I WAS on my way along Regent Street to enter Bourda Street last Saturday when I fell into a clog of traffic a few feet before the Bourda Street entrance. Where cars could park was somewhat unclear. There, I saw an older person standing a few feet before the Bourda Street entrance, where she might have assumed, by some error or custom, that this was just another Bourda vehicle stop. I could not ignore the car edging up to the woman. Because I was coming up behind her, I passed almost beside her and tried to warn the driver or companion that the adult woman was uneasy and shaking. A rude answer followed, and I lost it and responded in kind—something that I had promised myself not to do.
It had started a while ago, when I jumped out of a minibus just over Cummings and Regent Street and asked the conductor if he hadn’t noticed there were pretty young children on the bus, given the kind of music he was playing. He merely took my fare and did not respond. My family had insisted that I remove myself from what was happening in our home world—this wasn’t my day. I just couldn’t remember what I had eaten, because I had promised myself not to get into public issues. I did agree with myself and my family to stay out of public engagements, but I didn’t.
A young man stated to me, “You’re using hostile language.” I did not recognise him; probably I knew his folks. So, I related to him what had occurred with the latter incident. He shook his head and related that everyone is hostile—you just have to move on. It’s easy to get into trouble nowadays. I replied, “Thanks for the gesture.” I couldn’t tell him how many issues I’ve crossed as a young man, but this wasn’t right. I can’t make magic happen; I’ve got to be more careful.
Along the way, I consoled myself, but what about those childhood teachings to channel the challenge that threatens and presents a definite mood beyond hostility? If so trained, or does every situation speak to a different realm of one’s consciousness? No one could have imagined this obviously hostile world. Is there some trend, not immediate, that we are ignoring—something I’ve not brought into observation? Do we still have good folks? Could it be that everything is required to be extreme?
Are we in the age of the “ego-flu,” or are we missing something much more rooted in our reality that requires a dialogue of means? When we were much younger, and cinemas existed, we visited cinemas that allowed time travel to other realms nearby—but they’re gone. True, local talent exists to reflect and neutralise bad inner vibes in drama, but it must be developed within the realities of our time, not with guesswork, but with folks who know the dark inner world that summons constant hostility rather than the proposed healing balm of logical resolution.
From our beginnings towards human civilisation, the pageant carried the esoteric pitch versus the mundane. The format has changed, but the necessity obviously remains for those who share this craft.
De lamentables