As a young man I some times took long walks in the rain, all by myself and during the late hours of the day. For some reason I did get something from observing the world, and I guess more than from participating in it – probably for reasons explained here. Rather than listen to the sounds of the world I used to bring a walk-man, playing Iron Maiden mostly.
I was not a bully, and I never started a single fight myself, but I spoke my heart when I often should not have done so, and because of that I had many enemies (not unlike today…). I was also arrogant and looked down on those who deserved to be looked down upon. For some reason I didn’t care and I guess I even wanted this; «if the world is sick, why should I not be in conflict with those who seem to fit well in this sick world too?». Most of the time I won the fights (and note that I never attacked anybody! I was always just defending myself). In fact I won so many fights that by the end of the 8th grade I think I had beaten up more than 50% of all the boys in the 9th grade at my school, and was very unpopular amongst them. I don’t tell that to boast, and I don’t think I was actually stronger than the other boys; I was just more brutal, aggressive in the fight and willing to use brute force. When e. g. one huge 2 m tall 9th grader tried to gently wrestle me, a 7th grader at the time, to the ground I responded by giving him an elbow in his nose, and of course because of that won the fight. He lay there crying like a baby when I left him. Another guy, my own age, but both bigger and stronger than me simply threw me to the ground and held me there. He asked me if I «gave up», thinking he had won. Yeah sure; I simply kneed him as hard as I could in his face. He instantly let go of me, and started squeeking like a pig in a slaughter house. He was bleeding from his face when I got up. When some Asian girl told me I was «cruel» I kicked him in his stomach too – just to piss her off even more. Then I left. His friends were just standing there, looking at him squeeking. I was of course alone from the start.
Most of the time this «war» was very uncomfortable. I always had to watch my back, because there were always some older boys looking for me, to «get» me. One time when I was 16 and was driving my moped I noticed a car following me. It was loaded with five obviously older and bigger boys, I guess around 18 years old all of them, and not at all very friendly looking. I took some odd turns, and they kept following me. When I sped up they did too, and I figured I should try to loose them. I drove as fast as I could to a small road that I knew was a dead end, and where the speed bumps were simply extreme. Driving a moped I could just use them as small jumps, and I did. The car following me however was beaten and bruised by them, to put it that way, and I am not sure if what I did was really that smart. Now I was being followed by five probably really pissed off 18-year-olds! The road was a dead end, but I knew of an open field around a corner to the left and I headed for it – full speed. Again I jumped, on a little elevation in the ground, and I landed in mud – and was stuck! I turned my head around to see if they were still following, and saw their car litterally crash into the little elevation in the ground. The opening to the field was simply too narrow for the car to enter. Dirt and small rocks flew through the air when the front of the car hit the elevation. The opening to the field was so narrow though, that the right doors of the car could not be opened, so only three of them were able to quickly dismount – and they came charging for me. The first one didn’t see the mud, so he fell – flat on his face into the mud. His entire front was brown from mud and he was just screaming madly, in anger! «Shit», I thought to myself. «I really need to get out of here». Being stuck in the mud with a moped is no big deal after all; I could just give full throttle and use my legs to walk the moped out of there, so I did. But the two guys still on their feet were very close. Now, the only problem – to them of course – was that they were behind me. So when I gave full throttle I spun a ton of mud directly unto them. It was like a spray of mud! At that point I started laughing; I was inching my way forwards, but because of the mud so were they, trying to get to me whilst protecting their faces from the mud spray. Finally I got out of the mud and could continue on dry grass, to the other side of the field, and my safe escape. *Phew* One bullet dodged.
PS. I think it must have been a Friday or Saturday evening, because the five guys in the car were dressed for a night out, so they wore nice clothes…
My «escape plan». A is where I descided to bail out. B is where their car crashed. The route between B and C is where the open field (and some forest) was. The speed bumps are gone. You can no longer drive from A to B with a car (the road has been closed for traffic) and they have built houses on the open field. The forest has been cut down too. «Progress», they call it. Oh, and the “dead end road” is no longer dead end, I can see.
A good Spot to Crash a Car following You (there was no path after the elevation in the ground back then, and the elevation was more abrupt);
There were quite a few situations like this, but I was always damn lucky – pardon my language – and either won the fight or got away fairly unscathed. Against all odds I was never beaten up, and like I said, it was not because I was such a strong guy. Many of those I won over were stronger than me. Many were even better fighters too. I am neither very strong nor a very good fighter. I am just lucky. My Hamingja must be strong.
Yes, that is the point I want to make here; I feel lucky. Whatever I have done, for better or worse, I have always been exceptionally lucky. I have had a loaded revolver pointing at my forehead; I have even had a .22 caliber rifle pointing at my head at point blank range fired at me, but it misfired, so I lived to tell about it. One time a guy (a supposed «friend») tried to cut my wrist, attacking me with a knife in a back alley in Bergen, but I just turned my arm around 180 degrees, so all I got was a little cut on my arm.
A Scar to Remember;
One time I ran away from a pack of rabies infected dogs in Baghdad, and managed to – six years old – climb over a more than 2 meter tall concrete wall, to safety, before they caught up with me. They caught my brother and me by surprise. My brother climbed a palm tree instead, and my parents had to rescue him using a car to get to him. The more I think about it, the more such scenes comes into my mind, memories of my own past, and how lucky I was to get away unscathed.
“Death is often the best healer.” (Þulêan proverb)
“He who fears death can not enjoy life.” (Þulêan proverb)
Of course there are many others who have experienced much more than I have, and much worse things too, but the point I wish to make is that I feel lucky. Blessed. Yes; even important. I feel as if someone or even something has protected me ever since I was born. Call it a God or a Spirit if you like, or a Guardian Elf.
Hâvamâl stanza 77
“Deyr fê
deyja frændr,
deyr sjâlfr it sama;
ek veit einn,
at aldregi deyr:
dômr um dauðan hvern.”
(Cattle die,
friends die,
you die the same way yourself;
but I know one thing
which never dies:
the decision of every man’s death.)
The ‘problem’ though is that I feel as if that same someone or something has also lead me into all these problematic situation – as if to educate me. To strengthen me. To prepare me. To turn me into something a bit more useful… This also would explain why I ended up in prison; it was to educate me. Would I have read all those books had I not been locked up and in a sense been forced to do so (or lose my mind if I didn’t)? No, I would probably have died very young, most likely in some desperate suicide attack on… everything.
“There is no death for the honourable, only a change of bodies.” (Þulêan proverb)
I am still here, in this strange world, lucky and guarded by (for lack of a better name for it) Ôðinn. In dark moments I do feel cheated for that heroic death, but I am beginning to trust my destiny more. I am still here for a reason. Maybe just to continue to sing my silly songs, or perhaps for something else. I don’t know yet.
“Death answers before she is asked.” (Þulêan proverb)
I can dream and I can hope; I just don’t seem to be able to plan anything, because my personal wishes and opinion doesn’t seem to be taken into consideration by the gods… C’est la vie, I guess. HailaR WôðanaR!
“A fair death honours the whole life.” (Þulêan proverb)
PS. All “death quotes” are from MYFAROG.