I’m late, late…never on time

Not late, fashionably choosing to alter the dates and time of my publications to one more fitting with my imagination and what it likes doing for fun. Today was no exception, and it gave the white Rabbitt ammunition for his game with fate. She had sent me for a loop with a story about what would happen to the world, should I choose the path of resistance versus the one of the reed defence, which is perishingly hard to achieve, when it’s main tenants are to bend in the force of action against you and to slip quietly aside from the deadly thrusts and punches sent your way. It is a peaceful, centred and positive strategy to adopt, so long as everything remains the same, the emotional stability needed to find focus with such a devotion is easy to achieve, less so when ammunition is in motion and stability is defined by the size of the wave that just crashed across your bow.

Such was the case today when fate, more than a little tiddly with drinking tears of grief, spun out what I thought was a tired old fictional tale about anomalies in the white Rabbitt’s past that make the most implausible possibilities, seem probable in the calm display and images she concocts in the tavern tap room when all present go silent at the beauty of the magic she weaves, and even the gods stop being planets long enough to take notice, scratch at their tallies and alter the odds on the board that hangs beside the board where the playing pieces gather dust…the moves here are made in the creative recesses of the mortal mind and play out in three dimensional reality.

Which is why I laughed along with everyone else as she dropped that worn trope about my identity not being what I think, and there being dark forces afoot that would see harm come to be, in fact…as the story goes, the dark forces have already been at work and what the white rabbitt thought were just difficulties to manage were the strategic thrusts of deliberate action, that followed a sinister path to its conclusion which is straight out of one of my favourite spy films, there is even reference to Swiss bank accounts, world events, and the past not being what I thought, and my safety and security in question.

Laughingly, I stood and finished my beer, before retiring back behind the bar to tend to my business. But curiosity peaked and by evening I was doing a ritual, my hands shaking, and my heart beating as Adrenalin coursed through my chest in the way it does when anxiety is acting up, or in my case, when I think I am in danger.

The ritual was both simple and complicated…simple in that I do not say much, and that in a cant, short and sweet that never changes…my pagan ways have a heavy orthodox bent, with Anglican origins in a sort of reverse spiritualism going backwards in time, from current to source material…it brings me comfort to pray, when the walls start to fade, reality blurs and the boundary becomes see through and I pray that it remains impermeable for the sake of pretty much everyone I would hazard to say…there are definitely some questions that are raised by my inner self when the images appear and the faces come clear, and I can see clear into another world, one that takes on dangerous hues and colours that defy natural order.

Tonight I prepared a small box, one in which I placed a memory for my family, I put the box on top of all the registered identifications that I have of their existence…and that is why I am shaking tonight, and maybe letting the grief in a little.

You see, I found two things that set me off down the road of believing in fate, that being finding my grade 2 report card…finding it had no date, and viewing all the ids I have of my late father, with every signature the same save one, the oldest piece of photo identification, his University student ID, the P is different, the only time…every other piece, every one from 1978 onwards…has a different P that is the same…

Grade 2 was the year I became a citizen, also flew back to Britain to visit my grand parents…I have a picture, and nanas journal of what I did on my holidays…which I remember was great fun. 1983. His signature was different, and that disturbs me because the two stories he used to tell about growing up in Sunderland…I found both stories, complete with pictures, in a book on his hometown, written 20 years before the time he set his own recollections.

My mother and I, my sister and my father arrived in Canada July 26, 1978…there is nothing online except reference to all immigration papers archived for that year, which was also a year they updated their hardware and data collection systems… we had two passports and 3 pictures between us…my mother was in my fathers passport as his wife, and I was a one line entry with no picture, in my sisters passport, which you can tell she signed herself…myself, my sister and my father were all processed with immigration paperwork, issued in England prior to departure and still in my possession…the staple on mine obscures the registration number…a glitch, the first I found…

My mother entered the country as a Canadian citizen, she grew up in a Canada, and became a citizen shortly before moving back to England, marrying my father and living abroad for ten years…Do you see the problem that has me a little perturbed this evening…she was gone for over ten years, and entered the country on a British passport as a wife, with a different last name than her citizenship card, which I have in my possession, contained.

The easiest answer is that everything is fine, or is that the difficult answer, depends on the person who reads the data…easiest answer could be my mother, and therefore me, are in the country illegally…and despite it being the simplest answer, it creates with it difficulties that require questions and answers. How one goes about this is not my purview…in my mind the simplest answer is to ask my mother but her memory is gone, and I have been unable to reach through to her since 2008, a situation I find is highly exacerbated by her doctors refusal to acknowledge her condition, saying she is fine in one breath, then downloading her complete care to me, with no authority in place to act for her best interests, because the lawyer filed false papers and disappeared, and a dozen year odyssey began that I have spent the last four years trying to steer my way through in understanding while continuously scoffing at the preponderance of evidence I have before me that indicates something very serious has gone on in my life, without my knowledge…and being as how I am located at the mid point between two significant points in distance, in the middle of a construct I had no idea existed…that is shaped like the elder futhark rune for Ingwaz, the Norse god who the ancient Kings of my people, claimed descent from, my people not being the people I grew up thinking I was, my anglo Saxon ancestry being one of the first pillars to fall…so here I am in this precise location, with all sorts of technology surrounding me, and I cannot get fate to show me a single direction, that does not lead back to me being someone else entirely, and I think it may just very well be a rabbitt…that’s me. Always fashionably late to the game, but nevertheless, armed to the teeth with a quick mind and a creative turn about the place…as for absorbing the many facets of fates incredible story…you will just have to wait for the book to appear.

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