The Blue Pill
“There is something wrong with the world. You don’t know what it is, but it’s there, like a splinter in your mind,
“Driving you mad. It is this feeling that has brought you to me, Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“The Matrix.”
“Do you want to know what it is? The matrix is everywhere, it is all around us. Even now in this very room, you can see it when you look out your window, or when you turn on your television, you can feel it when you go to work, when you go to church, when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you to the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That you are a slave, Neo. Like everyone else, you were born into bondage. Born into a prison you that cannot smell or taste or touch, a prison for your mind.
“Unfortunately no one can be told what the matrix is, you have to see it for yourself. This is your last chance. After this there’s no turning back.
“You take the blue pill, the story ends, you wake up in your own bed and believe whatever you want to believe…
“You take the red pill, you stay in wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes…
“Remember, all I’m offering is the truth, nothing more.”
(Lightening flash followed by nefarious thunder)
“Follow me.”
From the movie I watched prior to ‘nap’ time, flying across the Atlantic Ocean. Not exactly relaxing.
After a few spins in the holding pattern, our flight ended at Heathrow with a thud. There were queues for all things. We stood in line to exit the aircraft. I waited in line for the restroom. And we wove round and round the roped lines for an extended amount of time to exit British Customs. It’s all automated and worked poorly, same as the US. Are we in the Matrix?
We rode the Tube(subway) into London to catch the train south to Gatwick Airport. Why on earth would we spend four more hours traveling public transportation from Heathrow Airport to Gatwick Airport with a bad case of jet lag? Because I booked a BnB close to Gatwick for our departure on Saturday.
The BnB is beautiful. Margarita, our host even more so. I’m slumped in a chair, hungry, very tired, and unable to form complete sentences. Should we venture back to London now that we dropped off our backpacks? Margarita said the queue for Queen Elizabeth is 5-6 miles. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not.
Officially we are ‘pre-pilgrims,’ or as Larry suggested ‘pilgrims to be.’ And as such, we walked a mile, a mile of meandering pathways under a canopy of deep green, with the most pungent earthy smell I’ve ever experienced, a mile to Hillside Inn and Pub for dinner.
We ordered baked Camembert and a Haley’s beer. Twas hoppy hoppy.
We shared a plate of fish and chips, not my go to meal, but it’s traditional in these parts. Was disappointed. All I wanted to do was go to bed - should have ordered the blue pill.
