|THE WINNER GAVE IT ALL|
And I said, What shall I do, LORD? And the Lord said unto me, Arise, and go ... (Acts 22, 10)
11. Exit the king
Is it not typical of the way life plays games with you? In the previous chapter I praised my little Suzuki Wagon R+ minivan for being super reliable. I had no doubt it would transport my friend Richard and myself to Port Lincoln for our adventurous trip. And it did, almost perfectly.
On the return journey, however, the engine had given a warning signal. The temperature gauge had risen to very high in the 37 deg. heat as we approached Port Augusta. After arriving home I should have ...
Fast forward four weeks. My friend Geoff and I were travelling in the opposite direction in the same little green machine. This trip east was arranged after a brief, chance meeting in a shopping mall. We decided to drive to Melbourne by car (note: by car!) to watch our football team play against Melbourne Heart.
*Now, four days later on Jan.4th 2012 (note the date), driving into the early morning sunrise, Geoff commented, how well my Suzuki had served me all these years. The odometer had reached well above the 316 000 km mark.
As if I had had a premonition about something, I said to my friend, as we cruised along in my little green machine: "Don't praise her to soon. Wait until we get home."
There were three reasons I said that. The first one is obvious. My mother had a saying: "Man soll the Tag nicht vor dem Abend loben." (Lit translation: One must not praise the day before the evening).
The second reason - I should have arranged for the Suzuki to be serviced immediately after the overheating problem near Port Augusta. Instead, I thought I had fixed the heating problem by changing the coolant myself, while a friend changed the oil etc. My mechanic was on his annual holiday and, maybe subconsciously, I did not trust my mechanical ability. (I was right... forgot about the thermostat).
The third reason I felt apprehensive about this (1758) journey east may sound weird to readers, who don't know me. Yet, I now can see God was working, telling me two days before, in a strange way, the trip to Melbourne would not be happening:
A doctor had agreed that I could still take the trip to Melbourne: "You should be OK for an hour in the plane." I said, we're going to Melbourne by car. Unless I misunderstood, she indicated, if I kept up the medication and took things easy, I should be all right. It was good news at the time.
DF now digital: Olympus VR 310
Geoff understood that we'd miss our football match in Melbourne. Our team Adelaide United won without us - 2:1 on 4/1. It was our first win in Melbourne in four years. (A few days after the previous chapter at Hindmarsh Stadium a match ended 2:2.on Dec. 22. Geoff may have preferred a win, but he loves number 2 and 22 too.)
The three-hour trip home on the bus from Tintinara was a very painful experience, physically. As I tried to find a comfortable position I had time to reflect. This had been the very first time in 13 years that my reliable Suzuki required the services of our breakdown service organisation. It's called RAA, which I found amusing in Tintinara.
Amused, because in the movie theatres right at that time, the movie Tintin was showing. (A pity there was no movie theatre in Tintin.ara!)
More fun, despite the pain, came that same evening, back home in Adelaide. Until Isobel had to take me back to the hospital (Yes, it was a fun start to 2012) I was laying on the lounge watching Eddie McGuire's Millionaire Hotseat Quiz-show. One question came up:
What did I find amusing? That day I was on my way to Melbourne by car!
But there was more. Geoff had made the phone booking for our bus trip back to Adelaide. He was given a booking receipt number, which he asked me to write down: 175 158. It meant nothing to him; (no 2 in it). And even his friend, who is easily captivated by numbers, does occasionally have other things on his mind: Car engine kaput, can't sit or walk without pain, and .. how is the football team going to win without us?
Later that night back home in Adelaide, completely unrelated to the above, a sensational result of an election came on the TV news. In the first US Presidential Primary Election in Iowa an almost unknown candidate almost won! When I say unknown candidate, I mean unknown outside the US. When I say almost won, he actually won in the end.
Rick Santorum came close second, after the first count: Romney 30 015, Santoro 30 007. As I looked at the figures on the screen I thought, how close can it get? Numbers immediately jumped into my brain: 175; 8 votes only the difference between those two candidates. Now you see why I earlier wrote my 1758 journey.
What has puzzled me ever since - why it took two weeks before the Republican Party had the brainwave to conduct a recount? The latest news on (Jan 22, 12) reports that the Iowa result had been overturned and Rick Santorum was declared winner by 34 votes.
The Today Show (USA), on the morning of this writing, mentioned this had never happened before - three different winners in the first three primaries!
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For years now, after every Chapter I write and publish online, my brain detects data of many and varied kinds. In a flash it links it to what I had written. The above example following Chapter 10, Book 10 is only one example. There was another two ten, which showed, in typical fashion, in a car registration plate:
My wife was buying a pair of special sandals, which were only available in certain shops. On that day, just before Christmas 11, we were already at Mitcham for a funeral. The shop, were my wife was to buy her shoes, was just down the bay, at Glenelg.
I parked purposely near the main supermarket, knowing my wife may want to also do a little grocery shopping. To keep me from going insane (shop-phobic) we decided to split for an hour. While she did her spending, I took a walk to learn more about my new digital camera and give it a [car registration plate] road-test
Just meters from where we had parked I spotted these two vehicles, parked behind each other:
Parked vehicles provide creative numbers
The two tens appeared in other forms. I saw it in Luke 2, 10, a scripture for Christmas*: "Then the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid, for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people."
As do numbers, names tease my creative, quick brain into creating fun. Our Da Ninci code really has developed to such a degree, it is becoming easier to re-create names, words or phrases.
On the German DW-TV News Journal a name popped up ever so briefly. In Germany a man named Achim is as common as one called Gery in Australia. Achim Sommer was his full name. It took only nanoseconds, after viewing ch as one letter, to decode Achim as the biblical book of Micha.
The next step, yes there was more, took a little longer. Hours later, it may even have been a day or so, did the question enter my head: Is the word Sommer (translated summer) mentioned in the Book of Micha?
Sure enough, it is there: Mentioned only 27 times in the bible, the word summer appears in Micha Chapter 7, Verse 1:
Friends, God hears those who look to HIM, who spend time to wait for HIM, who embrace HIM and HIS teaching in earnest
Still, there was more in this episode. Achim Sommer was associated with the Max Ernst-Museum in Bruehl, Germany. Inexplicably, after googling the museum some time later, my decoding brain found two references to the sport, which dominates our TV screens at present. It's the Australian Open Tennis Championship.
The address listed online for this museum was rather unusual: 42 Come St. / 1 Max Ernst-St.
The similar number 1024 had been rather prominent in the previous chapter, which featured a tennis ball. But the next thought, revealed an even more direct link from this very place to the sport of tennis. Two outstanding sports stars, two world-class German tennis players, Steffi Graf and Boris Becker, came from Bruehl, Germany. (The two tennis' of Bruehl).
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At this point in my writing I scanned and pasted the extract below onto this page. Next, I left my writing in order to meet a friend for a coffee and light lunch in the city. How, I don't know; only that it looked like magic numbers, as so often, followed me. (Friends believe me when I say I don't plan any of this, I just observe, ponder and leave the rest to God.)
By mistake, my account for the coffee and pancakes at the Cafe came to $ 11.15. By mistake I mean the waitress must have misunderstood. I ordered a mug of coffee, but was charged for the price of a cup of coffee. I did not say anything at first. (Had I done so, no magic!)
The scan I had done earlier was from a July 2011 German language newsletter. I came across it cleaning my office. Take a look why I was surprised about the number 1115 and others.
Recipe for Erbsensuppe (translated peasoup, pronounced peace soup)
On the morning of this writing, as our country celebrates Australia Day with a shrimp on the barbie, I had my fun by telling the (AUS) Today Show about this. I couldn't help myself, adding a comment about my passion, truth for my innocent friend in jail.
This Australia Day morning I also contacted Today (USA). Former Speaker of the US House of Representatives Nancy Pelosi was quoted saying: "He [Newt Gingrich] is not going to be President of the United States. That's not going to happen. Let me just make my prediction and stand by it. It isn't going to happen." Her comment caused a real stir over there.
After his win in the South Caroline primary election Newt Gingrich had said something, which I found somewhat amusing. He indicated he would challenge President Obama to seven 3-hour-long debates. Can you imagine, two intelligent looking men, wearing a red tie, white shirt and black suit, engaging for three hours in a political, televised debate? (Go ahead, if you must, but please don't wear my current favourite colours?)
There was a reason I filled in the feedback form. You guessed it, those numbers 3 and 7:
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Summer in Southern Australia this year is hot. Perth is having it's fifth day above 40 deg.C. Our temperatures have not been quite as severe, but still rather hot. After working on this chapter on Monday 23/1 I decided to drive to our closest beach, Semaphore, 20 minutes away to enjoyed my annual swim and to watch the sun set into St. Vincent's Gulf.
I took the Weekend Australian Magazine for something to read. It had been a year or more since I had bought the newspaper it came with. (Read on, what I strange message I deciphered as I relaxed in a folding chair on the sand.)
On the radio, as I headed home about 8.30 PM, I heard the announcer on ABC Radio 891 speak about a meeting, which was taking place in Port Adelaide. Since our new Premier took over a few months ago the development of the Port area has been on his priority list. That hot evening he was holding a public meeting in a large hall.
Out of curiosity I took a slight detour. The town centre looked deserted, so I simply followed my nose to where the most cars had parked. I found the venue easily. The large hall was packed, the meeting nearly over, so I stood by the open side door and just listened. It was question time.
A man dressed in black walked up to the microphone and gave his name, Chris Mitchell. He asked a question regarding the access to the carpark near the lighthouse. The Premier assured him there would be no restriction. Where am I getting at?
The car park question was also a big discussion point in the Adelaide Oval redevelopment. Car parks are places you meet people and they meet you. Maybe, it's not about parking, but parting?
It's been a long time that I found a message in drop letters. That evening I discovered one. There were eight in total. Here is what I created with the eight letters: I'M 10 10 F F.
The Australian Weekend Magazine Jan 21/1/12.
Eyes wired open Heart of the N
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Over these last few chapters writing has become a more difficult task for me, for the sheer number of stories I have in my diary. Which should I highlight and write about in detail? Here I rely totally on HIM to guide me; to give me wisdom to understand HIS will.
The original question, which led me down this winding, abnormal pathway, has never been answered: When do co-incidental circumstances become God incidences with a spiritual meaning? Or do I merely have an alert mind, a special talent observing my environment more critically? Do I have a craving for the magic? Do I let my mind run free to satisfy this craving?
Two as yet unreported incidents took place last year. They are a classic examples to be questioning, if it's from God or has no meaning. In either case my mind is the only witness to what took place. And what reason would I have to deceive myself? I know I am writing the truth, as it happened.
Fast forward the clock to November 27th 11. I was driving along Portrush Road, toward the same intersection with The Parade. Out of the car's audio player came the voice of the late Peter Alexander, one of Europe's best loved singers of the previous generation. He was singing what I only knew as 'the Grenadier song'.
God knew exactly the location where I would be driving, what music I'd be playing at that particular time. Don't you love God's guidance? How can anyone not see a higher power at work?
How weird, I thought? Isn't this the same intersection I had taken a photo of some time ago? Didn't that vehicle have a photograph of a Penguin, as well as the word PENGUIN in large letters on the side? I had just been to, and written about, the town of Penguin in Tasmania - that's why. (See Bk 9, Chapter 4.)
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Let's for a moment return to the corner of The Parade and Portrush Road. A stone's throw south from this intersection is a convent, the Adelaide headquarters of the Sisters of Saint Joseph. Sister Mary had invited Joseph, sorry Dieter (myself) to attend a private memorial Service for Coralie Liddy, the late mother of Peter. It had been two years since she died. (I was in New Zealand at the time.)
On Jan. 10, 2012 I was driving south on Portrush Road to attend this service. Not really paying much attention to the radio, I overheard this item:"Football star Thierry Henry returned to his former club from ... he scored the winning goal ...". My mind, now on football, wondered why this 'not really earth-shattering' bit of information would be making news half-way across the globe?
Football and the name Henry took my mind to Adelaide United football coach Rini Coolen. Long ago had I viewed his name as rather Da Ninci. He had recently been sacked as Adelaide's coach, following his team's poor performance in the A-League.
I detected a slight a similarity in the pronunciation of Henry and Rini. However, much more remarkable had been the discovery, the similarity between RINI and INRI. (Read on about INRI).
Minutes after this thought pattern, I parked mother-in-laws Mitsubishi on the Parade and walk into the convent. It took a few moments of asking the correct path to follow, but I was not late for the 2 PM memorial Service. As soon as I had taken a seat in the beautiful, small chapel I saw this above the altar:
Human's sinful nature killed a good man, who preached love and showed it so graphically, brutally! Only those, who really understand fully what the above is all about are truly alive. Paradoxically, you first must die to yourself. Not accepting HIM means you choose to reject HIM. How sad!
It was refreshing to meet with these eight women that day. Sadly, even they, who knew Peter or his mother, may not know the full story about their friend or relative. The newspaper here in Adelaide never printed his side of the story, the whole truth.
As recently as December 11th, 11 an article about Peter appeared in the Sunday Mail, Murdoch owned, like most of Australia's Press. Court Reporter Andrew Dowdell headed his article Liddy fears prison attack. Peter had been transferred to a lower security prison in Mount Gambier.
In typical tabloid fashion, Dowdell starts his report playing on the emotion of his readers. Except there was an untruth in this first sentence:
It may be true that this is what the court heard? But it's not true! My understanding is, one or more Salvation Army Chaplains visited Peter for a number of years. At one time a Catholic nun did too. Most definitely, my above mentioned friend Mary, the Sister of St. Joseph, saw Peter in person, when she had to give Peter the sad news of his mother's death. Makes one wonder, who spread the totally incorrect piece of information?
Peter does not have many visitors by choice. It's not that he does not have friends, as Dowdell have us believe. From what I gather, there are two reasons. One, Peter knows he's innocent of the awful allegations. How embarrassing it would be, to be facing outsiders and trying to explain it all.
The second reason - the awkward procedure of being strip-searched after each visit. Imagine, instead of looking forward to Sunday afternoon visiting time, you dread the thought of having to strip naked and a (possibly female) prison officer looks all over your body, including your private parts?
To grant a prisoner some degree of dignity, why not facilitate non-contact visits? No drugs can pass through a glass partition? Prisoners are in prison as their punishment, not to be punished every day through cruelty, deprivation and abuse by a brutal system.
Shame on you Australia! What do you have to be proud of today?
Ironically, Dowdell writes that it was only lawyers who visited Peter in his prison. Bulldust! One lawyer had Peter's case in his files for three years. It would not surprise me, if he never once bothered to see Peter in prison.
Why has nobody in Adelaide's legal fraternity made any move to right the wrong done to one of their peers? I have contacted many over the years without any positive response. One sent back all documents with the request to never write to him again about this case - ever!
The answer to above question, why no lawyer stands by Peter, may be found in a well known fact. Peter was known for handing down very harsh sentences. He did not indiscriminate between drug dealers, white collar fraudsters or police, if one of them needed to be put behind bars.
Many of Peter's judgements were appealed against successfully. Statistics, publicly available for all to see, showed that Peter's cases were the most frequently appealed against. Since no magistrate wanted to become a negative statistic, most toed the line, handing down more moderate sentences, except Peter Liddy. He naively stood by his principles, perhaps thinking he could have it his way in the end?
Was Peter made to pay for this rebellious attitude?
Whilst this may explain Peter's unpopularity among his professional circle, it does not excuse the sloppy police investigation into his case. Should the anonymous letter, passed on to detectives by the Advertiser Newspaper, really have been taken seriously? It allegedly came from one of the victim's father.
From what I learned and understood in the court transcripts, he was not the father of that allegedly abused boy, only his mother's boyfriend. This man was a police officer.
Considering, Peter was also the head of the PLT, the Police Disciplinary Tribunal, there would have been many police officers, who held grudges.
I may be mistaken here, but if not, one ends up asking: "Why would a police officer start a criminal investigation by writing an anonymous letter to the newspaper?"
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Controlled pain-killing drug with strange name: Endone
On this Australia Day, how I'd love to be proud being Australian and celebrate migrating to this beautiful country! How I'd love to believe the politicians, who told me (in these exact words): "We have the best legal system in the world."
Sorry, I can't and I don't.
I'm reminded of a moment of desperation, just before travelling to the United States in 2003. I had seen a large billboard at Melbourne's Sandown Racetrack - EXIDE. I had made a fast, unplanned exit.
Now another word is on my mind; using the DL code - EXILE.
But, unlike in 2003, I'm in no hurry, Geoffrey. No ...