husbandg, bullying. Yes I know, a long list. Since 2017, I developed my divinatory abilities by studying shamanic dreams and shamanic practices. I became interested in these practices in 2014 from the time I was diagnosed with chronic post-traumatic stress disorder, a natural defense mechanism for surviving the worst of human misfortune. As I searched the web and interviewed the professional helpers who have accompanied me since on this journey, I learned that the best way to help me recover the parts of me that were caught in the dissociation caused by some of the triggers of childhood and early childhood traumas, was to meet with a shaman who could help me recover those parts of my soul that had become isolated in bubbles outside of me. In 2014, far from me was the idea that I would become a practitioner of these techniques myself and that the shaman’s spirit would come to connect with mine. Fate led me to teachers of these practices and I learned many skills that can help humans, animals and all living things in all kinds of circumstances. I assure you, I do not use drugs to make the trips and communicate with the belping Spirits. They share information with me that I can make useful if someone wants to ask for it. So here I am following the evolution of the Covid-19 and doing my best to warn my loved ones of what is to come. And the best of all, i was able tp recover a few soul pieces, thanks to the Shaman in my life. Thanks to Helping Spirits.
The oppressed also know how to manifest themselves – there are a few thousand of them without masks, adults or children, victims of the majority, of government laws dictated, according to them, for future dictatorial purposes, to control Humans and their freedom. In the name of freedom, they send middle fingers to the outgoing Prime Minister castigating the message bearer with discourteous words. It is the elegance of poor people who lack words to express their emotions. Poor Justin receives the empathy of a voting public understanding that in the face of these undeserved major insults from a minority, the Liberal party is also fighting against its oppressors. One bit of cynicism at a time…
Monia arrives at the hospital with her father. He can hardly breathe. He shivers, feverish, his look is begging : »give me some oxygen ».
A day earlier, he had returned from Lebanon on business trips via Paris, a non-mandatory but favorite stopover that allowed him, when traveling in Europe, to take a few moments with otherfamily members, before returning to America. The night before he left in early March, he did have a few night sweats; he just told himself he was lucky to wake up with a slight sore throat and headache. Nothing a pain killer could heal Then he took a cab to the Beirut International Airport. Monia, his daughter and Marie-Laure, his older sister, were waiting for him with open hands at Orly. Time to spend a few days with his family and to enjoy the warmth of the Parisian spring. Ravid had time to kiss them and to go to their home. Claiming to be tired from the flight, he asked to rest for a few hours. The next morning, his nap had turned into several hours of sleep. When Monia decided that her father had slept enough, a few unanswered knocks on his bedroom door convinced her that he might not be doing so well. She found him unconscious in his bed, barely breathing.
Ravid left a few days later not for America, but for the morgue. Ten days later, Marie-Laure joined him there. While some survive, others leave their lives early.
I am out of my mind. I look at my neighbor in the line up going to the supermarket and wonder if he is self-aware. He doesn’t keep the two meters of distance. He stares at his phone, mechanically moving forward as the person in front of him steps toward the grocery store door. He is hypnotized by his phone.He uses his worst words to try to put the person in front of him in the right place, that is to say two meters in front of him. He wears his mask at the bottom of his nose, to breathe better, I guess. How can you blame him for wanting to breathe? I wonder about the quality of his mask: the thicknesses of fabric, his ability to respect these new social codes (washing his hands, getting tested if symptoms appear, not spitting in other people’s faces, etc.). It is the respect of these codes that we must take into account that will help us protect others and ourselves from those who are asymptomatic and still wander the aisles of airplanes and the streets of our cities and villages, on the beaches of our countryside.I curse those idiots who compare the virus to that of a flu falsely put forward as a new bacteriological weapon to better control the freedom of the people and its holy democracy. I wonder if this neighbor in line is aware that he may be a carrier of Covid 19, that all the aerosol particles coming out of his nose and mouth contribute to the multiplication of the disease. I get angry at myself for not being able to restrict myself to staying at home, barricading myself in, having to go out to run errands, only being able to visit family members via video messenger, or going to the dog park by isolating myself in a corner of the park to avoid any discussion or socialization with others. I may have a lot of knowledge, but that doesn’t take away the human in me and the stupidity that feeds off my fears. It is now 5 000 000 persons who have died of this disease. How many more of us will be affected by this virus? Who will survive it? is now 5 000This virus has now killed 5,000,000 people around the world. How many more of us will be affected by this virus? .How many more will be affected by this virus?
This year, I have heard and seen in the media that oppression has a special color in Canada and elsewhere. Especially in hospitals.Joyce died because she was an Aboriginal woman, the mother of several children whom a nurse blamed for her having given birth. She fought against her oppressors, an infantilizing and racist medical system when opportunity knocks. The oppressed may live in economic poverty, in verbal poverty due to lack of education in English or French or lack of respect for them by the rich and educated. The oppressed may also be born of social laws dictated by the authorities according to the contexts and environment of the times that build societies. They are forgotten on territories that are theirs by ancestral rights, they are displayed on propaganda policies to get votes in times of election, they are buried in mass graves to be forgotten faster, hidden by the silence of ecclesiastical authorities because they are not worth it. The oppressed have no right to running water or electricity in a country where abundance is defined by its hydroelectric dams and mineral wealth.
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Une réflexion sur “Survival”