Siddhartha: The Search for Kelly Chen.

Siddhartha: The Search For Kelly Chen. PART 1: (Chp 1-3 are missing.) Chapter 4: The Four Noble Truths and The Eightfold Path. These are the teachings of Buddha, the 'enlightened one'. That all life is suffering (Dukkha), and that that suffering is a result of our 'thirst', or desires; our goal is to 'quench' that thirst, the cessation of suffering, overcoming our desires by following the eightfold path. Thus the path states: right belief, right aspiration, right speech, right conduct, right means of livelihood, endevor, memory and meditation. By following these precepts one can gain liberation from the continuous cycle of samsara (rebirth), and become free from all suffering, to be 'enlightened'. The ultimate path of Buddhism is to the attainment of Nirvana, Buddha achieved this by rejecting the extremes of pleasure and pain for the Middle Way. This concept, that this man who was born into great wealth and influence, rejected his princely unbringing to live a life as an asthetic, a wandering holyman, suffering and enduring great pain. And still he had not realised his aims, the answer to suffering. one day he sat under a tree and bowed not to move untill he had answered his plea. on the 49th day he achieved his great 'enlightenment', and began life as the Buddha, teaching about his findings. He lived to eighty. Chapter 5: Take your time. i'm beginning to think kelly's not going to reply to my fan mail. it's been over three months, i'mean how many letters can she get? nobody knows her outside of hong kong and parts of southeast asia. it's nearly christmas, maybe i'll get a card. 'She's not gonna write back.' that's what they tell me, for some reason i must be the only person who thinks that she'll write back,' they never do.' Am i then resigned to the fact that this story has no substance since the leading lady has refuse to show? i think not. There's a lot to be said even without a spiritual partner to guide you. i shall endevor but let me just say, ' i'm making this all up from now.' Taking a tip from Buddha, i ask myself, ' Just what is it you want to say to her?' i suppose i just want to wish her well, for some unknown reason i feel a great affinity to her. did you know she was born one day before i was? there's nobody i know of that has a date of birth so close to mine, isn't that something. It won't be a smart thing to start with though, ' Hey! we've been on this earth the same time babe, do you want to end it together?' she won't be impressed. Anyway i'm not gonna be able to tell her this in person, and writing it in a letter is pointless! so how's it gonna happen...? It ain't, your gonna have to write this one by youself. PART 2: SIDDHARTHA- THE SEARCH FOR THE GREAT 'ENLIGHTENMENT'. Chapter 6. Now your in trouble, this is like shooting the rapids without a paddle, nothing to steady me with. the premise is to achieve the great Buddha's Enlightenment without the aid of a Buddha? or something like that. simply coast through life without a care in the world, thinking about how nice it would be to live a life of Reilly, i'm sure that'll be a good start. kelly's not interested in people like that, always looking when they should be doing. do you think kelly has time to be searching for something she'll never experience? I guess not. but she's a canton pop-queen, thousands of people adore her, she's got to write back to someone, even if it's just to acknowledge the appreciation. she can't be that cold, kelly fans are clean and wholesome, surely she'd want to get to know some of them, that's half the reward. Nah, she's a money grabbing show queen, take you for every penny, then drive a stake though your back... she's bad news bear. Enough of this! listen to me when i'm talking to you! stop this, it's my turn to speak! Noway man, you won't last a minute, she'll eat you for breakfast and spit you out at lunch. she may look cute but believe me, she's got a heart of thorns. Heart of thorns? what d'ya mean?.. heart of thorns. i mean she's recieved so many roses from so many good men, she started eating them, but the thorns remain within her still, piercing her heart. Jesus! that was deep, man were do you get it! Don't you listen to kelly!? how... what sort of kelly fan are you if you don't even listen to kelly!? No, i have listened to kelly but i don't understand the words, i don't really speak cantonese; but i do like what i've heard. But your missing the point, her words are kelly chen, that's why she's number one! Doesn't mean a thing, you can like music and not understand the words, i'm a big fan of world music, i never understand the words. Pah! stupid! stick to your own language! But i'm as cantonese as she is, it's only natural to like her. so what if she can't understand me, someone can translate. anyway she's not gonna reply. You can't give up that easily. look man, i'll lend you some kelly, thery're all love songs, so you can float in heaven with her... Bye. Chapter 7. Siddhartha sat glumly on a bench. He's lost. He's not lost like when someone loses a dog, no his soul is lost, he's wandering in samsara. He's in hong kong, on holiday, and it's the night of the handover. Unfortunately he finds himself all alone. There is a sudden feeling of loss. He's thinking about his mother. When he's lost, like this, people say he's just thinking about his mother, spending some time with her soul, which arts in heaven. Siddhartha doesn't know that he's mentally ill, to him it's just one big illusion, life that is. I know he doesn't realise reality from fiction, to him life is like one big fairground, some rides are fun, others make you heart jump so far you feel it'll never come back again. But it always does, that's illusion. So what exactly is illusion for Siddhartha? when i say life itself i mean his notion of reality, or psuedo-reality, being a by-product of his experiences and senses. it's like it's going in but nothing is coming out, he doesn't react to stimuli. We know there is talent in that head of his, but for some unknown reason, nothing is coming out! he won't even try, it's like the very idea of commiting to something requires a great effort, he doesn't seem to take to new situations very easily, he's rejecting life for some other alternative, and that's why he's mentally ill. One day he'll realise it, we all do, then he'll be a success, doesn't matter what he does now. He's still a kid, interested in the most useless things, sometimes he acts like a child with building bricks who can't even discover a wall, while the other children have advanced to building bridges. we know he's smart, maybe just too smart for his own good, maybe he's just modest. What will he be? i just can't answer that. So lost, and for so long, pitty, he really needs a partner, someone to share with. I'm gonna introduce him to kelly, yes, like so many of hong kong's lonely hearts club band, i'll intoduce him to kelly. Siddhartha sits quietly in a cafe de France, sipping a cappo. Music is playing, a compilation which one of the waitresses has put on. Siddhartha listens to the dulcet tones of the female vocalist, she sounds sweet to him. He listens to her and his worries dissolve into thin air, a sudden uplifting, he feels contentment at this point. Kelly can soothe all ailements. As the tune plays with his heart, he remembers himself again. With a smile, he walks off, kelly playing heavily on his heart, and mind. When you hear kelly, nothing else matters, that's what they say, and why shouldn't he be happy, feel content, he has his whole life to live, and a little help from kelly is all that is necessary, sometimes. Chapter 8. Stop thinking about her! your beginning to annoy me. the way to reach kelly is to free your mind of all thoughts, just think of kelly as a sky with no clouds... at the moment there's a storm brewing and your looking for shelter, what you need to do is accept that this storm will soon pass. untill then be like the wind and blow those storm clouds away. I'll try, for kelly's sake. this is difficult. it's a force 10 gale and i'm sheltering under a tree, yes it's a big tree but the wind, the winds really blowing like never before. Good, that means the clouds will soon be gone. be patient my friend. I think it looks like it's passing, phew! i thought for a second kelly would be gone forever, imagine a world without kelly... Yes, i know, rain every day. I can see blue sky, look! it's really working and i'm back thinking only positive things. i can remember feeling down once, and i heard kelly playing somewhere, can't remember where it was, or when, but on listening, all my troubles fell away, like her songs had an effect which no other artist, or person, could have. she's special, that i know. Yes, we all like kelly. So why is it that you know so much about kelly? you seem to be the authority when it comes to kelly. Well my friend, me and kelly go back a long way. the first time i heard kelly i was having an affair with this girl, to cut a long story short she was married and i was lost. i knew what i was doing was wrong and that the only outcome was hurt and pain, but without someone to understand... well, she was the only one who understood. Oh, so you were a sinner. Yeah, you could put it that way. like i said i was lost and i found refuge in a relationship which was doomed to failure. i've learnt my lesson though, now i have kelly. Does kelly understand? It's not like that, it's more the I that understands and it's kelly i have to thank. Great! so the story has a happy ending. I suppose so. i remember she was the one who introduce me to her, she got these tickets for a kelly concert, i wasn't really interested but she insisted, so i went along. What was it like, i've never seen Kelly Live. It was good, not mind blowing, but good. for some reason every time i heard kelly, after that concert, a little bit of me changed, and soon Mrs X didn't seem so important any more. You gave up love to be one of Kelly's Heros, how romantic!!! Yes, i was a fool for love, young and impressionable. you shouldn't tease, it really sorted my head out, put life into perspective. i'll never look back. once i was lost, now i am found. i've made my peace with kelly and we're in it for the long term. Have you ever written to her, you know you should tell her your story. i'm sure she'll love to hear how you found the light. No. i just listen to her when i need peace, she's my refuge now. Me too, three cheers for Kelly!!! Chapter 9. Nah! this ain't workin'bro, it's going nowhere and i'm sick of talking about kelly. man can only take so much redemption. what else you learnt? I know she collects stamps. Who? Kelly. I thought we agreed to change the subject, talk about something apart from kelly. Stamp collecting, why do people collect stamps? Okay. so kelly collects stamps, what's so strange about that. lots of people collect stamps, my brother used to collect stamps, it's a natural, healty pastime; at the end you have something to show for it. it's a good hobby. look, it's not all star turns with kelly, yes, she wins awards and does a lot of work with childrens charities, but she also finds time to do things she likes, stampcollecting being one. maybe she writes to people (a lot). Nah, your right, let's change the subject, i see a cloud on the horizon. I know, let's talk about the life of Buddha, you mentioned him earlier on, what makes you invite the 'enlightened' one along on such a journey? Well, Buddha is my refuge on such a journey. i bring him everywhere. he provides me with peace in times of turmoil, order in times of chaos, understanding and compassion. he is the example for spiritual partner if you are travelling alone. That's good! shows discipline and industry, one day you'll realise what's out there by looking within. do you meditate? I suppose i do. i spend a lot of time just clearing my mind of all thought, realising a clear blue sky. i often find myself meditating when i listen to music, i get totally lost in the music and i literally leave my mind! all i can hear is the music and i am subject to its whim. And when you listen to kelly you think you are walking the middle way with her, right. Percisely! Well its a good start, but we'll need to leave now if we're ever gonna catch that plane. What plane? The plane for Thailand, you've won an all-expenses-paid-for-trip-to-Thailland to see kelly chen play live! What! Kelly Live. Yes my friend, your going to Thailand to see her play a christmas concert at Phuket. Wow, what joy!!! Thank you my friend!!!! How long have i got? Plane leaves this evening, be ready at eight. Aren't you coming? No, sorry. the tickets for one. you'll have to sit this one by yourself.... Bye. Chapter 10. Christmas at my brothers is an annual event. its the only time i feel like being a member of a family. there's my brother, david, and his wife, stephanie; her sister, cynthia, their father, the children, clarence and zoe; and my two other brothers, jimmy and peter, and my sister, shirley. this is held at david's house, always decortated to the top with festive spirit. stephanie cooks us a delicious christmas dinner and we all eat together, just like the old times. my father is not present, he lives in hong kong and only visits during the summer months. but we gather in his absence, to celebrate the family. This was a typical christmas day, one of those days when you forget what your doing and just belong, part of a family, everyone's equal, no ego's and no arguements. i've waited a long time, but surely this was a good christmas. We've always celebrated christmas, for as long as i can remember, the family has gathered at this time of year to meet up and share time off to be together, it's usually a somber affair, with my father dictating the proceedings, but since my mother's death, his influence had weakened and now it's david and stephanie who usually play host; it's a more youthful affair without authority, now we get to decide what we do for christmas, and even though my father isn't there, he isn't missed; and i say that without any bad feeling, i just prefer them without him. And the children are great, they really make this a special time for me, i love seeing how much they've grown, how their ability to reason has developed, they're intelligent and beautiful, i'm really proud of them; that's what families are all about, the children. i feel one day, i must have children, life won't be complete without them. I love the children, i love this family. Chapter 11. Breaking news reports of an earthquake in southeast asia, the quake has caused huge tsunami, flooding much if the indian oceans borders, including India, Sri Lanka, Thailand and Indonesia. the waves were felt as far away as Kenya, on the African continent. The death toll is 80,000 and still rising. Many foreign tourists are amongst the dead. (INCOMPLETE.) by Steven KK Li (BSc) ref: 'I Think I'm In Love' by Spiritualized. (Chapter 3) PART 3: Siddhartha- The Search for Kelly Chen. Outro. Its been a long time, too long; and still no show. oh why, oh why! well i guess its true.... they never write back. its been a year now and i've lost track of time. kelly, she hasn't crossed my mind, that's a good sign, shows i'm getting over it. But a re-write, nah it'll never work. and because the first three chapters are missing, you're none the wiser. the letter's not important, neither is my birth; we are all 'born'. So where do we go from here? from a plastic pop star to the legend of a messiah, and back again. what is it that brings us back to where it all began? Buddha explained it as samsara, or 'rebirth'. and we must end this journey with a begining, and 'the search for Kelly Chen'. The flight will leave on saturday, bonfire night. i will transit in Paris, Charles de Gaulle. i picked this flight because i wanted to see fireworks whilst leaving for Hong Kong, somehow that has a special meaning for me, fireworks and leaving, that is. it's been over seven years since the last time i was 'home' and i must return to the scene of the crime to protest my innocence, and i was innocent. even the most harden criminal is innocent, if not for his crime, then at least for his motive, and when it comes to love we are all innocent, in the end. And what is it if it is not love which drives us to acts of insanity? reason? i think not. you cannot reason with love, and to love a pop star, well that's just insanity! but i must return, to the place where i loved and lost, and my plea is that i was not in my right mind, your honour. i didn't neglect my true feelings, i was betrayed! yes, a pop star stole my heart, when i was with the one i truely loved! delusion, my oh my, how innocent i was. and denial, to give up reality for a fantasy so ludicrous not even the pope would side with me. and i'm truely sorry for my actions; well, we live and we learn... life, as it were, goes on. And my life has changed, we accept the 'middle way', nobody should be that happy, nor shall we be deluded about the truth. what happens, happens, and it's all for the right reasons. we forgive and we are forgiven, and it doesn't matter if you never made the A-list, celebrity comes to us all; fifteen minutes is all it takes. So i must return the land of delusion, the motherland of fantasy, to reason with my soul, so to fall in love again. and this time it's for real. delusion haunts us all, for a time, but then the blinding light of realisation hit us, the thunderbolt, and we are lost again; are eyes never decieve, and we begin to see our destiny. and love? what of this evasive truth, that which we pursue and cling to for all we are worth, well, that only reveals itself to those who are truely lost, for only then can we be found. END. Dear Kelly, I am writing in the hope that you recieved my last letter. In that letter i requested your permission to write a short story and hoped that your wouldn't mind me using your good name as the subject of the story.i have now finished the story and take it as red that you grant permisssion having not written back. The story will be published on the internet for all to read. If by any chance you come across my published works and like what you read, then please leave a comment, annonomous if need be, as i would be grateful for the feedback. i wish you evey success in your career and hope to hear your songs on my visit to Hong Kong later this year. Keep up the good work! yours sincerely, Siddhartha xxx Well there you have it, and i do hope she reads it. it'll truely blow her mind, if not her cotton socks. And i'd also would like to add that Kelly is one of reasons i have chosen to write, words are vitamins, as i recently read on the net... to your health, Kelly Chen! 'I Think I'm In Love' by Spiritualized. S: i think i'm in love K: probably just hungary... S: i think i'm your friend K: probably just lonely... S: i think you got me in a spin K: probably just turning... S: i think i'm a fool for you, babe K: probably just learning... S: i think i can rock and roll K: probably just twisting... S: i think i wanna tell the world K: probably ain't listening... come on! S: i think i can fly K: probably just falling... S: i think i'm the life and soul K: probably just snorting... S: i think i can hit the mark K: probably just aiming... S: i think my name is on your lips K: probably complaining... S: i think i have caught it bad K: probably contageous... S: i think that i'm a winner, baby K: probably Las Vagas.... come on! S: i think i'm alive K: probably just breathing... S: i think you stole my heart, now baby K: probably just thieving... S: i think i'm on fire K: probably just smoking... S: i think that your my dream girl K: probably just dreaming... S: i think that i'm the best babe, come on K: probably like all the rest... S: i think that i could be your man K: probably just think you can...! S&K: i think i'm in love... (Lyrics by J. Spaceman)

angel: a schizophrenic's guide to the afterlife

Angel: A Schizophrenic’s Guide to the After Life.

Introduction.

You know they say, once you’ve gone, you’ve gone; there’s no going back, it’s final. But what if I say I didn’t actually die, I just changed places. What I’m trying to explain is dying in a non-conventional sense, hard to explain if you adhere to the standard definitions, but lets say one life ends where another begins. And no, I didn’t actually die, no one died, and the idea that it was I waking up to a new day was erroneous; I had ceased to be.

Chapter 1. The Pro’s and Con’s of Hitchhiking.

I was introduced to hitchhiking by an old college friend. The idea that one could travel great distances for next to nothing, in the company of complete strangers was both harrowing and liberating. The notion that someone would pick up a couple of hitchhikers, without fear, and drop them off somewhere further down the line was what travelling was all about. In exchange for a ride the hitchhiker would provide companionship, someone to talk to, much need if you have to travel long distances. The best rides are always wagon drivers. They live on the road and are accustomed to picking up travellers, language is never a problem, they know the language of the road and never deviate, sometimes silence is the best form of communication. They know that your probably tired, probably not slept in a proper bed for days, maybe weeks, and that a ride is the best, if not the only chance to get your head down; most wagons have a bunk and your always welcome to it.
Let me take this, as on opportunity to introduce myself, to get acquainted, my name is Angelo, Angel for short. I was born Angelo Gibrael Li, my parents are of Asian origin, I reside in London. I was educated in Manchester, where my parents own a shop selling Asian cuisine, I moved to London during university and subsequently, it became my home. Being the youngest of four brothers, I am considered lucky; they all work for a living whilst my father supports me. I have one sister, she is also employed, and my mother is deceased.
Now that you know a little about me, we can begin this guide to the after life. The journey we are about to undertake will cover the events leading up to, and after my demise. Much of what happened never actually took place, in the sense that what occurred was hallucination more than imagination, and that these events confirm my passing away. I have to say this is a step beyond conventional wisdom, more a leap into chaotic genius, (and if you’ll bear with me,) compassion and understanding. Any takers? Bold as one can be, this is all conjecture, no proof necessary, only thing missing are your refutations…

Chapter 2. Brotherhood of the Drum: The Shaman’s Tale.

Angelo sits quietly on fallen leaves, the wind swirls in the trees up above. Deep in meditation, silence broken only by the sounds of the forest, sunlight breaking though the canopy. Slow burning embers glow black then red, the heat of which warms the skin of a damairu, the shaman’s drum, dormant and waiting for the shaman to return.
Darkness falls on a clear nights sky, the moon replaces the sun, Angelo rises and relights the fire. The shaman appears. He sits by the fire, his face illuminated by flickering flames of orange and yellow, a smile on his face. From around his neck the shaman produces a chillum, an Indian smoking pipe. He crumbles the charas into the pipe, initiating the ritual of hashish smoking. Billows of smoke tunnel out of the shaman’s nose producing a white cloud, he then passes the chillum to Angelo. Staring directly into the shaman’s eyes Angelo inhales deeply, the thick smoke fills his lungs and immediately the effects take hold; he raises the pipe, touching his forehead and returns it to the shaman.
“Now you are ready, Angelo, take my drum. Like my master before me I pass this on to you so that you may follow in our footsteps and bring to an end your apprenticeship. But first you must take these.” The shaman hands the morning glory seeds to Angelo, ”Chew on these, they are the fruits of the gods and must be eaten before we begin.” The small black seeds, no bigger than a garden pea had a bitter taste, and the texture of wood; the psychotropic seeds induce hallucinations, which under the guidance of the shaman enable one to enter the spirit world. “Now you may take the damairu.”
The shaman begins his dance. Angelo beats out a hypnotic rhythm whilst the shaman chants and dances around the fire. After what seems like a lifetime Angelo falls into a trance, he no longer recognises the shaman, his face distorted in the partial light of the fire, he can hear moans coming from the damairu. Looking for his hands he sees two snakes moving in unison, they sway side-by-side, as if charmed by the moans of the drum. In the distance he hears the sound of ten thousand drums, beating rhythmically to the dance of the snakes, he is not afraid. The shaman continues to dance and chant, his face lit up revealing the heads of animals. First a fox, then a wolf. Each time, the flicker of flames produces a new head. Eagle, falcon, and owl. Angelo recognises each of them as one would acknowledge a close friend or relative, he greets them one by one, instinctively knowing them by their name.

Chapter 3. Kerry vs Kerry, Bush vs Bin Laden.

Now wou;d be a good time to talk about who’s going to win Novembers US Elections, dumb as Americans, or smart-ass veterans. Who knows and soon enough, who cares? Republicans or Democrats, that’s who’s. I’m told China wants Bush, but Europe prefers Bin Laden. I’m not sure, after what happened last time I refuse to pick a future. I’ll just take the fifth, if that’s still ok. What was it about last time; I think I drank too much wine and smoked too many cigars. All I know is that I prefer red apples to green. And what is it that we are voting for this time, something created out of the wake of the last election, when George W. Bush, son of George Bush, won in the most controversial election in US history, initiating the future we inhabit today.
What exactly was it that Bush allegedly started with his narrow victory? The wrath of Bin Laden, and the road to jihad, or holy war. Oh yes, Bush and Bin Laden have a mutual existence, the Bush dynasty and the Bin Laden family are like old friends, Bin Laden himself was once mujahdeen and on the US side in the war against the soviets in the 1980’s, and helped to fund the campaign. Bush, on the other hand, he would begin where his father left off, that of conquering middle-east oil for American consumption, 911 acted as a catalyst for the Bush administration, it enabled him to initiate his policies on the Islamic world, essentially accepting the gauntlet laid bare by Bin Laden.
So what happened? In a nutshell, Bin Laden disappeared into the Torra Borra Mountains, Afghanistan, and Bush began his campaign of controlling middle-eastern oil by bombing Baghdad. On paper invading to liberating Iraq from that nasty piece of work, Sadam Hussein, looked like a plan with a future; liberate a people oppressed by thirty-odd years of hell, gain access to the second largest oil supply in the world, eliminate Israel’s only military threat in the area, and place your entire army in someone else’s path and scream BRING IT ON!!! This plan would fool Americans, but not I. He didn’t count on the power of Bin Laden, and Al-Qaeda, or The Base. I’m sure Al-Qaeda had existed before 911, it was hinted at by the press, and positively shouted out on the roof tops by the CIA and the intelligence community, but to fall on deaf ears, saddening. Bush was listening to a different tune, that of a wartime president who had the golden opportunity to enable a global campaign of regime change… the result of which will destabilise the world’s economy, and destroy any chance of security we have left in this world. But he didn’t know that, bless. The death and destruction has only just begun, and yes, you will see shock and awe. What a fool, such an ego, he can only defend his own people, where the suffering is many.

Chapter 4. Al-Qaeda: Gibrael’s story (Part 1).

I never met someone so devoted to a musical instrument, as gibrael. It was a birthday gift from a good friend and was part of a collection put together by gibrael over a few years. There were drums from India, Morocco, Ghana, to name but a few; there were about seven drums in the collection, not a large number but Gibrael did play all seven. It seemed like the perfect past time for Gibrael, he could fill in time learning percussion and hoped someday to be good enough to jam with people. Some of his friends were musicians, some just hammered out the same tunes over and over; its good to jam, he would play along to almost anything but virtue was in the eye of the solo, soon every rhythm he played was played like a solo, this would satisfy his needs and encourage him to play solo for hours. Some might say this was his gift, if not his downfall. Gibrael believed that every drum possessed a spirit, this drum was a steel caged djembe, from Mali, its spirit was the reflection he would see when he mounted the drum. He believed it to be a force of good, a benevolent spirit that would guide gibrael on his path to enlightenment, and a spirit that would protect him in his hour of need, whenever the need may arise.
Gibrael started hearing voices around the time he finished university, whether this was a result of stress, brought on by his finals, he didn’t know, all he knew was that he could make out a voice, a male voice, much older than he, a voice of compassion and moderation, like a benevolent angel whispering in his ear. Medical opinion would diagnose this as psychosis. Hearing voices, seeing things, somehow the voices would replace something missing in ones life, like a mother, or a close friend, that’s how gibrael saw it, a higher state of consciousness which allowed him to feel complete, whole, where before there was only absence; he had lost his mother to cancer three years ago. I suppose it hits us all at one stage, loss, to carry on takes courage and compassion. His father had returned to Hong Kong leaving a void where there was once a family, he had little contact with his brothers and was essentially alone.
So for one year gibrael learned to play his drum. He would wake up at noon and warm the skin of the djembe in the afternoon sun, by evening he could be heard beating out hypnotic rhythms, performing mammoth drum rolls and soloing for hours. The rhythms would carry on well into the night, accompanied by the twittering of a thousand sparrows, the drumming would stop abruptly, but the sparrows would continue. Every night he would fall a sleep to the cacophony of birdsongs, he believed the sparrows were his audience and as long as he had an audience, he would play.
I suppose it is fate that would reunite gibrael with his father. The flight to Hong Kong was familiar to him, Emirates flight EK 83 landed in Kowloon late evening, and his father was there to meet him. After a modest meal, his father drove him to his new home, in the mountains. Gibrael missed his drums but felt that this was an opportunity to start afresh, to begin a life that had a future, more in tune with his father’s way of thinking. There would be no more drumming but the spirits would still be there, and gibrael would seek guidance from that knowledge. The voices had followed him too, and would provide assistance in this foreign land.
Gibrael had not had a haircut for over a year, so when his father insisted that it was too long, gibrael conceded to having it cut. This was the first time since graduation that he had entered a barber’s shop, to gibrael having long hair was a statement of expression, freedom and commitment, in it lay his dedication to a life of spiritual enlightenment, not material, nor conventional, but that would all change under the command of his father, and the blade for the barber. He dressed in what could only be described as rags, odd items of clothing with no particular fashion sense and no particular style, he looked like a beggar with his long locks and ragged clothing, all this had to go, his father would convert him to the mainstream and initiated a regime of cleansing, which he hoped would liberate his son from whatever demons were haunting him. They now looked like father and son, they even acted out as such, but as they say, each to their own; you can teach a dog new tricks, but a leopard will always retains his spots.

Chapter 4. (Part 2)

Mr. Mac: gibrael, where’s your father?
Gibrael: Oh, just playing mah jong I think.
Mrs. Mac: no, he’s looking for you. Stick around.
Gibrael: okay.
Mr. Mac: aren’t you looking for work?
Gibrael: yeah, I’m looking for an office job, somewhere in Central.
Mrs. Mac: what sort of work?
Gibrael: just office work.
Mrs. Mac: do you want to stay for lunch? Your father will be here soon, stay.
Gibrael: I’m gonna get going.
Mr. Mac: where’re you going, stay and have lunch, your father will be here soon.
Gibrael: no, I’ve got to go to Central. I’m meeting someone.
Mr. Mac: OK, just go.
Mrs. Mac: you’re coming for tea at our house; your father has invited you, Friday.
Gibrael: that’s okay, what time?
Mr. Mac: what time? What d’ya mean what time, just be ready. Okay, bye.
Gibrael: bye.

The number 1 mini-bus weaves though traffic at speed. Clear Water Bay Road is a fast two-lane highway, over mountainous terrain, rushing commuters to the underground station at Choi Hung. A constant stream of green and white can be seen loading passengers for the twenty-minute ride from Sai Kung to Choi Hung. Mass transit, or mass migration, as I would put it, has revolutionised Hong Kong, and has enabled people from the mainland to commute to the island in double quick time. Each day, thousands of hongkongers travel to the island to work in the high-rise offices know as Central District. Gibrael was used to the journey from country park to city; he’d repeat it daily, travelling from the New Territories to the Island. The journey could be achieved in many ways, a bus ride to Sha Tin, followed by KCR to Kowloon Tong, then MTR to Admiralty, would be a more direct route, but gibrael enjoyed the Sai Kung to Choi Hung route, because it allowed him to visit the Mac’s at their furniture shop in Sai Kung, theirs would be the first port of call whenever he went to Central. Sometimes his father would be there, and gibrael would catch up on the local news.
The island skyline is one of the most photographed in the world, picture postcards can be bought in almost any newsagents or gift shop, it’s tourist value attracts thousands each year, the Bank of China, Citibank Tower, the Lippo Centre, the HK and Shanghi Bank, the Bank of America, to name but a few. Here the heads of corporate capitalism look down upon the thriving masses of communist Chinese, the convergence of cultures is what makes Hong Kong the international melting pot of the East, and the gateway to the Motherland, and its booming economy. In the shopping malls and city streets, money speaks, one of Hong Kong’s favourite past times is window-shopping, and there is an endless supply of super rich hongkongers to buy and try the latest fashions, all dressed up by mainland Chinese, being paid thirty dollars for their hours work. Education permits one to join Hong Kong’s working elite and many have been educated abroad for such reasons, with starting salaries of HK$8000 per month this hardly seems worthy, but gibrael knew that this was only an introductionary wage, and that high flyers would soon be promoted to a more suitable wage. He had set his sights on the top, failure was not an option.
But gibrael did fail, and failed miserably. One job after another, he would walk out of, only to find himself on the streets once more. He became disillusioned with Central, and the social elite. Although he never doubted for a moment that he belonged there, he failed to fit in. Like his ill-fitting suit, he wasn’t able to blend with the masses. Waking up at dawn, but never quite awake, he would commute to the Island, falling in and out of consciousness, he would be tired before arrival. It seemed like an impossible task just to stay awake, the day would drag on and little work was done, he was neither a high flyer, nor party to the social elite, something was holding him back, preventing him from taking part. Gibrael had fallen, fallen from his opportunity on the thirty-third floor of Citibank Tower, sent back down to the hustle of street life and traffic management, disappointed in his failure to belong, he walked the city streets as if for the last time.

Chapter 4. (Part 3)

The black kite circles the city skyline and Angelo watches with intrigue, he has landed in this place we call Central. A thousand and one eyes ignore the man in the black jacket playing the harmonica; Angelo watches the crowd for a little while then takes off. He makes off for downtown Sogo, a multi-storey shopping complex, exiting at Causeway Bay. It’s early evening and the streets are quiet, the Old Barn is two minutes away, Angelo makes for the watering hole and orders a beer. Gibrael used to drink in the Old Barn, his friends used to take him there for drinking games that went on well into the night. He takes a seat and watches the door. The alcohol finds it’s way into the blood stream and Angelo sits back and smiles. There is little activity in the barn; four little misses playing drinking games at five in the evening. They take it in turns to throw dice; eventually one lets out a muted laugh and downs the glass, full of ice cool beer, she then lets out a roar off laughter so infectious, it sets the table ablaze with chatter and the dice are thrown once more. Apart from the table of girls there is little life in the barn, Angelo finishes his beer and makes for the street, now teeming with life.
Standing on the corner Angelo spots a face in the crowd of people, his blond hair distinguishes him from the mass of black, “off course he’s an angel!” Angelo remarks. He makes his way to Times Square and the giant TV screen. Between adverts there are pop music videos, the atmosphere is like that of a concert, thousands of shoppers making their way to and from the escalators, Angelo takes the ride to the first floor. Peering down on the mass of shoppers, he notices that some of them have wings, yes! white feathers all folded like the pictures you would see in places of Christian worship, “this is crazy!” exclaimed Angelo. Was he hallucinating under the influence of one bottle of beer? I don’t think so. His reflection in a shop window reveals to him a similar fate, yes, he too had evolved wings! But there was a striking difference, which pins him to his reflection, his feathers were black, not white. What was the meaning of this? What had happened? This revelation had occurred out of the blue, but sure enough he could see angels, more than that, he had become one himself.
Taking his first steps, the whole world changed. A sudden shock sent though his whole body left him paralysed, he couldn’t move, or at least movement was restricted, like his whole body had turned to wood. His vision was also impaired, like when you view something through binoculars, but you reverse them so everything becomes smaller, further away, and as if looking though some kind of tunnel. And his viewpoint had change, he seemed to have grown, or at least now he was looking over the tops of people’s heads, no longer at eye level. He suddenly felt fear, nothing bar LSD could induce such a state, had he been spiked? Then he remembered the beer he had drunk in the Old Barn, there was nothing to indicate that he had been spiked, either way he had to move, get into it, whatever the it was. He made his way back to Sogo; thick with pedestrians and cars, he floated gently though the crowds of people to his favourite spot, somewhere he could gather his thoughts, and observe. Restoring his vision he could see faces like never before, every expression told a different story, misery, conflict, anger; thoughts came rushing though his head, and believe it or not, and by this stage anything became believable, he could make out conversations between passers-by, when before there was silence, yes, the voices had returned but now there was physical presence to voices heard; and Angelo listened.
Returning home, confused but focused, he met his father as if for the first time in years. His expression was one of friendship, welcoming Angelo home after his day out in Central. “mmm, go to sleep!” they were his only words. As he walked up stairs Angelo saw for the first time his father’s true presence, yes, he too had wings, feathers of white, complemented with black specks.

Chapter 5. Kerry vs Kerry, Bush vs Bin Laden. (Revisited)

In the words of John Kerry, “Help is on the way!” yes, the challenger to Bush has a vision of a global alliance against a common enemy, that of international terrorism, he will focus his efforts on catching Bin Laden and his Al-Qaeda operatives. He criticizes Bush, saying that he rushed us into a war without a plan to win the peace; he adds that it was the wrong war, at the wrong time, with the wrong enemy, Bin Laden is the real threat and Bush let him slip. He would not have done that. I’m beginning to side with Kerry, in the televised debates he comes across as an intelligent man, with a message of hope, where before there was only ignorance, maybe he is the man for the job, providing homeland security on a global scale; we know Bush is only interested in his own future. Whoever is behind the Bush campaign is using the war on terror to fuel hatred and fear in the minds of Americans, that way he can continue the illegal act of regime change in the Middle-East, on top of that he can undertake independent action without the consent of the United Nations, undermining its authority; the Secretary General of the UN, Kofi Annan, now calls the war on Iraq as illegal, and a mistake, the consequence of which creates a world without security. Where does that leave Britain? Well they say Bush is the shoe, and Blair, the laces; America is terrorism, terrorism is America.
Can Kerry deliver, that is the question on everyone’s minds. Bush argues that Kerry voted for the war, only to flip-flop under political pressure, commander and chief cannot lead if he changes his mind, he must be steadfast, but given the questionable intelligence they had to work with, surely a re-think is in order; the path Bush has taken us on is dangerous, politically he is acting like a lion with a thorn in his paw, if someone doesn’t remove the thorn, he will become progressively more angry, and will attack nations who are only trying to help. It’s no longer a question of whether or not you are for the war, more a case of who is accountable for the actions taken, Bush? I don’t think so. America, wake up to your fate, and vote Democrat!

Chapter 6. All the Presidents Men.

“… And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Angelo back together again.” Thinking back to pre-911 days, could anyone have envisaged the future we inhabit today, with its global war on terror? Unlike conventional criminals, terrorists who martyr themselves are no use after the event, therefore we have introduced a system of detention, for terror suspects, essentially to catch them before they are able to commit their crime. Thousands have been detained without trial. This state of paranoia induces a world of accusation aimed primarily at the Islamic world, where most of the 911 terrorists have been said to have originated. High on their hate list are Saudi’s, Pakistani’s, and Egyptian’s, nationals whose governments are seen as American allies, but have produced a strand of religious fundamentalism high on disrupting this alliance. A consensus of condemnation has failed to stop the terror.
What is it that is at the heart of the terrorist problem? What is it that makes peaceful men, women and children take up arms, and kill themselves in the name of religion? The simple answer is suffering. If you have seen your brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, die at the hand of an occupying power, you will fight for your own survival; that makes sense. Like the Palestinians who have seen their homes bulldozed away by Israeli military; pictures of Palestinian children throwing stones at Israeli tanks is an indelible image, the David and Goliath syndrome has us all cheering for the underdog, but this is an act which breeds the next generation of martyrs, suicide bombers and terrorists, who will not stop until the Israelis are forced back into the sea.
But 911 is a different dog altogether. The mastermind behind 911 grew out of the ashes of the cold war, when America, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan funded the mujahdeen, or holy warriors, in Afghanistan, stopping the Soviet advance into the Middle East. Jihad, or struggle, was the cause of the mujahdeen, preventing foreigners from occupying holy soil. Volunteers from all over the Islamic world supported the jihad, it was seen as a great victory for Islam, against the then Infidel. Jihad is the duty of all Muslims as written in the Koran. The first Iraq war saw the occupation of Saudi Arabia by American troops, this went against the wishes of the Islamic world, however, the House of Saud, with its complex alliance with the west, invited these foreigners into the holy land to defend the Kuwaiti people against the aggressor, Sadam Hussein. But to the disgust of Bin Laden, who now turned his expertise against America itself, issuing a fatwa from his hide-away in Afghanistan, which stated his intentions towards America and Israel. Bin Laden is the bastardised love child of American domination; now wreaking vengeance on the father whom he believes has forsaken him, and his cause. Al-Qaeda is the administration which unites all the lost children of Islam, under Bin Laden’s philosophy of terror, that of holy war against the Great Satan, the Infidel.

Chapter 7. Bringing it all back home.

I met my father for the first time in over three years today, the first time I was able to pay for the expedition. The last time we met, I remember a little argument over nothing, and I expelled him from my room, the only room with a TV. We don’t argue much, I can’t remember ever having a real argument with my father in all the years I have existed, yes he’s told me off umpteen times, but an argument has never materialised. There is an age gap of forty years, he really seems old, old like never before, quite scary I suppose, he doesn’t have much left, hard to believe about your father, but true, nevertheless. I’ve changed, that’s for sure, and so has he, the only thing which remains is the way he laughs when I make a mistake, or show my ignorance, makes him feel smarter I suppose, meaning he wouldn’t make the same mistake. I often believe he does things deliberately to trick me, show me out as a fool; I’m his youngest child, ignorance is my curse; why are all his brothers and sister much more successful than he? That must be the question on his mind. I suppose my reply would be, “ I could have done me worst.” I’m old enough to handle my failings as a person; it’s of no concern if to me if I’m seen as a failure or a success, life goes on.

Chapter 8. Go see a doctor, you’re ill.

It’s really no big deal, going to see a doctor. These guys are professionals, they generally know what they’re doing, they’ve been trained for such proper occasions. These guys don’t freak when you say that … all the things you said, to the doctor, psychiatrist, psychologist, social worker; probably all lies but hay! You’re only there to impress. A six monthly appointment’s really no big deal. Any more, you need help. Medication’s pretty okay too; two tables every night and I sleep like an angel, but forget and the dreaded spies come back. We never talk about what went on my head, we just talk about how I’m doin, a quick chat, that’s all it is. And it makes little difference if he’s a new doctor, or the one you’ve had since childhood, it’s his care and concern that counts.
Doctor asks me where it hurts, I tell him, “in my soul.” He tells me I’ll be on medication for five years! Jesus, I’ll be old in five years! My expression gives it away; I’m not satisfied with five years! I thought maybe two, then let’s try without. He has stated five years, and sentence has been passed. I’m no longer certifiable but I’m not gonna see much of daylight either. 20mg sounds a lot, but I suppose it’s doing a lot of work. I dream, but only just.

Chapter 9. Not knowing how it ended, I hope I got it right.

It’s about your future, she insists. I’m beginning to agree, however, I never really think about my future; the emphasis is always with the present. She loved you, and she’s just showing her concern, she knows your type. Yes, but these delusions are so real, not even love comes close. Do you still feel? Yes, I’ve experienced indescribable pain, locked in with emotions so twisted, I don’t wish to recall; I’d concede that I’ve been ill. Do you see a future without illness? Yes, of course, but it’s the path that I take which counts, am I really in control of my fate, I’d ask myself; who’s making me better, if better is what I’m becoming. Are you happy? That’s my real concern. How can I answer that, I barely know what emotions I’m feeling when I feel them. It all jus’ kinda melts into one, there’s no choice anymore, happy, sad, angry, contented; I guess I’m saying I don’t feel, but there’s feeling there, it just doesn’t seem to go far enough, or at least I’m no longer saying one way or the other; I feel but it doesn’t effect me, I’m happy either way. You were always different, that’s a compliment, and that’s why I loved you. Thanks, I know you’ll understand.

Chapter 10. Ten thousand miles without a cloud.

I’ve lived a good life, that I can admit. I’ve enjoyed myself and have experienced life to its limit. I can say I am wiser, and that people have contributed to this wisdom, to them I am indebted; my friends, I thank you. I have laughed and cried, loved and lost, all the things, which make life fulfilling, and yes, I have dreamed, dreamed of being the one, the messiah of the ghetto, and of the streets.


Suggested Reading:

The World According to Garp. By Joseph Heller.
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. By Robert M. Pirsig.
Jonathan Livingston Seagull. By Richard Bach.

The Satanic Verses. By Salman Rushtie.
The Teachings of Don Juan. By Carlos Castaneda.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead. Bardos Tholdol. By Guru Rinpoche.
Chaos Theory. By James Gleick

The New Jackels. By Simon Reeves




END

boe: an understanding of mental illness

Boe: An understanding of mental illness.

January 1998

Introduction

This is a story about schizophrenia as told through the experiences of a boy named Boe. Boe is in his mid-twenties, with a university education and a normal healthy upbringing. He has never held a job for more than four months and not once has he ever been sacked, his way was more subtle since nepotism was the key to his success. He is supported by his father, who is a gambler.
There are many places to begin a story, if his story has a beginning, so lets begin at the end, the end of his life as a normal boy. I won’t go into details, suffice to say he walked, meaning this was the last time he would put on a suit to go into an office. So much for education, but for Boe this was his chance, his golden opportunity to make the difference, stand out from the crowd and be noticed. No longer would he have to put on the pretence that Joe Public expected, that which he was not a party to, neither in mind nor in spirit. Boe was different, he suffered from schizophrenia.
Many people are deluded; some believe that life itself is one great illusion, where the only truth is death. Heaven awaits those who are faithful, and hell is the fate of those non-believers who reject the prophet’s teachings. But what illusions, if that is what they are, have we to believe in. What does faith teach us about life…? On a positive note we have love and compassion, those virtues, which create harmony and understanding in our lives; then there is fear. In no way am I suggesting that fear is the guiding light, or that our actions are dependant on this emotion, however, for someone suffering from schizophrenia, fear is the first word in the bible.


Part 1: The End of Time

‘Every journey begins with one small step…’ and for Boe, this meant walking from the high-rise offices of Central District, out onto the street he knew so well. The noise of car engines, probably Mercedes and BMW’s, made a stark contrast to the hum of computer terminals and photocopying machines, and he was pleased. The burden of education had been lifted and he was a free man once more, free to enjoy the neon and the halogen, free to absorb it, free to consume it, and be consumed by it. No more night, no more day… no success, no failure. He had embarked on an epic journey, and a mission, which would reveal to him the true nature of his mind.

…And as he turned the corner into mid-levels he experienced his first charge, like the neon of the city streets he became connected, a thousand volts of electricity energized his every atom and he began to see…

The ride home was the usual stop-start which evening rush hour always promised. He stared at the neon and compared it to circuit boards and electrical components, as if he were information travelling through semi-conductors, resistors and capacitors of a device, which was the living and breathing embodiment of Gaia, or a living system of sorts. Central District had an essence and a beauty, which Boe admired, not for all the money and power which this place represents, but because spiritually, this is where he lived.
His father was not home, so Boe turned the tv on and absorbed himself in the usual programs. He had not eaten all day, so he turned on the gas and began to cook himself noodles. There were voices, which Boe couldn’t quite make out, and people were walking about, many had just come back from a busy day at the office and were enjoying their evening meals in front of the tv. After eating Boe went to his room and stood out on the balcony, overlooking the village.
In contrast to the city, village life was peaceful; occasionally a car would drive past on the main road disturbing the ambience of what was typically a country park. Leaving a light on, Boe fell asleep.

Part 2: Too much of a good thing

Dawn and the beginning of a new day, new opportunities await. Boe rises with the sun and returns to the balcony. A mist cloaks the sleeping village and bird songs fill the air. There is a sense of perfection at times like these, knowledge and wisdom all rolled into one, and for an eternity. Ma On Shan stands majestic in the distance, a medium sized mountain half way between here and Kowloon.

…you know what it looks like, it looks like someone lying on its back because look, there’s its head, nose…see. Yeah, but look…that’s a pyramid, right.

Boe lights a cigarette and lies back on his bed. It’s too early to awake. He can hear his father stirring, walking about the house. The tv comes on and is immediately switched off, steps can be heard, a door shuts. His father is usually up and out of the house before Boe, he returns in the early hours and can be gone for days.
Late afternoon and Boe is woken by a phone call. Its Shelley, she gets off work in an hour and a half and would like to meet up in Central. “OK… give me an hour.” Shelley and Boe are lovers, convenience is their calling card as Shelley is a married woman. For Boe this worked because there was no regret, and regret was the last emotion he wanted in his relationships. It worked for a time, however, doubts existed and the finishing line was in sight. Meeting up was a regular occurrence, it gave Boe the excuse to be in Central. They’d spent the whole summer courting, it felt natural and they definitely loved each other.

Hey John…mine’s a coffee, two sugars. Gar-fair…right you are chief. Er…what’s going on today boe. Just heading to central, see a man about a dog. Oh…when you get back? Don’t know, late…what you doing here? Just making coffee…gar-fair, right. Get back to where you once belong…

The pager goes off, Shelley…where are you? No mobile, no way. His father should definitely buy him one, save Boe the trouble. Phones are everywhere in Hong Kong, and they’re free so everyone lets anyone use the phone. And it works, but it still means you have to run like a chicken to find one! Boe was late, Shelley won’t be happy, she insists on punctuality, she doesn’t realize what a whiz young Boe is at being on time and beating the traffic; rush hour from dawn till dusk, what can you do? Shelley wouldn’t allow it, but she’s the one with the mobile, and Boe just runs. She’d been responsible for Boe’s curriculum vitae, and got him employed, bought him a suit and paid for his food; she was counting on Boe to perform. No job meant no Shelley, and soon no way ‘cos he couldn’t support himself. His bubble had burst and he had no idea.
I just heard, you gave up your job, why? Boe had no answer, hung his head in defeat. That’s the fourth job Boe, what are you doing Boe? He lit a cigarette, and puffed silently. They sat in a restaurant and forgot about it. They were a beautiful couple, she didn’t look her age and Boe just looked rough, unpolished, like he’d not been brought up properly, and while the other boys drank their milk, Boe flew around the playground as if an aeroplane. Their meals together were sacred, each time they met and ate, forgiveness was served, like communion, the body of Christ and the blood of Christ. Call me when you get home…bye! She always smiled when she said that, Boe would also smile but with sadness, he was afraid that he would miss her…he always did. The ferryboat pulled away, tugging heartstrings with it, and no less his heart, at least that’s the way Boe felt.
It was dark, not late. He saw the Star ferry, Kowloon was calling, he obeyed.
This was not an obsession but he did find time for just walking, idle strolling, no particular place to go, and what with all the neon and cars, and people, you couldn’t miss the people, what better way to fill time than the streets of Kowloon. Shops, bars, Temple Street, nightlife… if that’s where you want to go, I’m ok with that. Boe loved the ferry, for all its tourist value it was still the best way to leave Central.

His name is Chow Yung Fat and he is one of Hong Kong’s most famous actors, he is now doing adverts for the Hong Kong Tourist Association as well as Hollywood…what a hero and the toothpick, man, and he’s always smoking. With a gun in his hand and a skip in his step he shoots his way from our screens on to the streets of Kowloon, destination Temple Street, target, coffee…gar-fair.

Stepping off the bus, with a smile, Boe walked home. His father was home. It was late, wash and call Shelley. She would be asleep but he would call, he always did.

Part 3: A death in the family

What is schizophrenia? What are its causes and how does it manifest itself in a persons actions. Drug abuse, a death in the family, these are causes; a sufferer usually becomes withdraw, psychotic episodes begin and given the right circumstances, the psychosis can blossom into full blown delusion and paranoia. Medication can stabilise the condition, but a sufferer will never be freed from the knowledge that mentally, one is handicapped. The experience can destroy a weaker man, leaving behind pieces of a puzzle to be put back into order.

There was a program on tv, but it was not terrestrial, no listings could be found for what he was watching. The face looked familiar, but could not be placed.
Looking in a mirror he saw a reflection of fate. This was his second charge. He could feel the electricity flowing through his head and shoulders, movement became difficult, like every muscle had been tensed, and the eyes, on inspection, had suddenly evolved dark rings.

Boe turned on the computer, sat half-lotus and wrote,’ CIA, IRA, Georgy Pei… what a combination, like the Dalai Lama, The President of the United States and the Ayatollah all travelling in a plane together. And me being scanned at thirty-seven thousand feet.’
Some things stand out in ones mind like the time boe and his father attended a funeral of sorts for boe’s mother, (his father’s wife.) The funneral was held in china and was attended by boe, his father, his father’s girlfriend and a bunch of dancing and singing gypsies. A foreign affair even for Boe’s standards, his father would never dissapoint. The precesion began at midnight and continued into the early hours. There was much theatre and burning of effigies, chickens tied by their legs onto bamboo poles, shaken in a proud manner, follow-the-leader and we all went round again, all this and on the grounds of a disgarded temple. He would never to this day forget what a bad trip this was.

She’s a whore… no way man, what… she’s a whore… this can’t be happening man, i’ve got to wake up man, please god take me out of here…@@#~’?]”;;::@

(Mustn’t dwell at times like these, not good for the health.) It ended, but god knows when and how.

BANG! Boe’s been shot…in the head!

He awoke, he was still alive. He could see the presence of his dead mother lying on his bed, as if invisible and super imposed on boe’s body. A young child cried “Gor-gor!”, in cantonese that means ‘brother’. He lay motionless, frozen by the sound of a loud ringing; tinitus is the clinical term used to describe someone who hears ringing, the sound produced by the inner ear.
He sat down and wrote, ‘The good man is a muslim.’ That’s what he believes, of all the faiths, only Islam has the conviction of its actions. Whether in prayer, or in speech, truth and honesty, wisdom and light. He continued, ‘ Their destination was unknown, only that this would be a crisis of immesurable importance.’ A buddhist, a polititian, a muslim, and boe. Like a mah-jong match made up by his father, played in heaven and for the future of humanity, no less. Each represents an aspect of our daily lives and to many is the living embodiment of god as a representative of their people. ‘Their mission, to save planet earth.’

Part 4: War Games

Boe’s condition was worsening, his grip on reality was loosening, and he could no longer differentiate between fact and fiction. Fact, he had lost his job, his girlfriend and soon would have to leave his paradise. Fiction, he was wired up to the CIA because of a growing crisis developing between the US and Islamic nations. He would have to return to the UK and sort it all out. He would have to familiarise himself with Islam, find out which nations posed a threat and which organisations were active, he would then have to assess the risk and present his case to the president.
He had a lead, Osama Bin Laden, the mastermind behind the attempted bombing of the twin towers. They had jailed someone for the atrocity, Ramsay Youssef, a muslim, however, Bin Laden was still at large, hiding out in Afganistan, protected by the Taliban. Bin Laden came across as a peaceful man, no less a holy man, his prophetic message to muslims which read, ‘Kill all americans…’ was a wake up call for the west, never before, not even during the cold war, had there been such hatred towards the west and ultimately the United States. The tolerance of Islam had given way to a new teaching, that of international terrorism, suicide bombings and martyrdom.
Clinton was beening impeached for inappropriate relations with Monica Lewinsky, the trial was televised. As he watched the president on tv, he thought of his own infidelity, the resemblance was uncanny. Even the greatest leaders have their day, is this what Clinton will be remembered for, fooling around with the office aid, how ironic, he thought. His relationship with Shelley was over, no one batted an eyelid. He returned to the UK with his father, seeking refuge above his brother’s shop. His father didn’t stay, he returned as soon as Boe got settled.
If HK was paradise, the UK would be purgatory, like Dante’s Inferno and the Devine Comedy. This place was also special, it had been a second home to Boe when he finished university, he lived there on the dole and practised meditation. Once the table top of the world, and an island paradise, now the headquarters of a secret organisation which plotted against terrorism and all its forms. Manchester had been bombed by the IRA three years ealier, and their mainland campaign continued. The atrocities of Omagh made headline news on his return.

Monitors were everywhere, constant footage of Hezbollah and Mujahdeen marching through the streets in protest against the west and America. Yasser Arafat and the Israeli prime minister at loggerheads over the recent fighting in the occupied territories.

The physical stresses caused by other peoples’ sufferings were crippling Boe. He had to find a solution. The bombing of Palestinian territories played havoc with Boe’s wire, he would find himself out on the streets fleeing mortar fire and dodging sniper’s bullets; he was there and nowhere. He would rest during the day, at night, he would absorb himself in the news, from midnight till midday he would go though the developments with a fine tooth comb and ask himself, when, where and how. BBC News 24 provided the footage and Boe would be taken on a merry-go-round ride through death and destruction, deceit and dishonesty. If the world couldn’t sort out its problems, what chance did Boe have. He believed a solution could be found, that all nations and religions could live in harmony, in the 21st century, but he didn’t believe he had any say in the matter.
The inauguration of the President of America, and George W Bush beats Al Gore in the race for the White House, and after much legal wrangling a republican becomes head of the most powerful nation in the world. Boe opens another bottle of wine. Celebrations don’t come often for schizophrenics, but this was reason to celebrate. His submission was a weak one, however, he believed his work was invaluable in understanding the Islamic problem. His solution involved tolerance and compassion, understanding and respect, qualities fit for a president and essential for the survival of mankind. In truth he knew there were no solutions, not for the CIA or the President. Islam was not the problem, the problem lies within the heart of american society, power multiplied by paranoia, leading to fear and anger. Without a solution we would return to cold war status and be forever watching our backs. With this understanding his team would back off and give Boe a chance to breathe again. ‘This is your man, like his father before him, He will find a solution to your prob lems, whether we end up going to war or not, He will ensure the safety of our homes and our people.’ Spoken in vain and without an audience, Boe allowed the alcohol to take its effect.
When the events of 911 occurred, boe was volunteering for the Red Cross. He had seeked help for his delusions and was now on medication. He watched the events unfold on tv, pictures of a plane crashing into the twin towers, believed to be an act of terrorism, leaving carnage and horror in its wake. Like an old friend from the past had come to visit him, he was not surprised, only it left him feeling as if he was still in a delusion. As a second plane came crahing down into the other tower, it dawned on him that fiction becomes fact and that his illness had a meaning. The Pentagon was also hit, that aspect of power which was responsible for preventing such an attack. The medicaton rationalised his thoughts and he began to feel human again.
The illusion had finally died and reality became evident. It had been a struggle but boe had made it, he had made it back to reality, no more delusions, just the earth beneath his feet. In his mind fiction had given way to fact and he could believe what he was seeing again. Boe never really believed the fiction of his delusion, he knew it wasn’t real, it was just temptation for a deluded mind, the secrecy and diplomacy, the spies and the lies, the power and the corruption, all these and the knowledge that it was all for the good of mankind. Still, he was left in limbo, without an occupation. Reality was harsh, he was having to make constant adjustments so as not to fall into relapse, the news didn’t help, the threats were real and now a search for the culprit had begun, Bin Laden made the CIA’s most wanted list and was by now a household name. Boe ignored the media assassination, he held the highest regards for the mastermind of 911 for he had achieved the impossible, and now held the US to ransom.

Part 5: The cessation of suffering

Isn’t it ironic how an act of such immeasurable destruction can bring about the cessation of one’s suffering. The lords of karma have truly gone to work with this one thought Boe, he smiled again, relax and enjoy the ride, it’s downhill all the way now. He had been prescribed 20mg of Olanzapine, an antipsychotic taken to help stabilise the positive (and negative) aspects of his illness, yes, there is a positive side to schizophrenia, voices can be comforting and the experience of psychotic episodes can become quite spiritual. The professionals were pleased with his progress and Boe found comfort in the knowledge that his condition was mild, although he couldn’t believe it to be any worse, I suppose it’s all to do with how believable the delusions become.



Reprise: The future of terrorism

Boe gets a job in a takeaway in Warrington UK, the scene of destruction many years previous. The IRA campaign has now ceased but not before strategic attacks in and around London, the targets being the BBC, MI6 and a post office in hendon.
The Bush administration calls for all out war against the perpetrators of 911 and the focus moves to Afghanistan and the hunt for Bin Laden, and his army of mujahdeen, or holy warriors, trained in terrorist camps in the afghan mountains. Bin Laden had led the jihad against the soviets in the eighties, and succeeded in stopping the soviet advance into Afghanistan and the Middle-East, eventually bringing about the downfall of soviet-style communism. Supported by the CIA and ISI, with funding from the Saudis, the mujahdeen fought off the world’s second army and made the difference which led to the end of the cold war.
On return to Saudi, Bin Laden became dissolusioned with life in Saudi; it was not acceptable to his new (Islamic) way of thinking. Western (American) interests in Saudi had turned the holy lands into a haven for infidels and non-muslims, basking in the rays off a lucretive oil trade, monopolised by the House of Saud. The invasion of Kuwait by Saddam’s Iraq focused attention on the foreign policies of nations in that region, and their standing with the US. It was due directly to the lack of policy in that region which led to the deployement of the US military, the world’s premier army. This action infused Bin Laden, he had offered the services of his victorious mujahdeen and was turned down point blank. Bin Laden moved his operation to muslim-friendly Sudan. The bombing of two US embassies in Africa and the attack on the USS Cole in the Yemen, killing many and causing untold injury and destruction, is the precurser to Bin Laden’s greater demands, that of jihad against the infidel, against the US.