The Compass Spins...Playa del Karma
Everything begins to change. I am not the same as I used to be...and so why carry on this weight of history with me despite the transformation? The old identities, the baggage, the old Dim. Time for a new phoenix to rise...out of the ashes of recent broken scrap metal and bone. Iv'e hesitated long enough, deciding what to write, what not to write. Sometimes words just dont say enough and I resort to poetry. The poetry I tuck away on another tumblr site: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dimixes
I've already rebranded this blog in a way to reflect more of my inner self..I've given birth to Kokopello. But as he sleeps in his graphic novel realm, I live..and he dreams of my strange life, and current nightmare. We are reflections of each other, a creation made in the creator's image and vice versa..now how to exercise this into full manifestation, where his reality, created by me reflects my reality..giving me the power to fabricate my own destiny in a way..I contemplate this further as I add another chapter to the latest happenings.
...a continuation, of my latest adventures and latest thoughts. This story, pure in heart, is far more interesting, more natural in way of writing as in life. My recent reading of Carlos Castaned "Journey to Ixtlan" remind me of my own journey..my journey forward wherever that may lead. And as I wait upon my current situation, I contemplate what happens next, following what happened recently.
A month ago I crashed my motorcycle, injuring myself and friend Misha, we've been slowly recovering, staying with friends...currently in Playa Del Carmen..or as I've come to call it Playa de Karma...perhaps my fate was written as such to keep me here for a few eternities more.
Why the wait? I ask myself the same. There is a bureaucratic machine of politics, federal police, my insurance company, lawyers (ABOGADOS), Municipal offices of Cancun, Puerto Morelos, Playa del Carmen, and most likely Satan himself, all mixed up in the slow churning of this sour broth.
I have been sucked into an inescapable vortex. Unbeknown to me, some Mayan curse is at work, testing all forms of patience that's left in my nerves. I have received curve balls for answers, when consulting Mapfre Insurance company (If ever I had a grievance with a firm, this one eclipses all inhumane behaviors)...granted, my Spanish comprehension glitches at best, especially on the phone, but even when I get some English speaker on the other end, nothing moves forward. I get different answers from different people. One passes me to the next, directs me to a phone number that fails to work. Many times the phone gets hung up. Emails go unanswered, my claim number sees no light at the end of this tunnel.
Iv'e naturally adopted the help of my dear bilingual friends with whom I've been humbly residing all this time..they too sigh with hopeless exasperation.."Welcome to Mexico."
Victor from Cancun, two weeks Misha and I stayed with this guy, I drew him a present on the wall for his generosity.
My Insurance firm, they've told me my policy covers everything, they've told me my policy covers nothing. Finally they've told me I have -partial coverage..which includes legal consultation (a personal lawyer to aid & consult me), repairs to my motorcycle (with a deductible), repair to property damage and anyone else that got in my way...the other car in my case.
The towing, the travel costs, the impound (where daily charges are accruing 25 pesos/day)...It's been over a month now. None of that is covered..and neither are the medical bills.
As thus, I've covered my own hospital expenses and those of Misha's, my broken clavicle, it's not too expensive, no surgery required..My passenger, his cost exceeded some $4k, the operation on Misha's fractured knee and all. This was sadly all my money for the journey south to Argentina...
I opted out of investing in travel insurance..something to reconsider upon my next globe-trot. Another thing to consider is to carry no other human cargo than myself.
Responsible as I naturally felt for this accident, being the driver, I've expended my funds without hesitation. And even still, Mexican law, posted two armed guards for my 48 hour stay at the Hospital General, in Cancun. The place was naturally jam-packed, I was lucky to be given a spot in the hallway. At night I was hand-cuffed to my army cot for good measure in case I entertained any thoughts of escaping with my flesh corpse of a body.
Needless to say, I wasn't happy with my stay here. Yes, I understand it's a poor hospital, but there is common courtesy and there is negligence. The only reason why we came here was due to the goofy run-around my insurance company had me do. On the phone, my Insurance was gladly accepted, upon arrival at hospital 1, 2 and 3..it was not. Hospitals have long since become businesses, and care not to lift a finger until you cough up money. Going from one hospital to the next, Hospital General was our last stop for the night. It was 5 hours after impact, Misha needed immediate attention..and we weren't getting any.
They separated us, took all my belongings into holding, minus my iphone and pocket sketchbook (into which I snuck my debit card)..and if not for this quick thinking, releasing myself or Misha from that asylum would have been impossible. The way this mad place operates, is you need someone from outside to come in and pay your bills. Brilliant idea if you happen to be a traveling gypsy with no immediate relatives on standby. Anyway, there was an ATM down the hallway that I frequented the few times I wasn't chained to my bed surface.
Cash solved a few immediate problems, like when it came to paying to get more credit on my phone, and getting Misha the hell outta there and to a different hospital once I discovered one that was a little more humane.
In the meantime I laid in perfect discomfort, swatted at flies that enjoyed my lovely festering road rashes and meditated to the sound of painful screams from down the hallway. I caught a fever my second night, trembling cold, gnashing teeth and wrapped in two layers of bed sheets. They stuck a syringe into my ass which calmed things down a bit.
Upon my official release, 48 hours after, off I went to find Misha at a different hospital...a private one that promised to operate on the knee right away as opposed a week later. It's interesting how the brain starts to operate when you are stuck in life, moneyless, without posessions. The brain starts to craft one battle scenario after the next, under epic stress. And the hours..what slow poison...never has time trickled at such a pace.
At one point, my friend Karim from Tulum arrived. Nothing like seeing a friendly face at a place like that. He helped me make some phone calls, transfer cash for Misha's surgery and contact the U.S. Consulate. 48 hours had eventually passed and the guard had told I could go anytime. It took another 2 hours or so before I could leave that hell.
Took a taxi to San Gabriel hospital, where Mish was, and chilled there for a few nights until his release. Surgery went without problem, except my bank was giving me all sorts of problems with all the large sums of money being sucked out of my account.
Another good friend, Wilbur, arranged our stay with Victor, as mentioned earlier...a wonderful couchsurfer soul. Two weeks after we made our way south to Playa Del Carmen to stay with another comrade, Yimer Cadena...This brings me up to date as far as where I am now..
waiting...and waiting, ever so patiently waiting..
----NOISE----
stillbirth. the pace of absolute suspended animation. the humans of these parts contain no ounce of motivation...
only the ever-repeated cycle of sleep,
lifeless depression into the mind realm.
I fear I may become like them,
as here I sit...
my nature unadaptable, with the current of this stagnant stream.
my dear beloved comrade coffee.
instant mix when added to hot water.
if only all things in this life bubbled so tasty fast.
and so my caffeinated intoxication...
three mugs to kick morning anxiety into fifth gear.
and yes this hummingbird is a judgmental type,
residing in a realm outside of it's typical whirlwind haste.
one blessed irritation after the next,
nerve damage on the astral plane.
seven inputs of constant ceaseless aggravation
in the form of sound, pain, itching,
and the lack of any hope for resolution of my current state of purgatory hell.
am I still here to learn?
Playa Del Karma...
so deep, your lesson,
enough to bury me into my grave twice-fold.
I'm numb...broken at the ethereal joints
and thirsty for a sip of sanity.
release me!
to my left, a bird from hell mocks me with its shrills,
the sound of twenty retarded infants... (forgive the thought)
squawking from one beak.
a rhythem-less drum thunders somewhere farther back.
by the time this noise reaches the ear drum, its echo throws the pace off-beat, distorting anything by name of music.
Noise.
the front door, open as it is, to remedy the blasts of heat
funnels in further irritation...
opera music from across the street,
barking,
the squeal of babies,
a scrape of axel of some bypassing car.
crying and sobbing,
as if a mirror of all my inner agonies projected.
and more...
a cacophony from satanic and desperate vendors
they pedal by, with wagons of whatever have you...
honking their horns and ringing bells.
this hell, designed beyond perfection
for the driving of minds into oblivion.
such noise.
