All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed; second, it is violently opposed; and third, it is accepted as self-evident. --Arthur Schopenhauer


It took a long while for Waltre to accept evolution, but when he did things began falling into place. Now that he could see it as being self - evident, a huge weight seemed to fall from his shoulders, and while it was not exactly good to realize that he was descended from an ape, it was not all that bad either.

He had accepted; like Desmond Morris, author of The Human Zoo, that we are the naked apes.

"I suppose we lost our hair, or fur, by wearing animal skins before we evolved into more fashionable clothes." Waltre thought.

"Nah that doesn't make sense. Some naked apes are still running around unclothed in the Rain Forest, and they have less hair than Northern Europeans!"

"Oh well, what do I know? I suppose I'll just have to read Desmond Morris again."
He concluded.

"The main thing is that I have accepted the fact that I'm descended from an ape; and whether or not I've come from the furry kind or the non-furry kind doesn't matter. But then again...hmmm."

"Maybe we didn't have fur to begin with!"

"If so, that might explain why we seem to have evolved into where we are now - while a whole lot of apes are still swinging around having a fine old time in the jungle. I mean, not having any skin covering, and being naked, like, it might have been very embarrassing."

Waltre remembered vivid dreams where he was totally nude in a public place. In the dreams he'd tried to pretend that it was perfectly normal, but deep inside he knew that he was the only one walking around totally naked. The worst part of the dreams was when he was defecating in a public place, and if the defecating wasn't enough, he then had to wipe himself in public!

'The dreams could be a subconscious link to an archaic time in our evolution." He thought. "Maybe it's a deep subconscious memory."

He thought about how no other animal had evolved to a point where it had decided to wear clothes, but then he slipped into the stage of beer drinking where his inhibitions suddenly began slipping away.

Before he slipped into total inhibition he made a mental note: "I must keep on listening to Brain Booster CD."

He then went into total inhibition; which isn't really much worth writing about.

The baby arrived on the 22nd. Mother and baby are fine. I just called my daughter; she was having the babies photo taken, and then they were all going to her mums house to show the baby off during her moms big Thanksgiving day family get together.

My daughter informed me that the nurses voted Kiara the best looking baby in the ward, and I'm not in the least bit surprised to hear of it.

I am now a Gramps, a Grandad, a Grampa.

My daughters fiancé asked me if I felt older now that I was a Grandad, and I honestly answered that I did not. It's not like one suddenly wakes up to the fact of being old when one realizes that one is a grampa.

I like the idea of it, actually, I mean if one is old anyway, then why not play the role? I plan on playing the role well. While the thought of old age is not pleasant; the thought of being a grampa sits very well with me.

I couldn't help but be amazed at the miracle of birth.

The idea of a new life coming into existence in a place that is mostly concerned with old lives going out of existence did not escape me. Hospitals are a place that one usually thinks of as a place where the battle between life and death rages. It's a place of violence between the old reaper and doctors and nurses. It's a place where doctors and nurses lose many battles. They lose much more battles than they win; and even when they win one, they know that it's not a total victory.

They know that in the end they'll lose, but they still keep on fighting against the inevitable.

For such a thing as birth to take place amid such a furious battle between life and death...it amazes me, and to witness a birth one must trudge through the hallways of the dying until one gets to the purple elevators that takes one to a small corner of the third floor where life is coming in instead of going out.

Being around such a thing as birth cannot help but energize one. Instead of feeling older by being called a Grampa; I actually, truly, think I feel younger.

It amazes me that the maternity ward is even more of place of violence than the rest of the hospital. The violence of the battle for the outgoing is like it's in slow motion; and the dying go out peacefully in most cases, but the arrivals come in amid, here and now, real time violence.

The sound of my daughters screams, I tell yer, oh my oh my.

I knocked on the door, then I opened it, and I was told in no uncertain terms to go away. I was interrupting a battle. Very serious business was going on. The tone of their female voices was very serious in deed.

I heard my daughter scream again: then I beat it to the waiting room knowing I was way out of my league.

When it comes to birthing, I'd much rather leave it to the women.

Men are told to kill; the women can't help but give birth; and on and on it goes.

The tide goes out, and the tide comes in. Life has a rhythm to it. We have spring, summer, autumn and winter, and then we have spring again.

I looked into my grand child's eyes, and she looked back at mine, and I couldn't help but let out a small bit of joy and laughter.

What a scene? And what a victory!

Waltre

As I walked into the Hospital, for some strange reason, I looked at my cell phone for the time.

The time was 9.11pm.

Oh my.

My two children were born on September 11th, and that means they were both born on 9/11.

My son was born on 9-11-1976, and my daugher was born on 9-11-1987, at eleven o'clock in the morning. There was exactly 11 years between the birth of my my son and my daughter.

I looked at the date on my cell phone. It was November 21st.

The reason why I was at the hospital was to visit my daugher who is expecting her first child. Her baby girl will be my first grandchild.

It's looking like Kiara will be born on November 22nd, and that means she'll be born on 11/22.

Two elevens make twenty two...
I
Is that a bit of a coincidence or what?

It was my second visit today.

Kiara is a wee bit late. So the doctors are inducing her birth, and it's along process. Sarah's mother, my second ex-wife, was there along with Sarah's cousin, and Sarah's fiance was also there. They've been by her side ever since she entered the birthing room of the hospital at midnight last night.

When it comes to having babies I'm old fashioned enough to leave it to the women. If the father of the baby wants to be there then that's okay, but it's not a place for Dad and her brother. It's a female thing, and I think it should stay that way. As such my visits were not much more than showing my face, and then getting the heck out of the way.

Also, I don't like Hospitals. I get nervous even walking in the door of a hospital, and while in the birthing room I couldn't take my eyes off the screen that showed the heart beats.

"Her heart beat is 180 beats a minute!"

"It's okay dad."

"Are you sure?"

When I was in the hospital earlier on today it was like walking into Grand Central Station. I could hardly believe it. People were all over the place. Signs pointed to one thing or another, this way for Cancer, this way for heart...

I dodged around people, and wheel chairs, to the information desk, and I asked for the Maternity ward.

"Keep walking down that corridor over there until you come to the purple elevators then take one of them to the third floor."

"Why purple?" I thought, as I dodged my way around people, on the way to the purple elevators.

It was a lot different when I went back tonight. The place was almost deserted. The janitors were cleaning up, and then I walked past a huge group of interns that were being led by an important looking doctor.

They moved to one side as I walked past them, and it felt like I was running the gauntlet. I could tell that they were weighing me up. Their eyes were full of intelligent curiousity.

I could read their minds. Like: Hmmm. I wonder what's wrong with him.

I felt so self conscious that I could hardly put one foot in front of another, but then I said fuck them.

I straightened up and projected the impression that there's nothing wrong with me mate! And you can get tee fuck with all yer wondering and very curious eyes.


Waltre de Daltre

It's been three weeks since I started to listen the Brain Super Charger CD, and I must admit that things are beginning to change for the better.

Maybe it's just because of the deep relaxation, or maybe it's Mozarts concerto for two piano's, I don't know why, but I can really get the sense that I'm in for something completely different.

It's like; the other day I was in a meeting at work. It was, as usual, not very entertaining and totally useless; but then one of the older men began to make noises. He was smacking his lips and letting out small grunts. I glanced over at him and realized that he was asleep. The meeting went on without him, but every now and then he would grunt or smack his lips, and the expression on the big bosses face was a joy tee behold.

One couldn't help but smile. We were all exchanging eye contact and trying not to smile, but it soon became too much for us to cope with. First one person started laughing, then another, and pretty soon we were all laughing. The laughter woke the old guy up, and his attempt to act like nothing had happened really got us going. The only person not amused by it all was the boss, but to his credit, he didn't tell the old lad off till he had him alone after the meeting.

The old guys response, out of the bosses hearing, of course, was: "Fuck him if he can't take a joke!"

I got me thinking. Like; every person at that meeting had a totally different aspect of it - in that everyone saw the meeting without themselves in it - because everyone at the meeting could see everyone but themselves.

Do you get my drift?

It's like we all see the world around us, but we don't see what other people see, because they can see us, and we see a world without us; and as such, in a way, we are all observers of a world that is slightly different.

I was thinking about it all while shaving; and it occurred to me that while I can look in a mirror to see myself; I can only see one aspect of myself. All I can see is the front side. I suppose I could surround myself with mirrors to see myself from as many angles as possible, but I would still only be seeing the things that I choose to see. In a way, we all distort what we see. Be it from prejudice, love, hate, hope, or self preservation, we all distort what we see; and to make matters even more complicated we all have our own little worlds within the bigger world, and we call a small part of that inner world our conscious mind. Our conscious mind is what we use to try to fool the world we see into believing we are something completely different than what we actually know, or think we know, ourselves to be.

But are we really what we think we are? I doubt it. I also think we are wrong in what we think other people are. We are obviously wrong. How could one not be? How can anyone actually get it right?

The world is illusion, the only solid truth in it is that we are here observing it, and that we are jumping to wrong conclusions. It's like; God made the world, and then He wanted to see what it was like from every angle. Every crack in this world is teeming with life! It's like: Let's see what it looks like from this aspect, or this one, and observers are all over the place. I have no doubt that as I type, seemingly alone, typing away in my computer room, drinking my beer, smoking my ciggy, that I am being observed, and that I'm being very carefully weighed up by spiders.

They'd better be careful, because if I see them I'll kill the ugly wee bastards.

Waltre de Daltre