All souls

Christian religions chose the 1st November to celebrate the departed souls. The date has no apparent astronomical connection.

In loving memory of Arnica, our drama teacher and Guru. Endless source of energy and inspiration. The woman who opened us a door to listening to our emotions and to letting go, completely. 

On NOV 2 2014, in Sydney, I went through a life-changing experience... not. 

The evening had some Halloween magic, which made the incident tragicomical. 

I used to work mainly Saturday nights just 20 minutes down the road, as a language teacher/babysitter. Working on Saturday evening gave me an excuse not to go out at night, some room to try pedagogical activities and some pocket money for my free time. 

I usually started at 7pm, but we had agreed I could come around 8pm that evening. It was Summer time in Australia in November, and the sun started going down. I jumped on my bike and turned the Dutch lights on. They don't light the way but make you visible in the dark. 

After using regular bikes in NL I chose to ride an electric bike. My neighbourhood was at the top of a 1km hill and it was pretty steep on the way to town, especially on the way back.

I used to go to school, to work, out party and to the beach on my bike. I had to buy an electric bike to get over the steep hills.

I like sturdy bikes, I carry bags on the sides to carry groceries and basically, I am no middle aged breeder in an unfulfilled marriage who likes to dress in nylon and pretend he/she's a superhero cyclist. My bike is my commuter. Dutch style. Once an omafietser always an omafietser.

The first day I bought my electric Dutch style bike

One of the best bits of my ride into town was going from the top of New South Head Rd, with all its curves, all the way down to Rose Bay without hitting the brakes. I could get speeds of 40km/h and my goal was to find all lights in green. I only managed twice, but it was worth it!

That evening it was getting dark and I was being a bit late to work. It was 7:50 and I had to hurry up. 

I admit I was going insanely fast, but once I reached Rose Bay, a flat road, I had my first traffic light. I passed it in orange and I saw the next one green, green as green could be, so with the extra swing of not having come to a complete halt I rode past my GREEN light at the intersection with Newcastle Rd.

Right as I passed the green light a burgoundy car appeared out of nowhere and halted right in front of my front tyre. 

First reaction (Aussies drive poorly and have no sense of space or road sharing) was, a usual: "another idiot on the way", and the second thought was: "oh damn, here I go". 

I put my arms in front of the bike as if to get that monster out of my way, flew out of my bike, landed on the windscreen and came flying out, losing sense of time and space. It seemed an eternal hovering on the way to an imminent crash, not knowing what bone I was going to break. I had already done a flip, and thanks to that flip I managed to land half ducked like a very clumsy superhero. And then I collapsed on the ground. 

I don't know how long I spent there. When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by zombies, witches and vampires looking at me. It was a show of cheap make up and prostetics. It seemed I was already in hell, then I realised it was Halloween, and a weird giggle came out of me. I felt instantly relieved. I was worried if adrenaline would make me feel like a rugby player going on with a broken nose or jaw and, for what I could see, all my joints where in place and no blood at sight. 

I sat down, asked a couple of people if my face was bleeding and they said no. The two other things I said afterwards were: "I am late for work" and "Where is my bike?"

Someone said the ambulance was on the way and the zombies, witches and vampires didn't let me move an inch from the ground. In the meantime the car driver who had ran me over, came to introduce himself. I told him I was fine, but we still needed to exchange contacts and I kept repeating: "I was on green light". Maybe he was exercising his: "on red, turn left with care" as we do in OZ, and he didn't see me because:

1. I was faster than you'd expect a bike to be (I'd be dead had I been a motorcycle) 

2. Simply put, bycicles don't exist for uptown Eastern Suburbians.

I called the family of the kids I taught every Saturday to say I had been ran over by a car, but that I was ok. An ambulance was going to take me to the hospital to make sure I wasn't having any unseen issues. 

On the other side, the mum freaked out a bit and said not to go anywhere until she'd come meet me. 

The ambulance was there and it was funny, because I asked them to wait for my boss/friend and they looked at each other perplexed, as if I was talking to a cab driver. 

On the ambulance I had the chance to chat with a green eyed paramedic. He was definitely fun and witty. We made a couple of inappropriate accident jokes and then he asked me if I wanted some morphine. 

I said no. 

He said it is common procedure, because I was still in shock and I didn't know what parts of my body could have been damaged.
He gave me an intravenous and I went on a high. Then he said it was only antiinflamatories, so maybe I was right not to want any morphine. 

I was given some morphine when we got to the hospital and it was the first time I experienced a high on a hard drug. It was beautiful. There was no pain, not physical, not emotional. I was experiencing pure love. 

When my boss/friend came to the hospital I told her that I was high and that I was sorry I let the kids down. I took her by the hand and went on to say how great I felt. 

She had other plans for the night and didn't stay with me. I waited in a bed to be tested. 

After being tested I was sent out of bed in my ridiculous pyjamas to wait for my report in an emergency waiting room. 

Totally high on morphine and dressed in a white gown I got to sit with different people, hug them, take them by the hand and ask them how they felt. I collected 5 different stories that had a supportive loved one or a bad break up behind. In the case of the bad break up the pain was chronical, they said they kept coming back with aches, itches, pains, but nobody knew the cause... I shall point out I was sent to Kings Cross hospital in the middle of the Red Light District, the closest State Hospital, and I was talking mainly with junkies. Addiction has a lot of hearbreaking stories. There was a guy whose pains shocked me. He kept coming back for unconclusive tests. When I put my hand on his heart it was like a drum. When I placed my hand on his arm, his blood was going through it loudly, I don't know how to explain, as if there was a river there, a foamy river. I hugged him. I wished him he'd forget about this guy who made him feel so unloved. I said I loved him. I wouldn't had if I wasn't on drugs. I started to understand the spiritual rush of the sectarious religion and why people turn to hyperspirituality after years of drug abuse. 

Tests revealed no damage to organs and muscle tissue was ok, just a few bruises. A miracle, the doctors said. I told them not to say that while I was having a drug-induced spiritual awakening. 

I had never felt so connected with people and so selfless like that night.
When the effects of drugs wore out, I had just a minimal amount of pain and a scratch on my knee which has become a beautiful scar. 

And I am still very upset about it. 

Coming back to letting go and the array of emotions drama courses allow you to explore, I declare with absolute shame that I was even angry and jealous of those who went through a traumatic experience, came out stronger, discovered their calling and even found a soul mate as an added bonus. 

In the meantime, after miraculously having  been given a second chance in life, I was lying in my bed crying for days, disappointed of no revelation coming my way to show my life calling and the very necessary soul mate to get my residency in Australia, the country I chose to build my future.

I stayed days indoors, crying: "where is my freaking awakening" "where is my appreciation for life?" I was so angry I sank into a self-inflicted depressive state. 

I could have spent months like that if I hadn't miraculously been relieved by Jay Bee, who found me via social media after 25 years of silence, got me out of my pityful first world misery and showed me the way to real love. I hadn't been talking to my father for a bit more than a year and all I needed was to hear J say something on the lines of: "You'd rather get a slap on time, than regretting not seeing your family another minute" 

He knew what he was talking about, he lost both his parents at a very early age and would have given anything to have spent more years of his life with them in it.

Christmas was on its way, and that year, following the words of wisdom of somone who has endured more than many of us can imagine, following teachings of pure love, I spent my Summer savings on an overpriced ticket for Christmas to see my family in Barcelona. We magically put all tensions aside and it has been a pleasant road to love and understanding since then. Jay Bee, though, disappeared again. 

But that's another story.