Chapter 205: pill testing

My grandkids dance around the lounge room.

Bump and thump and grinding in time with the radio.

They say: Look at me.

They kick their legs high and say: Can you do this?

I doze and dream of twenty years’ time. I dream of them doing what they are doing now. Enjoying themselves. Exercising physically and socially. Listening to music and kicking their legs. Throwing their arms. Rolling their hips. Twisting and turning. In twenty years’ time I dream of them dancing at a music festival.  Maybe not after a bowl of porridge.

In my vision of future music festivals I see free and loose unrestricted dancing. I see people getting high on the music and movement. Not relying on drugs to lift themselves up.  I see them getting high by being with their friends and by making new friends. By dancing with other people. By enjoying physical movement of themselves and the people around them.  I see them enjoying physical contact with other people.

In this future fantasy festival I smell legal and illegal drugs amongst the swirling twisting legs and arms. I see my grandchildren obeying the law of the day. Whatever it is.  If they don’t like a law they will try and change it. They will know the law of the day and where it is made.  They will know how and why laws are changed and how to be a part of changing laws they don’t like.

In my dream of the future I see official government workers. Promoting and spreading messages about a healthy lifestyle. Promoting a drug free life style. Promoting safe, minimal use or no use of tobacco, alcohol and party pills.  

My dream contains a few dark clouds. I see some people taking illegal pills. I see some weak people attracted to a quick fix. I see people making mistakes. I see people who are not perfect. Who have not had perfect lives. I see people attracted to dangerous pills.

My dream shows me police not arresting people for taking illegal drugs. My dream contains police who treat taking of illegal drugs as a medical problem. Not a problem that can be solved by locking people up in prison. My dream shows the community helping the weak pill takers. Helping them understand that illegal drugs leads to crime, death and suffering. Locally or in foreign countries.

My apparition includes strong healthy happy people getting high on music and dancing. Living their life without the assistance of quick fixes. Not needing magic pills. Illegal or legal.

My vision contains a scene with positive and constructive people wandering around and talking to the weak. Give them advice and helping them get high by dancing and grinding. I see the strong helping the weak.  I see the strong helping others avoid a tiny little pill. I see crime death and misery avoided here and far away.

My hazy foggy view of the future shows me my grandkids enjoying a music festival. Enjoying the music and movement without taking illegal pills. My dream doesn’t include pill testing. My dream doesn’t include scenes of people taking good healthy pills. My dream includes the weak, troubled, naive being helped. Being helped by their friends and public workers.

I  see my grandkids enjoying music, enjoying their bodies and being sensitive and compassionate to the people around them. 

They can dance to music this morning before school. Why can’t they do it in twenty years’ time? In twenties years they won’t have their grandfather embarrass them by thinking he can kick higher.   

Chapter 204: Real Tasmanians

I meander on the Queens Domain with my grandkids. Along a track by the river we see the remnants of a pile of shells, some bones and charcoal. I ask my grandkids what has happened here. Did someone eat some shell fish? When did they eat the shellfish? When did people stop eating shell fish down here? What else do you think happened here?  

My mind travels back in time to years ago when these middens were made. And twenty years in the future. When my grandkids are adult Tasmanians. 

I want them to see the story behind these shells as their story. They live in Tasmanian. They see the future of Tasmania and their own personal future as being linked.  They are Tasmanians. They need to know where Tasmania will flow in the future. Before they know where we are going they need to know how we arrived at our current position.

They all go to a nearby primary school. Everybody at their school is unique. They all look different. They all have different heights, weights, hair and have different abilities.  They all have different heritages and different antecedents. Some were born in faraway places. Some can trace their family back for generations living on this island. All either came here or had antecedents that came here sometime from somewhere. Most are a mixture.

Every student at the school is the same, unique story. My grandkids have a wide variety of ancestors.  Their great grandparents lived in disparate parts of this globe with no knowledge of their coming connection.  Their great grandparents eventually came together; then the grandparents; then the parents and finally they were born. 

I would love to see all the school kids respect all their classmates because of their differences. Rejoice and appreciate the differences. Celebrate and laugh with the guy sitting on the next desk about the food he eats. 

I would love to see all the kids in all their classes accept the history of all Tasmania as their history. 

“A long time ago some early Tasmanians ate shell fish down here by the river” 

“A long time ago some early Tasmanians built this great big house.”

“I want to remember the people who selflessly and bravely fought in a World War 1.”

“I want to remember all the people who courageously fought for their lives and culture up here on the Domain.”

“Who was the Queen in the Queens Domain?”

Maybe my grandkids can learn from New Zealand kids.  Before the All Blacks play the team performs the haka. The haka comes directly from one particular Mauri tribe. This tribe is proud to share a bit of their culture with other Mauri, Pakeha and others. The rugby players coming from far off lands are all happy to accept the haka as their haka. All New Zealanders are proud of the haka. It belongs to all of them.  

In twenty years my grandkids will be adults. I want them to be proud Tasmanians. Proud of the history of all Tasmanians. Proud of the history and culture of early Tasmanians who lived here thousands of years ago. Proud of the history of the early Tasmanians because it is their history.  Proud of the aborigine’s knowledge and connection to the land. Proud of the institutions and connections the British settlers bought with them. 

In the future I hope my grandkids will live in a world without barriers and walls. A world without discrimination and prejudice. Where everybody around the world has equal opportunity to everything (health, education, housing and employment). Where everybody can live where ever they want to. 

Where everybody acts responsibly about their local environment. Where everybody knows it belongs to everybody. And where everybody assumes it is up to them to look after it. 

I hope my grandkids live in a world where the only tribalism is on the sport field. Where the sporting spectators are the only people who resort to bland stereotypes. In twenty years I hope all Tasmanians are proud of all Tasmanian history and see it as their history.  

Chapter 203: I love traffic

I take a couple of steps to cross the road.  I then see a car turning the corner and coming towards me so I abruptly stop. At the same time as I see the car and stop the car sees me and stops. Both me and the car are still. We are both motionless. We wait for each other to move.

Well if the car is not going to go them I will. I start to cross the road.  Simultaneously the car decides it’s time to drive forward. We both move towards each other.  And then we simultaneously stop again. We are mirroring each other. I now look at the driver. Trying to decide what is the next step in our dance. The next step is to share a laugh.

I continue my walk alongside a major arterial road. Ceaseless streams of cars.  An endless noise constantly changing. Trucks provide a throbbing, deep, bass sound.  Motor bikes provide a shriller, sharper sound.

The never-ending steam of cars perseveres. It keeps on appearing from nowhere and giving me views of the very fortunate drivers. The drivers are all fit and healthy.  They can all control the car by moving their bodies.   They can all see the road and the other cars and hopefully me.

Somebody has gone to the trouble of teaching them how to drive.  Somebody has become frustrated sitting next to them pointing out the obvious.

The drivers are all driving in a car which cost money. Most of them have jobs and have saved up to buy the best car. Which is normally a different car from the next driver.

The drivers are all watching the other cars and obeying all the rules. They are all driving on safe roads maintained by the fluorescent brigade leaning on their shovels.

And I see one guy driving and sitting next to a furry companion. The curious dog sits under a seatbelt and peers around. That guy looks very happy.  

I squint for a closer look at the next car as it flashes by. Dangling, swinging objects hang from the mirror. The car is a blank canvas which has been decorated. And the final work of art is displayed for everybody to enjoy.

And next car is a polished, gleaming car showing pride. With mag wheels and very thick tires. This gleaming, shiny car is not stained with stickers.

Unlike this car. A doll on the dashboard, flags from the aerial and bumper stickers. Telling everybody what footy team is the best.  

And now a car with cushions. Soft indulgent cushions lying unused in front of back window. They are very useful for making the driver happy.  

I then hear music pumping, thumping and causing a car to rock and roll.  The driver and passenger both sing along.

And I see a lucky guy who owns more than a car. He owns a mobile phone. And he sits in his balloon of silence and talk to people he’s doing business with. He doesn’t have to search for a public phone. He doesn’t have to hunt for petty cash.  He can settle and solve the issue now. He can save himself time. Today he can be more productive.  He is making the economy and us all richer.

ime for me to re-cross the road.  All the cars obey the traffic lights and stop when told.

All of the drivers are very fortunate. They are lucky. They live in a prosperous country. They live at a time when they can afford to buy a car. They can paint it their favourite color.  They can decorate the car.  They can fill it with cushions.  They all drive carefully and consider the drivers next to them.  And next to them is another driver obeying all the road rules. They are all driving along a road devoid of potholes. They can conduct business at the same time. They are fit and healthy.

The drivers are all waiting for me to cross the road. They are all very fortunate and very lucky. Except for one thing. They have to sit and fiddle with their steering wheel and watch me dance across the road.