May 9. Weary Cartagena.

I slept long, had breakfast with cheese bread, and wrote.
I went to eat something in old town, and wrote.
I went back to the hostel, and wrote.

“Some entries just say that he wrote.”
-“Yes, it’s boring, I feel like he is giving up.”
“What do you mean, giving up?”
-“Like he’s not believing in himself anymore.”
“O, that’s bad. Writers should believe in themselves.”
-“That’s what I think. Shall we help him?”
“As his characters? He sees us coming and laughs at us.”
-“How do you know that?”
“It’s common knowledge.”
-“Let’s just try, come on, it won’t hurt.”
“But what should I say. ‘Hi I am your character, look at me I am very real I even have a birthmark on my belly how could I be so real if you wouldn’t have done a good job?’. Should I say something like that then?”
-“For example. It’s actually quite good. I think you’ve got talent. Now, shall we go?”
“Can’t we just write him a letter, I’m a bit shy.”
-“There’s no need in writing him a letter.”
“Why not?”
-“Because he will write it himself.”
“So?”
-“So we have to talk to him in person, don’t you understand?”
“O I see.”
-“Let’s wake him up tomorrow morning and tell him he should start believing in himself again.”
“That sounds like a good plan indeed.”

Story:
Enter Kirk and Hank in a dodgy bar in the port-city of Cartagena de Indias, northern Colombia. You can smell the salt and hear the sea. On the table we count two big beers and an empty ashtray. Kirk takes a gulp of his beer and says:
“So, how you’re doing mate?”
-“Good, thanks for asking. Doing really well here. The food is tasty and cheap. The climate is a dream” Hank answers and drinks from his beer.
They are what we call old friends, they used to be in the navy together. Now Kirk has a job as a freighter captain and Hank just hangs around making some cash with his band.
“Hank man, shall we go for some women tonight?”
-“Okay.”
“Come on, be a little bit more enthousiastic.”
-“Sorry man, I’m not in the mood.”
“Why not?”
-“It’s empty in here”. He points at his head. “I’m serious. There’s nothing. You are talking to nothing.”
“Come on, you are doing well. Said so yourself. Playing every other night with your band. What else do you want?”
Hank shrugs. He hits hard on the table and yells so that everybody can hear it:
-“Let’s drink. Let’s fucking drink tonight!” and he offers a bottle of rum.
“No wonder why it’s empty in that chamber” Kirk murmers.
-“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
They sit and drink for some time, and two hookers come in. That stand behind the man and gently caress their cheek bones.
“What’s your name?” one hooker says to Kirk.
-“Kirk.”
“Nice. We go fuck tonight? Very very good body very very cheap.”
Kirk laughs and looks at his mate. They used to do this all the time when they were marines. Then he answers the woman.
“No thanks.”
-“But I will!” Hank suddenly shouts. “I will go with both of you!” and he leaves with the two woman. Kirk drinks up the rest of both beers.
The next morning, they see each other on the street.
“Hey mate, how it is going?” Kirk asks.
-“Bad mate, I couldn’t do it yesterday and they laughed at me. I feel so bad now.”
“Maybe that’s because your head is empty?”
-“So you finally believe my head is empty?”
“No. That was a cynical joke. I’ll never believe that. Not if you write a whole encyclopedia about it. Your head cannot be empty.”
-“I am suffering mate, beyond your imagination.”
“Because of that empty head of yours?”
-“Yes!”
Hank will never be understood. Kirk will return to his ship tomorrow, and he will hear about the suicide only months later when he will be in Cartagena again. Empty heads are a bad illness. Kirk decides to take that very seriously from that moment on.

Kamiel’s Daily Karma Rule: “If there’s no Karma Rule, don’t get upset.”
This can’t go on forever. You should try to deal with life without those daily rules. Just do something you never did before and write a short story about it. The story should not contain the word “I” though.

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May 9. Weary Cartagena.

I slept long, had breakfast with cheese bread, and wrote.
I went to eat something in old town, and wrote.
I went back to the hostel, and wrote.

“Some entries just say that he wrote.”
-“Yes, it’s boring, I feel like he is giving up.”
“What do you mean, giving up?”
-“Like he’s not believing in himself anymore.”
“O, that’s bad. Writers should believe in themselves.”
-“That’s what I think. Shall we help him?”
“As his characters? He sees us coming and laughs at us.”
-“How do you know that?”
“It’s common knowledge.”
-“Let’s just try, come on, it won’t hurt.”
“But what should I say. ‘Hi I am your character, look at me I am very real I even have a birthmark on my belly how could I be so real if you wouldn’t have done a good job?’. Should I say something like that then?”
-“For example. It’s actually quite good. I think you’ve got talent. Now, shall we go?”
“Can’t we just write him a letter, I’m a bit shy.”
-“There’s no need in writing him a letter.”
“Why not?”
-“Because he will write it himself.”
“So?”
-“So we have to talk to him in person, don’t you understand?”
“O I see.”
-“Let’s wake him up tomorrow morning and tell him he should start believing in himself again.”
“That sounds like a good plan indeed.”

Story:
Enter Kirk and Hank in a dodgy bar in the port-city of Cartagena de Indias, northern Colombia. You can smell the salt and hear the sea. On the table we count two big beers and an empty ashtray. Kirk takes a gulp of his beer and says:
“So, how you’re doing mate?”
-“Good, thanks for asking. Doing really well here. The food is tasty and cheap. The climate is a dream” Hank answers and drinks from his beer.
They are what we call old friends, they used to be in the navy together. Now Kirk has a job as a freighter captain and Hank just hangs around making some cash with his band.
“Hank man, shall we go for some women tonight?”
-“Okay.”
“Come on, be a little bit more enthousiastic.”
-“Sorry man, I’m not in the mood.”
“Why not?”
-“It’s empty in here”. He points at his head. “I’m serious. There’s nothing. You are talking to nothing.”
“Come on, you are doing well. Said so yourself. Playing every other night with your band. What else do you want?”
Hank shrugs. He hits hard on the table and yells so that everybody can hear it:
-“Let’s drink. Let’s fucking drink tonight!” and he offers a bottle of rum.
“No wonder why it’s empty in that chamber” Kirk murmers.
-“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
They sit and drink for some time, and two hookers come in. That stand behind the man and gently caress their cheek bones.
“What’s your name?” one hooker says to Kirk.
-“Kirk.”
“Nice. We go fuck tonight? Very very good body very very cheap.”
Kirk laughs and looks at his mate. They used to do this all the time when they were marines. Then he answers the woman.
“No thanks.”
-“But I will!” Hank suddenly shouts. “I will go with both of you!” and he leaves with the two woman. Kirk drinks up the rest of both beers.
The next morning, they see each other on the street.
“Hey mate, how it is going?” Kirk asks.
-“Bad mate, I couldn’t do it yesterday and they laughed at me. I feel so bad now.”
“Maybe that’s because your head is empty?”
-“So you finally believe my head is empty?”
“No. That was a cynical joke. I’ll never believe that. Not if you write a whole encyclopedia about it. Your head cannot be empty.”
-“I am suffering mate, beyond your imagination.”
“Because of that empty head of yours?”
-“Yes!”
Hank will never be understood. Kirk will return to his ship tomorrow, and he will hear about the suicide only months later when he will be in Cartagena again. Empty heads are a bad illness. Kirk decides to take that very seriously from that moment on.

Kamiel’s Daily Karma Rule: “If there’s no Karma Rule, don’t get upset.”
This can’t go on forever. You should try to deal with life without those daily rules. Just do something you never did before and write a short story about it. The story should not contain the word “I” though.

May 9. Weary Cartagena.

I slept long, had breakfast with cheese bread, and wrote.
I went to eat something in old town, and wrote.
I went back to the hostel, and wrote.

“Some entries just say that he wrote.”
-“Yes, it’s boring, I feel like he is giving up.”
“What do you mean, giving up?”
-“Like he’s not believing in himself anymore.”
“O, that’s bad. Writers should believe in themselves.”
-“That’s what I think. Shall we help him?”
“As his characters? He sees us coming and laughs at us.”
-“How do you know that?”
“It’s common knowledge.”
-“Let’s just try, come on, it won’t hurt.”
“But what should I say. ‘Hi I am your character, look at me I am very real I even have a birthmark on my belly how could I be so real if you wouldn’t have done a good job?’. Should I say something like that then?”
-“For example. It’s actually quite good. I think you’ve got talent. Now, shall we go?”
“Can’t we just write him a letter, I’m a bit shy.”
-“There’s no need in writing him a letter.”
“Why not?”
-“Because he will write it himself.”
“So?”
-“So we have to talk to him in person, don’t you understand?”
“O I see.”
-“Let’s wake him up tomorrow morning and tell him he should start believing in himself again.”
“That sounds like a good plan indeed.”

Story:
Enter Kirk and Hank in a dodgy bar in the port-city of Cartagena de Indias, northern Colombia. You can smell the salt and hear the sea. On the table we count two big beers and an empty ashtray. Kirk takes a gulp of his beer and says:
“So, how you’re doing mate?”
-“Good, thanks for asking. Doing really well here. The food is tasty and cheap. The climate is a dream” Hank answers and drinks from his beer.
They are what we call old friends, they used to be in the navy together. Now Kirk has a job as a freighter captain and Hank just hangs around making some cash with his band.
“Hank man, shall we go for some women tonight?”
-“Okay.”
“Come on, be a little bit more enthousiastic.”
-“Sorry man, I’m not in the mood.”
“Why not?”
-“It’s empty in here”. He points at his head. “I’m serious. There’s nothing. You are talking to nothing.”
“Come on, you are doing well. Said so yourself. Playing every other night with your band. What else do you want?”
Hank shrugs. He hits hard on the table and yells so that everybody can hear it:
-“Let’s drink. Let’s fucking drink tonight!” and he offers a bottle of rum.
“No wonder why it’s empty in that chamber” Kirk murmers.
-“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
They sit and drink for some time, and two hookers come in. That stand behind the man and gently caress their cheek bones.
“What’s your name?” one hooker says to Kirk.
-“Kirk.”
“Nice. We go fuck tonight? Very very good body very very cheap.”
Kirk laughs and looks at his mate. They used to do this all the time when they were marines. Then he answers the woman.
“No thanks.”
-“But I will!” Hank suddenly shouts. “I will go with both of you!” and he leaves with the two woman. Kirk drinks up the rest of both beers.
The next morning, they see each other on the street.
“Hey mate, how it is going?” Kirk asks.
-“Bad mate, I couldn’t do it yesterday and they laughed at me. I feel so bad now.”
“Maybe that’s because your head is empty?”
-“So you finally believe my head is empty?”
“No. That was a cynical joke. I’ll never believe that. Not if you write a whole encyclopedia about it. Your head cannot be empty.”
-“I am suffering mate, beyond your imagination.”
“Because of that empty head of yours?”
-“Yes!”
Hank will never be understood. Kirk will return to his ship tomorrow, and he will hear about the suicide only months later when he will be in Cartagena again. Empty heads are a bad illness. Kirk decides to take that very seriously from that moment on.

Kamiel’s Daily Karma Rule: “If there’s no Karma Rule, don’t get upset.”
This can’t go on forever. You should try to deal with life without those daily rules. Just do something you never did before and write a short story about it. The story should not contain the word “I” though.

May 9. Weary Cartagena. was originally published on Meandering home

May 8. Waiting for our boat.

After only a few hours sleep we walk to the Club Nautico and say YES to Fabian and the Panama boattrip. And that was it. The next days we will spend waiting for the boat to leave. And I will write.

Consider this: THE KEYS.
“How did you get in?”
-“I still have the keys.”
“You should have left them.”
-“I’m sorry, okay. S-o-r-r-y.”
“I can hear you. Just give them to me now.”
-“Suspicious as always. I could have known. I should have come to get my stuff while you’re working.”
“You diabolical serpent.”
-“Pardon?”
“I mean, ah, you know what I mean. Can you give me the keys now?”
-“No. I’m not ready. I will get my stuff first.”
“What stuff?”
-“My cd’s and the salad bowl.”
“Salad bowl was a present of my uncle.”
-“He gave it to me, so it belongs to me and me and me.”
“Okay. You can have it. And keep the keys too. I don’t care about what you do.”
-“You run away again, can’t you see that. You always run away.”
“I can see it, but I no longer care. Do whatever you like.”
-“You make me very, very sick.”
He shrugs.
“Maybe you should visit a doctor then.”
-“Fuck you. I’m out of here.”
She throws the keys at him and rans away. He shouts at her.
“Don’t you want the cd’s?”
-“No! they’re contaminated.”
“What do you mean?”
-“Everything you touch gets bad.”
“You’re hysterical. You should see a doctor.”
-“Yes, I AM hysterical. And you know why? Because you touched me.”
She rans out of the house. He shrugs again and plays one of her cd’s that is actually quite nice. He begins to swing a little bit to the music. It’s some old jazz record. If love were like an old jazz record, we see him thinking, this world would be a paradise. Another woman gets in and starts talking to him.
“Tom, how are you doing?”
-“What?”
“How are you.. can you lower the volume a little?”
-“What?”
She sighs and walks to the stereo set to lower the volume.
-“What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you about us. How serious are we?”
-“Why now?”
“Well I… technical reasons.”
-“Technical?”
“Tomorrow I should start taking the pill again.”
-“And?”
“If we’re serious I thought I will not take it. I am thirty-two you know.”
He knew. Thirty-two, almost the autumn of her reproductive life. He had thought about having a child with her, but just not now. His wife had just left him. We can see him calculating.
-“And thirty-four? My sister was thirty-four” he says.
“I am not your sister. Women of my age are running a risk. Just tell me are we serious?”
He shrugs.
-“Okay, we’re serious” he says absent-mindedly.
“You make me very, very sick.”
-“You don’t believe me?”
“No of course I don’t believe you.”
-“Look at the table. You see the keys? They are yours. What do you say? Do you believe me now?”
“O Tom, that was not necessary. And I thought you had not yet made up your mind. I’m sorry, stupid little me. I love you.”
She walks to Tom and gives him a kiss on his mouth. They hug and she sighs.
“I am so happy we finally found each other.”
-“Will you be careful with the keys?”
“Of course. You can trust me.”
-“I trust you, sweetheart.”
He stands up to get a bottle of wine. He comes back with two glasses and a bottle.
-“Should I change the music?”
“No, I like it. It’s jazz, isn’t it?”
He sighs.
-“Do you think our love is like this music?”
“What do you mean?”
-“Swinging, dynamic, smooth, without stress.”
“That depends.”
-“On what?”
“On our understanding of each other.”
-“You mean thiry-two?”
“Do you want a child with me?”
-“It’s too early sweetheart. How am I supposed to make that kind of decision. My wife just left.”
“She was here?”
-“She came to return the keys.”
“O. So that’s why they feel warm. They are still warm of her hands.”
-“Does it bother you?”
“I don’t know. Did she want a child with you?”
-“After the death of Tom we never spoke about having another child.”
“But did she want Tom with you?”
-“Yes, very much. Tom has made us very happy the last three years.”
“How happy?”
-“I don’t want to talk about now, please. Let’s go to bed.”
She plays with the keys in her hands.
“Can I visit Tom’s grave?”
He sighs.
-“Yes, but leave the keys on the table. I will change the lock.
“Why?”
-“Because I say so!” he yells.
She looks at him and thinks for a few seconds. Then she says.
“Who will get Tom’s keys?”
He looks at her with tears in his eyes. She sweeps the tears out of his eyes and whispers in his ear.
“Thirty-three.”
Then they go to bed.

Kamiel’s Daily Karma Rule: “Synthesis of opposite fears”.
If you are afraid of something, try to generate fear of the opposite as well. Try to imagine why the exact opposite is fearsome as well. The synthesis of these two fears, if properly generated, will heave you up a higher level of Being (taste of apricots).

May 8. Waiting for our boat.

After only a few hours sleep we walk to the Club Nautico and say YES to Fabian and the Panama boattrip. And that was it. The next days we will spend waiting for the boat to leave. And I will write.

Consider this: THE KEYS.
“How did you get in?”
-“I still have the keys.”
“You should have left them.”
-“I’m sorry, okay. S-o-r-r-y.”
“I can hear you. Just give them to me now.”
-“Suspicious as always. I could have known. I should have come to get my stuff while you’re working.”
“You diabolical serpent.”
-“Pardon?”
“I mean, ah, you know what I mean. Can you give me the keys now?”
-“No. I’m not ready. I will get my stuff first.”
“What stuff?”
-“My cd’s and the salad bowl.”
“Salad bowl was a present of my uncle.”
-“He gave it to me, so it belongs to me and me and me.”
“Okay. You can have it. And keep the keys too. I don’t care about what you do.”
-“You run away again, can’t you see that. You always run away.”
“I can see it, but I no longer care. Do whatever you like.”
-“You make me very, very sick.”
He shrugs.
“Maybe you should visit a doctor then.”
-“Fuck you. I’m out of here.”
She throws the keys at him and rans away. He shouts at her.
“Don’t you want the cd’s?”
-“No! they’re contaminated.”
“What do you mean?”
-“Everything you touch gets bad.”
“You’re hysterical. You should see a doctor.”
-“Yes, I AM hysterical. And you know why? Because you touched me.”
She rans out of the house. He shrugs again and plays one of her cd’s that is actually quite nice. He begins to swing a little bit to the music. It’s some old jazz record. If love were like an old jazz record, we see him thinking, this world would be a paradise. Another woman gets in and starts talking to him.
“Tom, how are you doing?”
-“What?”
“How are you.. can you lower the volume a little?”
-“What?”
She sighs and walks to the stereo set to lower the volume.
-“What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you about us. How serious are we?”
-“Why now?”
“Well I… technical reasons.”
-“Technical?”
“Tomorrow I should start taking the pill again.”
-“And?”
“If we’re serious I thought I will not take it. I am thirty-two you know.”
He knew. Thirty-two, almost the autumn of her reproductive life. He had thought about having a child with her, but just not now. His wife had just left him. We can see him calculating.
-“And thirty-four? My sister was thirty-four” he says.
“I am not your sister. Women of my age are running a risk. Just tell me are we serious?”
He shrugs.
-“Okay, we’re serious” he says absent-mindedly.
“You make me very, very sick.”
-“You don’t believe me?”
“No of course I don’t believe you.”
-“Look at the table. You see the keys? They are yours. What do you say? Do you believe me now?”
“O Tom, that was not necessary. And I thought you had not yet made up your mind. I’m sorry, stupid little me. I love you.”
She walks to Tom and gives him a kiss on his mouth. They hug and she sighs.
“I am so happy we finally found each other.”
-“Will you be careful with the keys?”
“Of course. You can trust me.”
-“I trust you, sweetheart.”
He stands up to get a bottle of wine. He comes back with two glasses and a bottle.
-“Should I change the music?”
“No, I like it. It’s jazz, isn’t it?”
He sighs.
-“Do you think our love is like this music?”
“What do you mean?”
-“Swinging, dynamic, smooth, without stress.”
“That depends.”
-“On what?”
“On our understanding of each other.”
-“You mean thiry-two?”
“Do you want a child with me?”
-“It’s too early sweetheart. How am I supposed to make that kind of decision. My wife just left.”
“She was here?”
-“She came to return the keys.”
“O. So that’s why they feel warm. They are still warm of her hands.”
-“Does it bother you?”
“I don’t know. Did she want a child with you?”
-“After the death of Tom we never spoke about having another child.”
“But did she want Tom with you?”
-“Yes, very much. Tom has made us very happy the last three years.”
“How happy?”
-“I don’t want to talk about now, please. Let’s go to bed.”
She plays with the keys in her hands.
“Can I visit Tom’s grave?”
He sighs.
-“Yes, but leave the keys on the table. I will change the lock.
“Why?”
-“Because I say so!” he yells.
She looks at him and thinks for a few seconds. Then she says.
“Who will get Tom’s keys?”
He looks at her with tears in his eyes. She sweeps the tears out of his eyes and whispers in his ear.
“Thirty-three.”
Then they go to bed.

Kamiel’s Daily Karma Rule: “Synthesis of opposite fears”.
If you are afraid of something, try to generate fear of the opposite as well. Try to imagine why the exact opposite is fearsome as well. The synthesis of these two fears, if properly generated, will heave you up a higher level of Being (taste of apricots).

May 8. Waiting for our boat.

After only a few hours sleep we walk to the Club Nautico and say YES to Fabian and the Panama boattrip. And that was it. The next days we will spend waiting for the boat to leave. And I will write.

Consider this: THE KEYS.
“How did you get in?”
-“I still have the keys.”
“You should have left them.”
-“I’m sorry, okay. S-o-r-r-y.”
“I can hear you. Just give them to me now.”
-“Suspicious as always. I could have known. I should have come to get my stuff while you’re working.”
“You diabolical serpent.”
-“Pardon?”
“I mean, ah, you know what I mean. Can you give me the keys now?”
-“No. I’m not ready. I will get my stuff first.”
“What stuff?”
-“My cd’s and the salad bowl.”
“Salad bowl was a present of my uncle.”
-“He gave it to me, so it belongs to me and me and me.”
“Okay. You can have it. And keep the keys too. I don’t care about what you do.”
-“You run away again, can’t you see that. You always run away.”
“I can see it, but I no longer care. Do whatever you like.”
-“You make me very, very sick.”
He shrugs.
“Maybe you should visit a doctor then.”
-“Fuck you. I’m out of here.”
She throws the keys at him and rans away. He shouts at her.
“Don’t you want the cd’s?”
-“No! they’re contaminated.”
“What do you mean?”
-“Everything you touch gets bad.”
“You’re hysterical. You should see a doctor.”
-“Yes, I AM hysterical. And you know why? Because you touched me.”
She rans out of the house. He shrugs again and plays one of her cd’s that is actually quite nice. He begins to swing a little bit to the music. It’s some old jazz record. If love were like an old jazz record, we see him thinking, this world would be a paradise. Another woman gets in and starts talking to him.
“Tom, how are you doing?”
-“What?”
“How are you.. can you lower the volume a little?”
-“What?”
She sighs and walks to the stereo set to lower the volume.
-“What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you about us. How serious are we?”
-“Why now?”
“Well I… technical reasons.”
-“Technical?”
“Tomorrow I should start taking the pill again.”
-“And?”
“If we’re serious I thought I will not take it. I am thirty-two you know.”
He knew. Thirty-two, almost the autumn of her reproductive life. He had thought about having a child with her, but just not now. His wife had just left him. We can see him calculating.
-“And thirty-four? My sister was thirty-four” he says.
“I am not your sister. Women of my age are running a risk. Just tell me are we serious?”
He shrugs.
-“Okay, we’re serious” he says absent-mindedly.
“You make me very, very sick.”
-“You don’t believe me?”
“No of course I don’t believe you.”
-“Look at the table. You see the keys? They are yours. What do you say? Do you believe me now?”
“O Tom, that was not necessary. And I thought you had not yet made up your mind. I’m sorry, stupid little me. I love you.”
She walks to Tom and gives him a kiss on his mouth. They hug and she sighs.
“I am so happy we finally found each other.”
-“Will you be careful with the keys?”
“Of course. You can trust me.”
-“I trust you, sweetheart.”
He stands up to get a bottle of wine. He comes back with two glasses and a bottle.
-“Should I change the music?”
“No, I like it. It’s jazz, isn’t it?”
He sighs.
-“Do you think our love is like this music?”
“What do you mean?”
-“Swinging, dynamic, smooth, without stress.”
“That depends.”
-“On what?”
“On our understanding of each other.”
-“You mean thiry-two?”
“Do you want a child with me?”
-“It’s too early sweetheart. How am I supposed to make that kind of decision. My wife just left.”
“She was here?”
-“She came to return the keys.”
“O. So that’s why they feel warm. They are still warm of her hands.”
-“Does it bother you?”
“I don’t know. Did she want a child with you?”
-“After the death of Tom we never spoke about having another child.”
“But did she want Tom with you?”
-“Yes, very much. Tom has made us very happy the last three years.”
“How happy?”
-“I don’t want to talk about now, please. Let’s go to bed.”
She plays with the keys in her hands.
“Can I visit Tom’s grave?”
He sighs.
-“Yes, but leave the keys on the table. I will change the lock.
“Why?”
-“Because I say so!” he yells.
She looks at him and thinks for a few seconds. Then she says.
“Who will get Tom’s keys?”
He looks at her with tears in his eyes. She sweeps the tears out of his eyes and whispers in his ear.
“Thirty-three.”
Then they go to bed.

Kamiel’s Daily Karma Rule: “Synthesis of opposite fears”.
If you are afraid of something, try to generate fear of the opposite as well. Try to imagine why the exact opposite is fearsome as well. The synthesis of these two fears, if properly generated, will heave you up a higher level of Being (taste of apricots).

May 8. Waiting for our boat.

After only a few hours sleep we walk to the Club Nautico and say YES to Fabian and the Panama boattrip. And that was it. The next days we will spend waiting for the boat to leave. And I will write.

Consider this: THE KEYS.
“How did you get in?”
-“I still have the keys.”
“You should have left them.”
-“I’m sorry, okay. S-o-r-r-y.”
“I can hear you. Just give them to me now.”
-“Suspicious as always. I could have known. I should have come to get my stuff while you’re working.”
“You diabolical serpent.”
-“Pardon?”
“I mean, ah, you know what I mean. Can you give me the keys now?”
-“No. I’m not ready. I will get my stuff first.”
“What stuff?”
-“My cd’s and the salad bowl.”
“Salad bowl was a present of my uncle.”
-“He gave it to me, so it belongs to me and me and me.”
“Okay. You can have it. And keep the keys too. I don’t care about what you do.”
-“You run away again, can’t you see that. You always run away.”
“I can see it, but I no longer care. Do whatever you like.”
-“You make me very, very sick.”
He shrugs.
“Maybe you should visit a doctor then.”
-“Fuck you. I’m out of here.”
She throws the keys at him and rans away. He shouts at her.
“Don’t you want the cd’s?”
-“No! they’re contaminated.”
“What do you mean?”
-“Everything you touch gets bad.”
“You’re hysterical. You should see a doctor.”
-“Yes, I AM hysterical. And you know why? Because you touched me.”
She rans out of the house. He shrugs again and plays one of her cd’s that is actually quite nice. He begins to swing a little bit to the music. It’s some old jazz record. If love were like an old jazz record, we see him thinking, this world would be a paradise. Another woman gets in and starts talking to him.
“Tom, how are you doing?”
-“What?”
“How are you.. can you lower the volume a little?”
-“What?”
She sighs and walks to the stereo set to lower the volume.
-“What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you about us. How serious are we?”
-“Why now?”
“Well I… technical reasons.”
-“Technical?”
“Tomorrow I should start taking the pill again.”
-“And?”
“If we’re serious I thought I will not take it. I am thirty-two you know.”
He knew. Thirty-two, almost the autumn of her reproductive life. He had thought about having a child with her, but just not now. His wife had just left him. We can see him calculating.
-“And thirty-four? My sister was thirty-four” he says.
“I am not your sister. Women of my age are running a risk. Just tell me are we serious?”
He shrugs.
-“Okay, we’re serious” he says absent-mindedly.
“You make me very, very sick.”
-“You don’t believe me?”
“No of course I don’t believe you.”
-“Look at the table. You see the keys? They are yours. What do you say? Do you believe me now?”
“O Tom, that was not necessary. And I thought you had not yet made up your mind. I’m sorry, stupid little me. I love you.”
She walks to Tom and gives him a kiss on his mouth. They hug and she sighs.
“I am so happy we finally found each other.”
-“Will you be careful with the keys?”
“Of course. You can trust me.”
-“I trust you, sweetheart.”
He stands up to get a bottle of wine. He comes back with two glasses and a bottle.
-“Should I change the music?”
“No, I like it. It’s jazz, isn’t it?”
He sighs.
-“Do you think our love is like this music?”
“What do you mean?”
-“Swinging, dynamic, smooth, without stress.”
“That depends.”
-“On what?”
“On our understanding of each other.”
-“You mean thiry-two?”
“Do you want a child with me?”
-“It’s too early sweetheart. How am I supposed to make that kind of decision. My wife just left.”
“She was here?”
-“She came to return the keys.”
“O. So that’s why they feel warm. They are still warm of her hands.”
-“Does it bother you?”
“I don’t know. Did she want a child with you?”
-“After the death of Tom we never spoke about having another child.”
“But did she want Tom with you?”
-“Yes, very much. Tom has made us very happy the last three years.”
“How happy?”
-“I don’t want to talk about now, please. Let’s go to bed.”
She plays with the keys in her hands.
“Can I visit Tom’s grave?”
He sighs.
-“Yes, but leave the keys on the table. I will change the lock.
“Why?”
-“Because I say so!” he yells.
She looks at him and thinks for a few seconds. Then she says.
“Who will get Tom’s keys?”
He looks at her with tears in his eyes. She sweeps the tears out of his eyes and whispers in his ear.
“Thirty-three.”
Then they go to bed.

Kamiel’s Daily Karma Rule: “Synthesis of opposite fears”.
If you are afraid of something, try to generate fear of the opposite as well. Try to imagine why the exact opposite is fearsome as well. The synthesis of these two fears, if properly generated, will heave you up a higher level of Being (taste of apricots).

May 8. Waiting for our boat. was originally published on Meandering home