Canada

So I wrote all that stuff on Friday and, whaddya know, I instantly felt like ten million dollars, head clear and happy and high, not a thought in my brain. Writing! Ah! The power of it. Not that I knew what I wanted to do, necessarily - but at least I’d put it out there. Now I feel the need to crack it once and for all…

Canada. That’s what’s in my head. The problem is, every time I go online, there’s an advert for Canadian Affair, who have the best, most flexible prices out there - and, even bigger problem than that, their prices and availability are exactly what I want them to be right now. And when I look ‘em up, and when I’m in that right sort of reckless, hearkening back to my youth kind of mood, I just think, why not? Why not fly to Canada on a whim? Why not sneak across the border into the US and have some adventures? I mean, it sounds a lot better than two months in England not really doing anything, maybe some job that I don’t like, maybe just internet procrastination and the frustration of not being able to write…

Why not? Well here’s “why not” - though, me being me, I have to tell you the whole dang story from start to finish…

January 2010. I’m in Canada. A friend of mine gives me a ride from Vancouver part of the way to Calgary for my flight back to the UK. We skirt the border - that highway goes so close! - and I think how easy it would be to hop across. Already I’ve google earthed and streetviewed it and it looks ridiculous. I start getting excited. And then the truck driver who takes me all through the night and drops me right by the airport - he’s not allowed in the States - says he’s done it many times, hiking through the woods, even carrying a mountain bike to just pick up and start pedalling when he gets to the other side. It’s doable. It’s a damn sight easier than coming in through Mexico. I think, when summer comes, I’ll do it. Life is short: you gotta live! And you gotta have adventures and accomplish all the things you desire, no matter how hare-brained, forgetting fear…

I don’t do it: instead, I work, and summer 2010 in London is okay, it’s not in my mind. The year passes, and the following January I go to Israel, and when I’m done there with what I needed to do - with what’s been on my ‘subconscious to-do list’ for a very long time, I think, wow, what next? And the answer is: America. Yes, I say, I’ll do it: when summer comes. I start making plans. I email friends who might know stuff. I’ve got it all worked out. It’s exciting. It feels right. Everybody’s up for it. And then…

Back in 2001 I’d had a go at going in. I’d hitched on down to the border, presented my passport - and was then reminded, in no uncertain terms, that I’d been previously deported and banned and that I was lucky I wasn’t going to be thrown in jail and that my ban was now going to be doubled to twenty years. It was pretty horrible - and quite possibly incredibly foolish. I’d got myself believing faith would take me through there - the miracle of ‘98 and ‘99 that saw me enter the country three times, despite the ban, when it was obviously right. But 2001 was obviously wrong. And when I got back safe and sound and grateful to Canada I asked the I Ching “what would you have told me had I come to you beforehand?” and the I Ching screamed at me “no!” I can’t remember the reading: but it was bad. And I made another vow that day: that all important, potentially life-changing decisions had to go through the I Ching first. I’ve stuck to that, and it’s been great: really worked out well, even when it’s been against what I thought would be best. Like…

My main example is the time I wanted to switch unis after my first year at Kent. I really hated it, and thought the teaching was shoddy, and was being driven mad by the course (was doing Religious Studies at the time). So I got myself lined up with two infinitely better possibilities: either switching to a degree in Steiner Education, which would see me a qualified Steiner school teacher, or moving to Canterbury Christchurch, and continually Religious Studies, but at an apparently much better establishment. I remember the reading well: sitting up on the third floor of the Templeman Library, in the quiet time during the summer holidays, all set to leave Kent but thinking, well I might as well get it confirmed. I tossed the coins: I felt so groovy during it, that it was so obvious it was the right thing to do and that the I Ching was gonna back me up - and, of course, it said some pretty straight-to-the-point things like “stay where you are” and “now is not the time to change course” and I slumped deflated knowing that I had to follow its advice.

A few days passed. I went to sign up for my second year courses. And signing up next to me was a young guy inquiring about creative writing. Creative writing? My ears pricked. I didn’t know they did that here. All summer I’d been thinking, what do I really want to do? And writing was always the answer. I asked if I could do those courses. They said I could. And I did, and it was great.

An addition to that story: at some point later on in the year, I received a summons to see the head of the English department: he couldn’t understand what I, a second year Religious Studies student, was doing on courses strictly designated for third year Creative Writing students. I said I don’t know, I just signed up for them. He was well furrowed: he couldn’t get it into his head. He huffed and he puffed and he eventually came to the conclusion that the only solution - luckily I’d been doing really rather well in those classes - would be for me to abandon Religious Studies and switch to English and Creative Writing - if I was agreeable. You bet I was. He continued to shake his head and mutter about how I’d “sneaked in through the back door” but that was pretty much that. And no repetition either. I pretty much skipped out of that office, and after about eighteen months of sort of hating uni and really struggling to not run away from it I was overwhelmed with this feeling that everything was exactly as it should be and that I was in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing. And it was all thanks to the I Ching. And ever since then…

Obviously doing something as potentially disastrous as sneaking into America would require a reading, despite the enthusiasm of my friends and my feelings. I tossed the coins. And the chapter I got was the seemingly encouraging “Abundance”. But the content of the reading was anything but.

Chapter 55, changing lines 3, 5 and 6. Key points:

"Laws are applied and enforced"

"Impossible to undertake anything"

"Because of his arrogance attains the opposite of what he strives for. For three years he sees nothing and finds himself completely isolated"

Pretty gloomy huh? If I didn’t know better I’d think that was a picture of a potential arrest and some rather severe jail time. And so that was pretty much that. Except I can’t stop thinking about it. And even though I accept the reading, and even though the question was pretty specific and still valid - “What would be the outcome of me going to Canada and America this summer?” - a part of me thinks maybe things have changed and another reading might be in order. After all, it feels right, and sort of makes sense - do what you wanna do - feel the fear and do it anyway - but then going there in 2001 felt pretty right too. As did switching universities…

Also, there’s no accompanying signs. When I flew to Canada in 2000 and in 2002 to try and woo Sara there were signs galore. I won’t go into them but, trust me, it was obvious and ridiculous; even the way the money appeared for the flights. But not this time. In fact, the only signs I’m getting lately are about iboga - pictures of bark everywhere, the words “root healing” a couple of times somewhere or other, and also a dream - so if I was following that…

Agh! It’s hard to let go of adventures that sound awesome in my head and would obviously provide great stories and make me the envy of others and be something to look back on and…but that’s all ego stuff, isn’t it? And a far cry from the quiet and stable life I’m trying to cultivate. Perhaps, simply, my youth has passed: I’m not even sure I like America that much anymore. But - oh! - I would seriously love love love to do it! I weep with excitement at the thought…

I suppose another reading would sort it out, one way or the other. But you’re not supposed to go back to the I Ching once you’ve had your answer…

In other news, I’m still in South Elmsall. Not been doing much - the urge to change things and marvel at people has left me. Things are different now: I’m not noticing the garbage, the smell, the weirdness of the people. In fact, it seems quite normal and actually quite pretty. I went to visit an old school friend on Saturday and hung out with him and his mum and his kids: it was great. Very nice and solid and smart and respectable chap. Great dad too: they do exist round these parts. The village was so green and attractive and small: the fields and woods are always there on the horizon surrounding town. I went for a brief run on Sunday and, I swear, within three minutes of being in the heart of everything manmade and concrete I was out in the nature. It’s tiny! So lovely to have that after the neverending density of London. Well-being. Which I then destroyed by signing back in to facebook and staying up till 5am playing chess. But the next day I obliterated my account - deleted every friend, photo, video, bit of writing - and then assigned it to an email address I no longer use and have now terminated and shut it down. Done and dusted, one might say.

Why do I hate facebook? Oh man, I hate facebook! I hate what it’s done to my brain and my head. I hate that I’ve been such a loser and become so addicted to something so lame. There’s nothing on it! It’s just a glorified email address book. And I have no interest in looking at pictures of people I never see, perhaps barely knew and maybe even didn’t like. And yet, there I am, sometimes at hours when sane people are sleeping clicking robotically on nothing. I made a list of all the good things that had come to me through facebook - genuinely good things - and I really couldn’t think of more than one. In fact, even if I was more relaxed in my criteria I bet I couldn’t find three. It’s a poor return for such an investment of time and brainstuff. It’s a load of shite, really. Here’s hoping I can keep off it for good.

Iboga, by the way, apparently helps with internet addictions too!

(I thought I was finished there but, lol, thirty seconds later in comes a text from a friend saying - with regards to South Elmsall - “You’re getting back to your roots!” Heehee: I think I’d better get some of that wild and mysterious plant ordered…)