Iesus iterum salvat
That's Latin for "Jesus saves again". For some reason the concept of
Latin headlines of the form "<noun> iterum <verb>" is
appealing to me at the moment. I've just made a followup to a post of
mine on the
Rat Bike Zone entitled "The
columbine touch", using the headline "columbus iterum tactat" ("Pigeon touches again").
Also, I thought that the headline "Jesus saves again" in English might
make people think it was a boring religious page and put them off.
It's not supposed to be boring, and I don't want to give a false
impression of it. Or they might think it's some kind of Jesus-based
football joke, or possibly a football-based Jesus joke. Well, it's not
one of them either. It's a story about a bloke who has a heart attack
and doesn't call an ambulance, plus a bunch of other stuff.
So why would I be choosing such a title in the first place? Well, I
was sitting down to breakfast yesterday when I experienced a peculiar
sensation in my ribs similar to the effects of Coxsackie B virus. Er,
that's probably not a very helpful description... As I understand it,
Coxsackie B is one of those things that everyone has - I think that's
"has all the time but it doesn't do anything" as opposed to "catches
at some point in their life", but I could be wrong there - and never
notices, or maybe gets a bit of gutsache but only the once and it's
just an ordinary gutsache. However, on one or two people it does
something quite different. You get these attacks of pain in your chest
wall which come on out of the blue and the slightest movement of your
rib cage hurts like fuck, so you can't breathe. It's quite
frightening. I had it as a kid and my mum didn't believe my weird
symptoms were real and sent me to school anyway, where I proceeded to
freak the fuck out of the teachers by not breathing at them and got
sent home again. Being a virus there's no treatment, but fortunately
it doesn't last very long and just stops happening after a bit, which it duly
did.
So, that's what I felt as I sat down to breakfast today. Not quite the
same as Coxsackie B, didn't stop me breathing, not so widespread and not
so symmetrical - more on the right side, but still unpleasant. And I
felt a bit dizzy. I checked my pulse - oops, once every two seconds
perhaps and barely detectable. Oh, fuck. So I called out "Help, Jesus" and
legged it for the bed. As I lay there I heard the crash as a brand new
dual-core AMD64 PC and a Hewlett
Packard LaserJet II with no paper tray and a dud fuser lamp, disturbed
by my hasty passage, finally lost their stability and hit the deck.
But I didn't care. I was seeking refuge in Jesus and in the horizontal
position.
Then I checked my pulse again. It was back to normal.
Far out.
Thankyou Lord.
(And, as noted in the first paragraph, no ambulance. What's the point?
The thought of grabbing the phone did occur to me, but my response was
"fuck the phone, I don't need it". Where's the ambulance that can
provide a complete cure in five seconds? Clue: not in the NHS and you
don't get it by dialling 999.)
So, that explains half of it. What's with the "again"? Well, to
explain that we have to go back several years, to the time when I had
a certain partiality for amphetamines. I was somewhat fucked up at the
time in various ways, and it would still be some years yet before I
would acknowledge,
let alone worship, the reality of Jesus - a point of importance, as
you will see. Don't touch the whiz now, not for years - can't stand
the thought of it, indeed - but I
used to be rather fond of it, and one day I took too much. This had
what one might suppose to be the disconcerting result that my heart
stopped beating. But I was not disconcerted, being so fucked up that I
thought it was going to be interesting. So I just collapsed on the
floor and waited to see what was going to happen.
What happened was that a voice, which I failed to identify correctly
at the time, told me quite clearly and distinctly that I couldn't go
yet because I still had stuff to do here. My heart started beating
again and my normal functioning returned. I laid off the whiz for a
bit, but not very long, and then proceeded to act on my incorrect
identification of the source of the voice with the effect of
increasing my upfuckedness index by at least an order of magnitude.
Once this became apparent, a process which was woefully slow, I fucked
the whiz off for good but then entered a peculiar state in which for
about eight years I completely avoided anything remotely sexual. No
women, obviously; no women just as friends either, which is a bit odd
given that I did have quite a lot of women friends and had previously
got on with them a bit better and felt slightly more comfortable hanging out with them than with my male
friends - not so many major differences in outlook, I guess, given
that an awful lot of blokes make me feel embarrassed to be a bloke
myself. No masturbation, not even any looking at Page 3 (not
that I read the Sun - or any newspaper, come to that - but the front
pages displayed on newspaper racks are pretty much like Page 3
these days anyway...) - yoost fock notting. Looking back on it now it
does feel pretty strange, but it didn't at the time.
It was somewhere before the middle of this period that events moved such that I
could no longer fail to acknowledge the reality of Jesus, and belief
grew pretty fast once I'd made the first leap. Not, it has to be said,
the flavour of belief that one would expect from one who makes such a
leap through such as the Alpha course
or the local church. I can't say I'm much of a churchgoer, my worship
is private - and in any case I can't see myself as anything other than
a total social misfit in any ordinary congregation. I don't find in my
faith a projection of St Paul's sexual hangups, nor of the American
government's hangups about psychoactive substances. What is left of my
hair grows in a manner more reminiscent of Jesus Himself than the
average churchgoer, and I don't seek to deny the Babylonian nature of
the modern world. If you were going to call me anything I guess you'd
have to call me a white Rastafarian. My beliefs are much more closely
aligned with Rastafarian thinking than with mainstream Christianity.
Nothing wrong with that, of course. Jesus isn't bothered about the
differences between people's faiths as long as they do have faith. The
truth is different for every believer anyway, which is partly why the
Bible is written the way it is - so it can mean the appropriate
different things to its different readers. And it does explicitly tell us not to
quibble over such differences. People tend to imagine that you're
giving up a lot of freedom of thought and action, but that's not so at
all. If anything, you gain more. The most you can say in the way of
loss of freedom is that you are of your own volition giving up freedom
to be a cunt, and it's a bit difficult to regard that as a problem.
So, having discovered Jesus, I was now able to correctly identify the
source of the voice I had heard all those years ago. I must say it was
good to know. On the other hand it did raise the question of what it
was that I had to do that made it unworkable for me to have died at
that point. My assumption at the time had been connected with my
misidentification of the voice and the subsequent fuckup events; the
nature of the fuckup had made it pretty clear that the assumption had
been wrong, and I had put the matter to the back of my mind and ceased
to consider it. Even after finding Jesus I still failed to consider
it. I merely assumed that He would let me know at the appropriate
time, probably by me suddenly coming to the realisation one day that I
was now doing whatever it was.
As it turned out, Jesus appears to have thought "Ah, Pigeon believes
now. We can start the next stage..." much earlier than my own
assessment of myself would have led me to expect to be possible.
Somewhere in the depths of my mind, a few crucial flag bits which had
been firmly set during the aforementioned fuckup period were gently
and inconspicuously reset. Unused neurons shook off the cobwebs and
began to do the ion exchange dance once more. Old modules were dragged out
of the recesses of the filesystem, dusted down, given the odd patch
and quietly linked into the currently running kernel. Configuration
files were updated with revised settings and certain hitherto almost
entirely unused components were installed and activated.
Once my stage of belief had got out of the "exciting new" period
I began to notice myself having certain dreams. Indeed, such dreams
had happened once or twice before I was a believer, but
with much less clarity and vividness. I rarely dream at all and these
particular dreams were notable by being about the only ones I ever
had, despite their relative infrequency, maybe once a month or even
more widely spaced. Of course, Jesus being a great one for the cryptic
unobvious stuff that you have to work out for yourself, I had no idea
what was going on. I had not the slightest suspicion of Jesus being
involved and evinced a distinct preference for my normal
dreamless condition. I tended to wake up with thoughts along the lines
of "oh for fuck's sake, not again", push it to the back of my mind and
try and forget it had happened. With, it has to be said, considerable
success... certainly sufficient success that for a long time it escaped my notice
entirely that the dreams all had the same fundamentally important and
highly noteworthy feature in common, or indeed in most cases as the only
feature of any kind - a fact which would seem starkly
incredible were I to transfer a representative example of such a
dream to video and make it available for the reader to view (a concept
which must remain hypothetical, since even were the technology
available to perform such a feat its desirability would still be
questionable to say the least - some revelations are for public
consumption, like John's, and some are private, like me - depends on
stuff like whether they would provide a useful message to anyone other
than whoever it is who receives them). Indeed, it is only in retrospect that
I have been able to remove the blinkers and make a true identification
of the nature of these dreams.
And so matters rested for some considerable time. Time during which I
obtained an MZ
TS250/1, pigeonised the electrical system, put it on the road,
pigeonised other bits of it, and rode it to various ratbike events...
time during which I made use of the internet to further my interest in
Barclay James
Harvest and posted regularly on the
Pistonheads
motoring forum, to which I had been introduced by another BJH fan.
And my membership of this forum would prove to be
highly significant.
The abovementioned common factor in my dreams, private though the
revelation may be, does not pass entirely without mention in the
news media, and it is possible, though I am unable to make
a reliable estimate of the degree of possibility, that had my
interaction with the media not been limited to watching Doctor Who by
downloading it off P2P networks and the occasional glimpse of the news
on someone else's telly then I would have identified said factor at an
earlier date. But this did not happen. It was my motoring-related
activities which were to provide the answer.
The Pistonheads forum is dedicated to the car and all things
car-related, and has many sub-fora not only for enthusiasts of
different makes of car but also for all kinds of other
motoring-related chat. One may note that the sub-forum for classic
cars is called "Yesterday's Heroes", due to the presence on the site of certain
highly enthusiastic Barclay James Harvest fans. But even a website populated entirely by
petrolheads can't keep everyone focussed on cars all the time and so
there is another sub-forum by the name of "The Pie and Piston" which
acts as a virtual pub in which members can yak about all kinds of
non-motoring cack. And it was in the Pie and Piston that the
revelation took place. Some random member, acting on who knows what
impulse, posted a URL to a very specific subset of media output which had never before
come to my attention. Pigeon, bimbling about the forum, clicks on the
thread, then while waiting for the server to get its arse in gear and
deliver the page, hits the "Page Down" button a few times through some
apparently random impulse. The result of this keyboard interaction was
that when the page finally loaded, it immediately scrolled itself down
to the point where the common factor in my dreams was
identified right before my eyes.
Turn the key and you'll open the door...
The reader might be forgiven for thinking that at this point I
made some such utterance as "Fucking arseholes!" and proceeded to act
on the information in some way. But such a thought would not be in
accordance with reality. Remember that at this point I had not made
the connection between Jesus and the dreams, and for years I had been
suppressing the knowledge of their existence, indeed doing
so with great effectiveness. My intended reaction was along the same lines as
would have been expected had the information not been of such personal
importance... brief look, "oh right", hit Page Down again, and carry
on doing the
same down the rest of the thread, like any other thread that I'm not
particularly interested in and am only reading because I'm bored.
But my suppression capabilities were working against a force too great
to be denied. I could not react like that. I looked at the significant
thread for some considerable time. I poked through a few more threads, but my concentration was
gone. I returned to the significant thread and read it again,
this time in even less haste. Then I looked at the clock, swore, went out for unconnected reasons
previously planned, came back a couple of hours later - and read the
thread again. What was happening to me? I would not normally find such
a thread of any particular interest. I started checking metadata and
immediately found something which might be useful as a Google search
term. It was - Google produced. Oh, far out, look at all this.
<click>... <read>... <click>... <read>... Ah,
I see, OK, so for every nugget of gold we have to wade through ten tons of shite written by the
ignorant and the brain-dead, but Google's
always like that... <refine search>... that's better, shit still
present but at minimal levels, majority of search results good.
<click>... <read>... <click>... <read>...
Far... Out. And to think I never knew. But now I am a happy pigeon.
Oh, am I a happy pigeon.
Oh... fuck me. I did know, and I pretended I didn't. Oh fuck, those
dreams. Shit on a stick. Infrequent though they be, I have a fairly highly developed capability
to determine which of my dreams are just dreams and which ones relate
to the waking world. What was I at trying to pretend it wasn't
happening? If only I'd taken notice before. And that media link on
Pistonheads - seems to date back a few years, according to the metadata. I could have been aware all
along but I wouldn't let myself be. Oh, Lord, what was I at?
Not only that. If I look back over the years I can now spot occasional
indications that one day this was going to happen. Not very many, and
years apart. Of course they did not seem to relate to anything at the
time, but nevertheless they seem to have lodged in my somewhat
unconventional memory in such a way as to be recalled when later
information allows for their correct interpretation. And I can't seem
to find anything earlier than, durrr, Thatcher's second term or
thereabouts... which the internet seems to indicate
is what one should expect, though I can't myself see Thatcher having
any more than the most tenuous, peripheral and non-causative connection.
Well, now I do know. So what to do...? I guess it is only to be expected
that my current knowledge now indicates that we are presented with one
of those conundrums which at first sight appears to be a
straightforward everyday situation but once one looks into the details
turns out to be a situation of major arseache in which the usual
solutions are inapplicable or even counterproductive. Seems that my
expertise in computers is of minimal assistance, in electronics of
none, and in vehicle engineering only to the extent of ensuring that I
have personal transport available in case of need. What else have I
got? ...What's in my head... er, well, I can take photographs and I
can write stuff. Is that any use? Dunno about the photographs.
Possibly, I suppose, though not right now unless my existing
collection
is useful for advertising purposes of some kind. Writing is more the
thing. I can yak on for ages, as you have probably noticed. And I can
do it any time and anywhere, I don't have to be stood in a particular
spot hoping it doesn't cloud up before the Sun comes round another
degree and gives me a natural spotlight on that shepherd's hut, or
whatever.
Update: Just over a year after the discovery on Pistonheads,
and nine months after I first wrote this page,
this assessment stands. Computers: show a distinct tendency to do my
fucking head in. Electronics: irrelevant. Vehicles: well my
Volvo
164 has proved its worth. Photographs: trying to think what I meant
by "advertising" and have no idea what I was on about there... Writing:
if you include hrefs and img tags, word count is about a tenth of a
Bible's worth by now, and the next paragraph is amusingly outdated...
Only problem is I CAN'T THINK WHAT TO FUCKING WRITE. I've tried to
write something already and it wasn't any good. I can burble on for
ages about nothing much, but as soon as I try to write the important
sort of thing that I apparently need to, the stuff I come out with
doesn't work. And I can't think what to write that would
be more comprehensible. So I'm not bloody going to. There's no point
writing if all I can write is shit. I'm obviously trying to do it at
the wrong time so I shall sit it out until I receive the appropriate
inspiration and find myself capable of writing something important
which doesn't come out as incomprehensible shit. Until then I shall
stick to burbling on on my website, like this.
There is a bit in the Bible where Jesus says something to the effect
of "If you're going to follow Me, you'd better be sure you can take
it, because there's some heavy shit going to go down". He's right.
Knowing all this and not being able to come up with anything
useful to do about it is indeed some pretty heavy shit. Now that I
know, I need to do something about it and I want to do
it right now. If I could think of the right thing to write it might
even be possible to take some major steps in the minimal time
available before the Barclay James Harvest convention and gig in
Wolverhampton tomorrow. I think the MZ would still be up to getting me
there on time. But all I can come up with is a web page of wibble.
But a bit later on Jesus also says "...but don't worry about it,
because My yoke is easy and My burden is light". Light and heavy at
the same time... yeah, right. This is some peculiar
gravitational anomaly, is it? So thinks the unbeliever... the unbeliever is
wrong. Jesus is right. Light. Lots of it. Only heavy in the sense that
light gas oil is slightly heavier than kerosene or paraffin... and it
is of course well known that if you wanna run cool, you got to run on
diesel fuel.
It's not perhaps the sort of thing one normally thinks of as a gift
from Jesus. But when He saves my life twice in order to make sure I'm
around for it there can't be much doubt. Not that there was anyway.
You're nobody's fool, it feels so right...
Thankyou Lord. Oh, Lord, thankyou Lord.
Don't look back, and don't you worry
You can't live for yesterday
Open door into tomorrow
You have to face it and break away
That was then, this is now...
Back to Pigeon's Cack
Back to Pigeon's Nest
Be kind to pigeons