A true story about a time I thought I might die.

A rude awakening

I woke up with the odd dark splash of the black screen on the back of the seat in front of me, slamming into my forehead.

"This isn't good," I thought. "Not good, not good," I thought, as I saw the blood spilling down onto my shirt, in quantities previously unknown to me.

I grabbed a travel pillow from the seat next to me and started applying pressure onto the wound. At that point, I probably looked at my hand to count my fingers to check if I was dreaming.

Enjoy it

I had been travelling by bus from Acapulco to DF, after the 2016 conference for peaceful anarchists and libertarians, Anarchapulco. Just two days before I had been sitting down in a restaurant with a group of people, and one of those people was activist and former marine, Ken O'Keefe. He was telling us how, many times, he had come very close to death, and if it weren't for his ability to keep calm, he would have been dead many times over. The trick to remaining calm, he said, was breathing deeply. It's physiological impossible to panic if you're breathing deeply. And the most memorable thing he told us, was that your last moments of life should be something special. Do you really want to spend the only time you have left, panicking? These words still stick in my mind firmly:

"If you're going to die, you might as well enjoy it."

Consider yourself dead

Months later, reflecting on those moments of blood and uncertainty, I was reminded of these words...

Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily. Every day when one's body and mind are at peace, one should meditate upon being ripped apart by arrows, rifles, spears and swords, being carried away by surging waves, being thrown into the midst of a great fire, being struck by lightning, being shaken to death by a great earthquake, falling from thousand-foot cliffs, dying of disease or committing seppuku at the death of one's master. And every day without fail one should consider himself as dead. Yamamoto Tsunetomo, The Book of the Samurai

... and of the minutes I spent waiting in the wings of the theatre, practising the same meditation, preparing to be valiantly executed, as the Thane of Cawdor, in the first act of Macbeth.

However, never in my life have I felt quite like that, wondering if my skull is open and brain exposed, wondering if I might survive the next few hours.

Unlikely heroes

The Mexican federal police would be the last people I would expect to be my heroes, but they arrived on the scene even quicker than the paramedics. They told everyone to stand back from the window, then they broke it. Eventually, I stepped out onto the roof of their cruiser, still holding a pillow to my forehead.

A fellow passenger, Alfredo, later mentioned to me how surreal it was to see me sitting there, bandages on my head from the paramedics, perfectly calmly, just as if I were waiting for a bus.

Mexican hospitality

Mexican public hospitals aren't anything to write home about, but with the limited resources they had, they managed pretty well. The surgeon saw the tears falling from my eyes and asked if I needed more anaesthetic - but those were tears of gratitude. I thanked her warmly, and she said humbly "That's what we're here for." Sixteen stitches.

Alfredo helped me get my luggage, the brother of another passenger gave us a lift to the bus station, and when I finally got to Mexico City, my friend Helinka welcomed me into her home as she might her own family. No less than three strangers came up to me throughout the day and said "If there is anything you need, let me know."

I was moved by the Mexican hospitality, and I still am. That level of compassion is something I would never anticipate in Australia.

The next day, I thanked Heli for all her help and she said "Oh Kurt, it's nothing." I said "No, please listen to me," my voice creaking up, "what you did was not nothing. I am grateful for everything you have done for me."

Scarred

This is a picture of the scar, taken a few days after the stitches were taken out

In the end, the wounds weren't that serious, but if things had been a little different, if I had been knocked unconscious from the crash, or I had forgotten to put on my seatbelt, I might not be here writing to you today.
This is a picture from the other day, a little less than 3 months after the accident.

If you're looking to reduce or remove a scar, I strongly recommend mother-of-pearl cream.

Epilogue

Now that it's over, my wounds all but healed, I have to make an effort every day to remember the message. Life is short, life is fragile, and every moment is a gift. It's easy to forget. Sometimes I find myself looking at a pretty girl, formulating excuses as to why I shouldn't go talk to her, and I remind myself what awaits me. I have looked into the face of death, and I have made death my friend.