LEAST OF MY BROTHERS

How could my heart not be skipping beats after watching yet another story, a drug-dealing double cross where two witnesses escape to a small tropical island somewhere in the middle of a huge ocean only to be tracked down in 6 months and beheaded. Yeah. Kind of hard to sleep after that. Months of movies where people who stumble across mobsters or drug dealers mid-crime come to horrendous strange deaths. Meanwhile, these Perps live in ocean and mountain view penthouses drinking champagne, sailing million dollar yachts with someone else cleaning, maintaining and otherwise doing the hard work. Yes, I understand the magnitude of boat keeping. I spent 10 years on and under the water doing my own bottom scrubbing, I should say boat bottoms shouldn’t I? I’m also chief cook and bottle washer, logistics manager, and all else needed to run a dive operation. Suddenly movies where innocent bystanders get sucked in are airing and capturing my attention. Sleepless nights are hardly a surprise. Looking back now, not coincidence. Simply very effective manipulation. Very. Effective. Gaslighting. Definitively planting and tending a seed to achieve a desired likely outcome among a plethora of distant possibilities. This time possibilities are much darker and more sinister than even the worst Dive Bar nightmare scenario. Even when I had that little bar where Satan landed when St Michael kicked him out of Heaven, I didn’t fear for my life. Not like this. There the bad guys had to cross Pardier’ Pass through a mountain range to reach me in the dark of night. None would dare, for fear of easy identification once they were on the other side of the mountain, besides, they were likely passed out from a long day of smoking n sitting. Sitting all day after all is much harder than working in so many ways. Besides, they’d have to pass without waking my landlord’s mean hungry dog on a long chain. He still barked when I walked through after 3 years. Step foot onto my landlord’s property? Not so much. A God-fearing, highly respected local who thankfully took me under his wing like a niece from another country. He afforded me protection, despite my white skin. I somehow became part of his family. No one dare mess with me there. No, my concerns back then were more about loss of money and property. And making it through daily abuse and torture, not severe threats of physical harm. Still not certain how I stemmed that risk and threat, but I did. Was it me practicing “Love Thy Enemy” or was it the smoke screen I sent up about connections in DC, a smoke screen not entirely fictional. I didn’t yet fully understand the full force of plausible deniability and risk, yet I certainly applied it to my benefit. Now, I actually fear for my personal health, wealth, and safety, and for those close to me. Here Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” resonates sending chills through my soul. Threats instilled with such vehemence, it brings back memories of Grandma singing “When the Saints Come Marching in, Glory, Glory Hallelujah.” I didn’t even pay attention to lyrics until I landed on La’Amoria Isle after a tumultuous 225 mph Hurricane. Before, I’d sing along without even thinking what words I was mouthing, much less what they meant. Now I listen to every word. “Hallelujah. “7 chords that pleased the Lord.” Almost as many rock stars and music greats sing that song as sing “Amazing Grace.” You still think there’s no God? No Satan? Explain how Bon Jovi and other heavy metal acid rock stars, plus Elvis, Johnny Cash, and a million others all sing “Hallelujah” and “Amazing Grace” as though they wrote it. Raphael: “Yeah, I kinda feel bad about putting her through a hurricane again, but she can’t just sit there like Rapunzel, forever waiting for something to happen on its own, can she?” Michael: “I was kind of banking on that. I’m not sure what I can do at this point.” Meanwhile, Satan looks on with even more aplomb. Screaming “NOT THAT DAMN RAPHAEL AGAIN,” as he takes off running for the Front Office. Though Satan’s a bully and a whiner, he’s also a pussy and the first one to go running to God calling foul. He invented foul. Unreal. Meanwhile on Earth, “Aye, Aye, My Cap-it-Tan. All Righty Then.” I say as I quickly turn so he doesn’t see me laugh and smile. Something about men. When they bark and growl, they most certainly don’t want to see you smile, much less hear you laugh. El Capitan got us there safely as promised. We splash and drop under the clear beautiful blue water. Kudos to the new and rookie divers. Of the 525 times I dove that wreck, this was one of the two strongest current days. It’s also one of the greyest, lowest visibility days. We’re surrounded by a thick, dark, grey mist, that leaves us feeling Ghosties of the 200 men who died here when her Majesty’s Ship exploded into bits when a large rogue storm wave struck her mid-beam. 21 Jun Interview CBS Sunday Morning. “You’re a bachelor. You got a nice house here. Is your social life in a Phase 1 relationship possibility, or is that an unfortunate set of circumstances? “I can re-open the economy” Cuomo says while laughing very charmingly together with the interviewer, “But dating? That’s a whole different thing beyond my control.” “I’m Yours” hits the audio as I hear a familiar voice, “I’m gonna have your back when it’s all done. I’m a big boy…” Just then for the first time in 50,000 years, since the Stone Age, that spunky cute WTFN Space Reporter who always has such fun, tweets an alert announcing the Green Comet is passing close to Earth and can be seen with the naked eye. ME: OMG. It’s my favorite musician. Here at the airport? “What are you doing here?” I begin to say, My Favorite Musician: “This time, I’m not taking any chances. We’ve had too many near misses.” He says as he kisses me before I can finish. “Don’t Go. Stay with me.” He says.