Saturday, February 25, 2017

Saturday Morning

I woke at 7 am and woke up Gilbert who was fast asleep at the bottom of the bed.  He stretched, got up and took an interest in what I was doing after I’d come out of the washroom.  I decided then to take him for a walk.  Early morning. Sunny blue sky day. We walked over to the river where he can be off leash in the wilderness part. it was nice there. Quiet stream. Meditative.  Warm.

I walked up the other way along the side of the RV park to the railway tracks. I’d hope to find a passage through the woods into the park but there wasn’t one.  So we headed along the railway track. I was concerned. There are a lot more trains passing than previous years so I hurried along. I’d twisted my ankle a bit come down a hill so winced a bit, not that bad, more a nuisance.  I ran the last little bit to get off the tracks then we walked along the road back to the park.  

Billy , the welsh corny was out walking his master with the GMC diesel truck. We let the two dogs play. That’s the big event in the dogs life.  Sniffing each other’s butts and genitals.  After a while that gets boring. I’d discussed my truck choices with their northerner and gone with gas.  He’s got a diesel GMC he’s fond of.  

Back in the trailer I gave Gilbert his glaucoma eye drops which he doesn’t like. Then made coffee.  I called Tom to tell him I was up. I’d read the mail and read Facebook and ready to get the day rolling. He’d offered to help take a couch to Laura’s.  

I actually got the medical legal report I had to do done and even completed a card for Business Now to make up as well as applied for Internet fax service.  

Laura and I have been texting as we do. We’ve been following our friend Barb’s trip in New York City, ourselves just being there at Christmas.  Gilbert has been watching at the window excited by people and trailers coming to go. I think he’s waiting for Tom. He really does know a whole lot more than he gets credit for.  At the City Hall he knows we are going to Laura’s and begins barking. When Tom comes he’s beside himself.  His favourite people. He likes Dave and his dog Emory too.  Then there’s all his friends at work.  He really shows his joy.

I’ve a light to fix. I took out the old ceiling light then replaced the new only to find that I needed to fix the connector as now I had 2 ceiling lights not working and the one that had not been working is the only one working.

I’d expected Tom to arrive an hour or so ago because I’ve been planning on brunch at the White Spot. Now it’s past noon and I’m thinking about a burger.

I’ve Victor’s moose in the fridge to barbecue.

I was looking through old photos. A bit of nostalgia. Missing my brother and parents because I’d like to know who some of the folks are.  I was looking to see if Dad’s old truck was a Ford.  Grand dad had a Dodge on the farm, big mean old farm truck.  But I think Dad’s pick up was a Ford. His autos were always American motors because he knew how to fix them and had the tools for them, 

I’ve lost track of my music I’ve purchased. The new truck plays off my iPhone but I’d downloaded the music to make room and now have just bought a couple of new albums and will find the hard drive I have the other tunes on. I can see I have purchased them on iTunes but I can’t get them off the cloud or they just may be on a back up or hard drive.  Anyway feeling nostalgic I downloaded the 1967 68 albums I so loved Paul Simon and Gordon Lightfoot and the Beatles.  I’ve got Third Days latest too.Tunes in the truck.

I’m enjoying my leather chair I had at the office which I’ve brought here.  It really is comfortable, no wonder I liked doing therapy across from the couch.  I saw my last patients there last week.  Now I’m seeing patients at three clinics and closing the office completely eventually.  Angel is staying on for a couple of weeks to work a couple of days a week to tie up lose knots.  My patients have transferred. Angel was to send the letters out and has contacted patients.  It all arose when we learned mid December that the landlady didn’t have zoning for the office to be used as a medical office and was told by the city that my office couldn’t be used for a medical office.  I was booked off for Christmas, pretty run down after working through the grief of my brother’s passing and wanting desperately to have a distracting vacation. For a year now a fellow has been threatening my life and nothing has been done about it.  I have had so many threats and had to realize I’m on my own. All the dues and taxes we pay amount to nothing in the actual emergency. Other than lawyers I’ve felt unsupported. More and more people I know and see are being bullied and beaten down by the corruption and inhumanity in the system. The fentanyl epidemic is getting my patients too.

Oh well, it will all work out

Tom just arrived.  Time for another coffee

Friday, February 24, 2017

The New Truck, 2017 Ford F350 Lariat Edition, Super Duty 6.2 L V8 gas 4x4 Truck with Crew Cab, Sun Roof and Long Box.

I am thankful today for my new truck.  Jessica and Chris at Coastal Ford sold it to me last week after Tom and I had test driven the  GMC and compared it with Dodge. I needed a super duty truck to pull my trailer.  I also needed a truck to carry my Honda Side by Side 500 cc Pioneer ATV.  Mario at Carter GMC was extremely helpful as was Jessica at Ford. These were two truly great salespeople.  The deciding factor in the end was the availability of a sun roof.  I needed this because I didn't want insane people breaking my windows when seeing my copilot and hunting companion cockapoo, Gilbert panting.  Dogs don't have sweat glands so they pant when they're hot.   You don't leave a dog in a vehicle in the heat without a sun roof because heat rises and gets trapped at the ceiling.  I  had a sun roof in the tropics in  my Nissan and my Scotty dog Stuart survived just fine when I went shopping and left him in the vehicle.
Dodge has the Cummings Diesel Engine which everyone who has a Dodge swears by.  My hunting buddy Victor is definitely a Dodge diesel man.  There’s some controversy however about the comparative transmissions but really if I had been planning another diesel I’d have seriously considered Dodge.
These last 10 years I have had a Ford F350 Diesel Harley Davidson edition 4x4  pick up with crew cab and sun roof.  Factory installed sun roofs tend to come with the top of the line editions of all the vehicles.  I  loved this truck which served to pull this big live aboard trailer and the smaller one I had before. It also served to carry my Yamaha 450 ATV out into deep woods hunting areas.  Off road the Ford was an amazing vehicle.  I
I've had a Ford Broncho II which I thought was one of the greatest vehicles made and Ford is considering bringing it back.  I've also had the Ford Ranger truck which was really truly sweet. Add my  beloved Ford Mustang of younger years to the list and it looks pretty much like I could be called a Ford man.  I've had other manufacturer's vehicles but at the end of the day I keep coming back to Ford. A lot of that has to do with their excellent service department. Right now I've been using the other Coastal Ford's service department and the guys there have been the best.
That Harley Davidson F350 truck hauled home an elk, a three point, some two point deer, a bear and countless grouse and rabbits.  From a hunter's superstitious perspective my Ford F350 was a lucky truck.   God and politics  have been discussed extensively by guys in that truck  driving about the back woods. A whole lot of truck therapy goes on in a truck.  The girlfriend and dog have been good company too in the F350.
Trucks have deep meaning for me. Some of my fondest times with my dad were handing him tools while he lay on his back under the truck fixing u joints or such.   I will forever remember being a sleepy wee child who at 4 am with his father and brother in dad’s old pick up headed  out time and again with the old dog to hunt mallards in Netlee marsh.
 I was in the market for a new truck.   I am near the age of retirement from work, not that I plan to, but there’s an age while you’re still working that men  get their new vehicle, the one they can write off while they're still working, and the one they will likely own till they die.  This truck was to be that vehicle, a birthday present to myself and Gilbert. His birthday falls in February and mine in March.  We try do something special that will please  the two of us. He’s happy with a bone but last year I got him the side by side Honda ATV, after he hurt his back and couldn’t jump on and off the Yamaha quad.  I didn’t take into account that the Honda was longer so I had to have the tailgate down when I was carrying it.  This also meant that I couldn’t tow the liveaboard trailer.  That became another reason I 'needed' a new truck.
I’d thought long and hard about diesel versus gas.  Obviously diesel is best if you’re towing all the time and want the advantage of toughness and torgue.   The trouble is, with all the alterations made to automobile diesel for environmental reasons, the cost of diesel has come really close  to that of gas.  . On the highway hauling, diesel can’t be beat but in the city just driving about it’s a real lug.  I do more driving than hauling so I decided, after talking with a bunch of the other old guys,  considering I didn’t haul my trailer all the time, gas would suit me better. It makes the truck cheaper too.
This meant I didn’t need a Dodge.  If I'd wanted diesel I'd say the choice would have been Ford or Dodge but wanting  gas narrowed to Ford and GMC, possibly Chevy.  Mario at Carter's let Tom and I test drive a 2017 GMC.  It really was a beauty. I almost signed the papers after that test drive but there wasn't an available gas 3500 Sierra vehicle with a sun roof.  Most of everyone's Super Duty's are diesels.  Mario could get one from the factory in a couple of months.  I  actually considered an after factory sun roof but Jessica from Coastal Ford had kept in touch and told me they had a vehicle in stock with everything just as I wanted it.
I had told Mario that the GMC  " drives like you’re in an SUV. All this truck and you feel like you’re driving a car. It’s that smooth, “
Tom calls the new Super Duty Trucks, "Cowboy Cadillacs".  
Despite the trade in from my 2007 F350 Ford, I still had to consider I'd be facing a  5 year debt. I’m thankful that I have the credit after a life time of responsible behaviour paying all my debts and working on average 80 to a hundred hours a week but still $50000 for a vehicle on top of trade in was  going to be large pill to swallow.  It wasn't a decision I was making lightly and not something I'd considered on impulse.
Still, a truck gives a man a sense of freedom. It’s like my Harley Davidson Motorcycle.  It promises of relief from the daily grind of government bureaucracy, politics and taxes.  When I think of a truck  I think of being at the lake with my pretty little girlfriend,  Laura and my dog, Gilbert. I think of the days of canoeing in the Canadian north.  I think of driving up into the mountains and tenting by the side of a logging road.  I think of RV'ing. I think of back woods hunting with the guys.  I think of everything wonderful.
Jessica is beautiful, long haired, lithe, like a vogue model, French Canadian,  not what you'd normally think of as a heavy duty truck salesperson.  But like my gun toting pink girlfriend, now a grandmother, Laura, she shared,   “I love to go hunting with my boyfriend. “ and  "I just love Ford trucks, " she said,  showing Tom and I  a picture of herself in cammo with a shot gun in duck hunting season.  Despite her looks, she knew trucks.
Pretty much sold on the GMC, I still felt I had to take the new  Ford F350 for a drive.  It wasn't as smooth or luxurious a ride as the GMC but boy was it something.  It felt heavier, more truck like but it still came with a whole lot of bells and whistle.  The huge full ceiling sun roof really did sell me.   I really did love the new safety electronics on the new vehicles. Backing up you're looking at the console screen which is also a gps navigation screen, you  see a perfect view behind you, with parallel lines that move and guage the distance to objects.  I could safely park a 747 passenger plane with this Ford technology.  With Sync3 and blue tooth my iPhone with it's Siri phone commands and my music was connected right into the trucks own computer.    Tom was truly impressed with this Ford. He’s an engineer and plane pilot.  His simple statement was  “Ford makes a really good trucks.  This one's  a beauty."
Ford had completely redesigned the 2017 year improving on materials and electronics and thinking out a whole lot of little details . Having essentially  the same 2007 F350 I was totally impressed by the advances and the thought that had gone into the intervening decade of design.
Over the next week or two, we niggled on price but Jessica stayed with me and Chris worked to give me the best deal they could till I figured, okay.  Zero interest financing did sound really good. And Chris assured me he had just the truck with exactly  all I wanted in Kelowna. It could be here in just a few days. The test drive had been almost there but this other Lariat edition truck had everything I ever wanted.
Well ,I decided I really did need some stability in my life. My mother used to joke, saying she was glad to know I was in debt because it was the only time she knew for sure I’d be working and keeping out of trouble. She never did appreciate my bicycling across Europe, motorcycling across country, sailing through offshore gales or even working as a flyin doctor up north and in the north pacific islands.  She never could understand why I couldn't be happy just having a house and going to work. If I wanted to travel why couldn't I just go on cruises like she enjoyed.  Older she forgot that it was she and dad, with his old Ford truck, that had taken us kids camping and fishing.   Later I'd go  hunting in the off road wilderness with  Dad and that truck    All the things  that make life most meaningful and keep me finding the strength and courage to get back to the front lines trying to fight disease with the patients and  bureaucrats revolves  around the truck in my life.
Now I have a new truck.  2017 Ford F350 Lariat Edition, 4x4,  6.2L V8 gas engine, Crew cab, Sun roof and long box. I call also call it my gift of recovery.
It was a really fine day when I got the call from Jessica the truck had arrived. I went down after a long day of clinic and filled out all the paper work and transferred the plates.  I shook hands with Chris. Then Jessica showed me how to pair my phone.  She showed me the button that turned on the truck's parallel park itself mode.  She explained the fob. I thanked her,  then she left me and Gilbert alone with our new truck.  NEW TRUCK!!!  FORD - FOUND OUR DIVINE RIDE!
As soon as I opened the  door, Gilbert jumped right in, taking up his well studied co pilot position. Gilbert loves trucks and it was obvious he loved this truck.   I took quite a while breathing in that new truck smell, adjusting mirrors and checking out the amazing console display.  I felt like I was in a land space ship.
I actually call it my ‘living room’ truck. When I got the heated seat adjusted with the telescoping steering wheel, inflatable back rest, adjusted seat height and angle,  I really felt like I was sitting in my living room in an easy chair.  Depressing my brake foot I pushed the "on" button.  The 6.2 L engine roared.  I drove off the  Coastal Ford lot to begin a whole new life adventure.
Thank you Jesus.
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Tuesday, February 21, 2017

3 AM Lougheed Highway

For several weeks now I’ve been waking periodically at 3 am.  I remember Paul Simon and Garfunkel’s album 3 am Bleecker Street. I think that’s what it was.  3 AM comes to mind. It’s since I returned from New York City.  I put it down to the jet lag at first. Then it was just the stress of closing an office and trying to find places to put the bodies.  Where can I see people and how can I schedule them.  It’s been stressful.  All the while January and February as the most difficult months for psychiatric patients.  I’m in the midst of the fentanyl overdose crisis as well.  The deaths disturb me.  It’s not the same as the suicides. I felt those more deeply in my early years of practice when I didn’t understand the nature of anger.  I saw so much depression back then as simple sadness.  Now I know it’s true nature much better.  I’m less likely to see people die as I attend to the anger and hence the fear.
We are afraid.  Many do a lot to block this out.  The rage about the “change" in politics is so ironic.  The very people who cried out for ‘change’ , now facing it are desperate and alone. Minority in despair.  I am at least hopeful. I’ve been worn down by the weight of taxes and the burden of doing the work of a half dozen men and women while watching so many grow rich off my labour.  Yet I’m not ‘suffering’ in the area of ‘things’.  I don’t have a house, not any more.  Women in my life took those things leaving me with what I wanted, the vehicles.  I have to admit I love vehicles far more than I like the boxes that people live in. It’s childish in a way. The whole system is geared to the ‘little tricky tacky boxes’.  Yet I’m living in yachts or on wheels unable to commit to the insanity of the city.  I’ve committed so much, my time, my life.  I’m now even deeper into the denseness of humanity.  Once working mostly alone I’m now in the depth of clinics with lots of people and bodies about.  It’s so much like my first general practice. This business and hustle.It’s invigorating.  I’m leaving a monastic zone in a way. There’s less couch and more stainless steel and sterile environments.  I’ve examining tables and the accoutrements of medical equipment all around me.  I ‘m tempted to do surgery again. I miss cutting out lumps and bumps.  I really enjoyed the office procedures.  I like the ER and the scope procedures. The cutdowns and the lumbar punctures. I’ve come full circle.  I’m back in the setting I began.
I’m still asking questions. Still recording.  Still offering answers.  I’m ordering tests.  MRI’s and EEG’s and blood work. Tomorrow I get to see the results of an ultrasound I ordered. I’m interested in that. I’m writing letters advocating for my patients despite the outrage of the judge and the bureaucrats who couldn’t accept that I’d taken an oath as a doctor to be an advocate for my patients.  The Judge and the Bureaucrats were so far removed from the human reality that they’d left their own oaths far behind. It didn’t matter that years later I was vindicated. I paid a horrible price for allegiance to the sick and dying.  The robust are such bullies.  I am afraid.
For a year a man who threatened outright to kill me and kill my dog roams free and continues to threaten me.  It’s a wake up call to the death of the country. The systems failure blazes bright in the death threats of a lone stranger.  Nothing is more poignant to me than the system is in crisis and people en mass are more and more afraid. I don’t blame them. So am I.  I look over my shoulder and sometimes carry a knife. I need the pliars for my various vehicles but the knife is there and it sometimes comforts me.  So much of my tax dollars goes to protection and I’ve known so little protections. I have been robbed repeatedly , white collar crimes and blue collar crimes and here my life continues to be threatened.
No wonder my patients are insane.  I like the the expression that the inmates are running the asylum. That’s certainly my take on the world today.  The judge was peculiar and there was no real system to address his peculiarity.  The impairment of individuals is tested in the world of medicine and flight and yet so many areas that should be considered ‘safety sensitive’ are left to the jungle.  The expressions of anyone are like the tip of an iceberg. So much rumbles underneath. I listen all day to the inner worlds and am truly amazed that the world unfolds as it should. That judge might simply have had a brain tumour or liver disease more likely and yet there he was red face and in rage shouting in the court at me who to my mind was simply doing my job. And no doubt he was doing his as he saw it too.  But arrogance and fear exploded.
I don’t know what to make of so much of my life as I look back. It’s so often been about bullies and then I have to in humility wonder why I didn’t walk around the shit in the street.  I keep coming back to that.  Now that I learn weekly if not daily of those my age with disease or dying. There’s little time left and I’ve never figured it out and it really doesn’t seem much different than when I came on board. More confusing really.  More troubling.
I’m waking in the middle of the night.  I’m immersed in long days and it hearkens back to internships and other times in my life when I worked 12 hour days and was up in the night.  I have gone so many nights without sleep, Delivering babies. Midnight calls of suicidal.  I answer calls most days now. I like that so very late in the game I’m being paid for things I did for free for 30 years.  It’s about the money for so many and yet it wasn’t for me and now it is.  There’s so little time it seems.
And I bought the truck. I accepted the debt.  I felt I needed to drop an anchor. The temptation to run away to sea was getting ahold of me.  My dog is sick, an eye gone blind and he does like trucks.  Mine had been so unreliable at times.  It wasn’t the trucks fault. It just was old and this year the diesel mechanics didn’t find the problem I took it in for until they’d had the truck three times and I’d lost days in caring for it. I love my Miata on warranty with the Mazda shop maintaining it with amazing professionalism. It’s the same with the Harley dealers, Trev Dealy. Now I’ll have a truck that’s on warranty and the manufacturer will ensure that it’s running for me and I can trust them as I’ve done in the past and did with this truck till the warranty ran out last year.  It was just the trouble light in the end.  Nothing wrong with the machine but this light would come on and I’d respond.
I’m like that with beepers and alarms. Too many nights of being awakened by alarms and minutes later being at the side of some one injecting drugs or bagging them. It’s 20 years since I did that. At least 5 years since I was at a near death event.  If I wasn’t a psychiatrist I’d call this ptsd.  I’m thankful the nightmares are silent now.  I don’t know what wakes me.  I go to sleep at 10 or 11 and get several hours of restful sleep and then I’m asleep again for a few hours. I’m tired in the day though.  It’s wearing.
Psychiatry is being in the room with despair and grief scratching finger nails on a chalk board.
It’s no wonder people are like this.  Look at that Judge.  The power he had and how much he abused it.  Look at the beurocrats I’ve known and how much they’ve abused their power. And I’m no better. If I point a finger I must see that three are pointing back. I couldn’t have made that judge’s job easy, interfering as I did in his killing of my patient.  Dragging the process out.  In his mind if I’d not have got involved they could have killed her earlier quicker.  Alternatively he probably thinks that my involvement killed her.  I doubt he thinks. He didn’t seem to have much capacity left but then I was blinded by my own partisan ship.
That’s what transference and countertransference are about.  I am always looking at my own face. What I see in the judge is what I reject in myself.  He represented the State, the Emperor, the Bastille, the God and I represented the patient who long ago had spent all her money and her family’s money fighting a Borg.  I often have thought of ‘identification with the aggressor’ when I’ve come up against these beurocrats and officials who Kafka wrote so well about in the Castle. They were equally well described in the Trial of Camus.  Maybe even 1984.  I think of suicide.
Then I remember Patton who upon hearing Hitler say that ‘our soldiers will die for the fatherland’, answered “that’s exactly what I want them to do.”  Now I could same the same for the judge and beurocrats but I don’t because spiritually I know I ‘attract them”.  I stand up and make myself a target. I wear bright clothes and I attract the blood sucking insects. I wave the red flag at the bull and call it out of the shadows. I'm a distraction. I show the sickness to the world and then the world chooses or chooses not to deal with it. I've learned more about corruption by the 'cover up' than any other means.
I buy a truck and the thieves will be watching me.  I see it as reliable and able to the do the job and a debt I must pay which will keep me working for a while longer when I really should be running off to sea. I could put the dog on the motorcycle and take to the open road.  Done. Not coming back. I'm out of here.  Take that Jack.  Hit the road Jack. Paul Simon's songs keep coming back.  I’d like  to join a circus if I didn’t think I was already in one.  The politics of the country astonishes me but so much is a consequence of seeing the world through the eyes of journalism and so many of them are seriously insane and drug addicted and serving what big money partisanship wants to hear.  It’s like knowing the workings of the internal combustion engine.  Once just driving the machine not knowing how motion was achieved.  Today I understand what is happening under the hood and yet it’s all still just energy and motion.
I am awake at 3 am . I was on Bleecker Street. Now I’m near Lougheed Highway.  I’ve eaten some left over pizza.I’ve gone to the bathroom a couple of times.  I’ve drunk some juice. I’m feeling tired again. I tried reading but the history I’m reading of the Sumer and Assyrian empires and now the Persian empire is just dull. It doesn’t put me to sleep. I’ve read a dozen books about that region this last year.  One was a history of Armenia. Another was a history of the Ottoman. I really do like Ataturk.  Another was a book on the Christian church before they were conquered and all the priests killed and a million or so murdered or forced to convert.  I read a history of Egypt too and one of Ethiopia. I’ve read so much about the region and  I've seen so many people who once lived there but now have come here.
City dwellers are at home no matter what city they are in, as if city’s are just different houses now. They talk of ‘culture’ but the culture to my mind is in the land. It’s in the mountains and streams and flora.  Cities are symmetrical.  They lack so much that I only find when I drive a truck out to the country and camp and hunt and fish.  It’s been too long since I was in the woods.  I understood this in New York City where so many never leave that space ship place but I’m a product of the wilderness. I’m too long without being in the outdoors.
I’ve walked this week by the river in the park where men live rough in the woods. These wilderness places in the city. They’re sordid compared to the wonders of the truly wild Canada. We’re planning on going out there again in a week or two. Maybe this weekend.  I worked this last weekend and many weekends before , not all the weekend but enough , paper work and forms and reports.  And people just say ‘it’s just a little bit of writing' and object when I say they have to pay since they see that I ‘m 'free' , a government service that the government no longer pays as it pays itself.  I languish whenever I wait in government offices where the pace is that of a snail. I miss the courts where there’s that pre scientific revolution sense, pre industrial age, the age of old men in wigs and cigars.  But today its’ the smell of pot.  these places are all the traffic jams in the modern world. Passive aggressive and covert aggressive bastions of pout power.
I am ‘law and order’. I was so thankful that in dealing with judges I knew, dozens that were outstanding and only two, the lecherous divorce judge who couldn’t keep his eyes off my ex’s crotch and breasts and lied through his teeth as I was told so well he would; and this other fellow.
And my addicted mind doesn’t focus on that other brilliant man whose mind was truly a wonder. That was a judge to behold.  Here in Vancouver. He’d been head of the Law Society I was told. What a truly brilliant fellow. There was so much material to understand and he summed it up with an erudition of genius. Then he gave a judgement that would have impressed Solomon. I liked the lady judge who tried another case I was involved in. Her questions were so insightful.  I really truly admired her.  I loved the Mark Twain like humorous brilliant American judge I lunched with often best. My father's friend was a judge.  Then there was that drunken judge who lived down the street.
Yet my mind doesn’t focus on these or the dozens more incredible judges I’ve known who I most admired. Tonight it’s a resentment. I’m thinking of this man, this one judge,  who I was told later whether it was true or not, was a notorious drunk ,which certainly would explain his ignorance and buffoonery.  He hated my patient for her long term sobriety and had utter distaste for me while all I was trying to do was educate him about the gross deceit and utter devilry of the psychologist whose report killed my patient more than anything else.  But then her lover did too but that’s too simple.
The suicides wake me in the night. I used to see their faces like stacks of cards angry and haunting. All were calling to me and demanding why I didn’t save themselves from themselves. I awoke hundreds of times to their accusations. I’ve never done enough.  I’ve failed them.  I’ve failed life not being able to sell life to the dying. It’s not like I’ve had any help from this government.  Since PM Trudeau has come to power it’s been all about the killing of the spirit and the bodies. Physician assisted sucide and pot and sharia communism.  “Don’t get me going” he said when he did that show. photo op number about quantum computers showing he didn’t know Shroedinger’s cat from a neutrino. What an idiot! But then I’m tried to ignore the idea of my own description of genius.  I’ve denied the high IQ and the education and the different take. That’s been not about superiority but about difference.
I talked to another Mensa today and loved how he descried his disability and how our government and society have never understood our “difference’.  A low brow thug wouldn’t grasp the ‘difference’.  There’s such a trade in disability and hidden deficits.  I loved hearing Candice say how difficult it was to be beautiful.  The ugly are so full of envy and anger and fear.  I loved Leonard Cohen’s line “We are ugly but we have the music”.
The judge was a thug that day but for all I know his wife was dying or more likely cut him off sex long ago when she caught him with some barnyard animal.
Trudeau reminds me of the stupidity I had 25 years ago when my father tried to caution me about the bullying of the French Canadians and how they had always stolen from the west, Montreal is built on the imperialism of their relationship with the west. It's been going on since the fur trade days.
But then the cities today are just the same with the rural regions. Imperialists.  It’s a really silly lens , this ‘privilege’ and ‘racism’ lens, These paranoid ideologies of I and me.
My task is to know God.
I’m one in the father. I’m one in the spirit. I’m needing to get myself out of the self pity and out of the division within. I have to identify with Carl Jung’s collective unconscious. I have to pray that I am more able to help my patients. Some are battling with cancer and I wasn’t able to help my brother.  But that’s my selfishness. I just feel alone and afraid.  It’s like when we were told to climb under our desks and put our hands over our heads and I asked “but what about the radiation’.
The pretty teacher ran around like a top in a circle screaming and ran off to get the principle who came back and badgered me and my friend Kirk saying we weren’t supposed to talk about radiation and look how we’d upset the girls.  The men and boys  weren’t supposed to upset the girls. But the girls have the vote. Meanwhile the teacher was crying,   I was just thankful they didn’t give me the belt again.   The principle liked using the belt.
I remember the teacher throwing the wooden hammer at my head and hitting me so hard I fell down. The egg I had on my head lasted days. My mother complained to the principle and school board but they all said I deserved it because of the questions I asked .  The kindergarten teacher pulled down my pants in front of the class and hit my bare bottom with a ruler saying I was disruptive.  "all you boys are disruptive.  Billy you're just the worst today'.  And i took my turn being stripped and caned as a child as the girls giggled and giggled and another different boy got his bum bared another day.  They loved the spectacle and these women teachers loved to impose punishments but I can't tell which were worse.

It's sad that I remember the beatings and the canings and the belts and the hammers and all that negative stuff when there's so many days I just loved to learn and how I loved the library. I loved the library. I met Leonard Cohen and Souster and C S Lewsis and Ray Bradbury and Plato and Jesus and so many more incredible people in the library.  And the librarian was always nice and some of the finest people I knew in the world were teachers. Only one threw a wooden mallet at my head. Only another one caned my bare ass in class. All the rest were fine.  Really  But the principle liked the brutal ones best.  The principle was a devil.  I learned that when I was a professor and understood better how he did his work. The school was a major success thanks to him and he didn't sweat the small stuff. Not when he expelled me.  Overall I'm thankful for the teachers he brought in and the education I had. I was the fortunate one.

Did you know that Einstein asked that same question about vacuums, he said to me after the class had all laughed at my question before they knew I was the highest scorer in physics. I liked chemistry better. I could see the molecules in the air. Everything was the periodic table for me at one time. I would see the world as if through an electron microscope and it was so beautiful.
I miss the meditation. I miss the early morning hours with the symphony cello player, the lawyer and the businessman sitting silent as the sun came up, our minds focused on the breath and the awakening of a new day.
I miss so much in my life.  The love making as a young man with a young woman.  My first wife is still the beauty she was back then. My mom and dad and brother. The dogs.  The home in Fort Garry. I can be wistful and in tears with all the love I’ve known and how much I took for granted.
Today I have to force myself to see the glass half full. The doctor said I was going deaf and wants to take an MRI. They ‘re find there’s nothing there or their pictures will show a brain tumour that’s been a hidden secret. I wouldn’t want to lose it. They’ve taken so much of me. I'm probably just a cancer that's not been cured.
EE cummings talked about them too. And Thoreau.  He knew them.

It’s a problem of perception. This identification with the aggressor, the externalization of the fear.  God is love.  All is love.  All is peace.  “I am the bubble make me the sea.” Yogananda.
“Do not be afraid’ Jesus said, not as a suggestion but as a command.
When the man pulled the gun on me I made him put it away. How. I talked to him.  Another time I pulled a knife on the young man with a gun and chased him back to his friends with their motorcycle.  It was a very little knife.  I always carry a steel pen since the solder held me hostage and said he’d kill me.
the plane crash was something.

I’ve been blessed with experiences. I’ve had an adventure this life.
And my friends let me breakfast with their sons and daughter and my nephews actually wanted to play with me.  I always am amazed at my good fortune.
I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams. Not really. I wanted a spaceship. But this earth is just a really big space ship hurtling through space.
I ‘m enjoying the old star treks on netflix.  I watch them at night when I come home remembering how I watched them after school as a boy.
My mom made me a birthday party with a star trek theme.  There’s a picture somewhere.  My fondest memory.

I’m tired.
Sleepy.
Maybe I’ll get a few hours before the day and the time i suit up and jump into the ‘chute’ to slide into the day of people coming with requests and mysteries.  I have so much to learn, so very much to learn.  So very much to learn.  So very very much to learn.  Do not judge the stupid.  you are one.   The more I know the more I know how little I know.  I struggled today with an old antidepressant drug and it’s dangers. It was from when I began. A dangerous compound like cancer medication but this one had kept this person alive. “It saved my life.”  I had to agree. It was potent. Even now I’d hold it carefully. How easy it killed back then. I saw the challenge in it.  It was all we had.
We saw people suicidal and gave them medication that could kill them with just a handful of pills . It was years before the new medications came , the ones with a large margin of safety. You’d have to take a bushel to overdose and die not like the medications I trained on.  Loaded guns and we’d wait and wonder and it would be months before we’d know and all along the person would be threatening to kill themselves and I’d be in terror they would and struggling to find any reason for them to live.
Now I’m old and it’s not so important now.  I feel truly that my government wants to kill me. I really do.  For a year or so I’ve felt the globalist agenda is to kill millions according to UN Agenda 21 and that this PM is the one to be the executioner and he will kill the western canadians  before his beloved Montreal lot.  I’m tired now.
I can go back to sleep and be thankful .  Really gratitude is the key.

God is love.  Thank you Love.

I liked how the English waitresses said that to me, in cockney, after I paid for my bit of eggs and hash and left a wee tip.  Thank you Love.

Monday, February 20, 2017

Monday Clinic

It's a new day. I've another new clinic to attend. I feel like my fly in doctor days. New spaces. New staff. New routines. Thankfully some of the known faces. I don't do change as well as I once did . Or perhaps I' just wise to all the pitfalls. So many details. The people are beautiful. But the demand for perfection from the unerring beaurocracy. I am forever in Kafka's Castle and Metamorphosis. I so wanted to be in Hesses Glass Bead Game or Salinger's Franny oand Zooey.
Birthday's soon. Both Gilbert and Mine. His eye may need surgery. We'll both enjoy the new truck.He loves trucks. I believe it will focus me and serve to keep me here rather than running off to sea. I can't believe the level of insaniety. People rioting in the streets and calling it a demonstration.
I am grateful for this day. I loved that I dreamed of the water. Spring is coming. I am thankful to have meaningful work. I'm overwhelmed with the catastrophe of moving but it's been steady like the unloading of a sinking ship. I'm mourning the loss of space. I wonder where my desk will be stored. I have to unload stuff from the storage locker. I'm struggling with 20-39,000 files and all the memories. There are consrtant demands right now desperate demands. I'm working around them and through them. I swam and hiked yesterday. I have to maintain my health. I'm on my knees and I'm reading the Bible. The beurocrats are betting on my defeat chanting 'due, die'. They live to suck the blood of success and regulate to death all endeavour. Even now they chase
Me out of my home like the petty tyrants they are.
But they too are God's children albeit the stupid ones. Love is your job. Forgiveness is your job. Humor is your job.
Prayer and thanksgiving. Thank you for this day God. Thank you for coffee showed and shaving cream. Thank you for clothing pens and vehicles. Thank you for desks and indoor spaces. Thank you for Gilbert.
Now I best be hustling ever bustling ever rushing always places to go and people to meet and ever apologizing for being late unable to unwrap the clinging unable to say no to the desperate just happy in the present loving to be with this one person one person at a time but always depressed by the complaints of being late especially as I grow older and slower and the demands from above rain down like a torrential shit storm and the patients don't know their government doesn't care for their concerns because the Borg is all important. Assimilate.
Now I must go. Don't be silly. It will be okay. Suit up and show up and trust God



Saturday, February 18, 2017

Humility as a Spiritual Law

"Neither fear of God, nor mercy, nor faith, nor self mastery, nor any other virtue can be achieved without humility. Moreover , humility destroys all the arrows of the enemy. All the saints followed the way of humility and laboured at it…Do you see the power of this virtue? Indeed there is nothing stronger than humility, for nothing can conquer it. If some affliction befalls a humble man, he immediately blames himself for deserving it and will not reproach or blame another. Thus he endures everything that may befall (him) untroubled, without grief, with perfect calm; and so he is angered by no one and angers none."
St. Dorotheos of Gaza
I have been obsessed like many with politics recently. It is not good for my peace of mind.  I see that there are those of my friends who feel towards Donald Trump the new president of the US the way I feel towards Justin Trudeau, the Prime Minister of Canada. Indeed the failure of Justin Trudeau has no doubt caused major anger and displacement of that anger towards Trudeau onto Donald Trump since Liberals will blame anyone but themselves for their failures.  I like Donald Trump and I don’t like Justin Trudeau.  They despise Donald Trump and don't have any real feelings for Justin Trudeau To the doctor in me I’d say we both have allergic reactions to two different antigens.
Regardless of this both men and their influence is in the affairs of men.  Jesus said , “Give unto Cesar, Cesar’s due.”  He repeatedly said his focus was the “Kingdom of Heaven”.  When I allow my feelings and passions to be played with by the deceitful self serving media I become a victim of the propaganda.
The basis of anger is fear. I have resentment towards Justin Trudeau because of what I perceive as his terrifyingly incompetent leadership, his wasteful spending, his allegiance to the United Nations and Saudi Arabia, his giving billions of Canadian dollars away to cronies overseas under the guise of ‘foreign aid’ where repeated investigations of Canadian ‘foreign aid’ has showed its gone directly to arming criminals;his Globalist  Agenda, his sole allegiance to Quebec ruled by biker gangs and mafia, his arrogant disgust of English Speaking Canadians and Western Canada specifically,  his importation of thousands of angry migrant young men whose extreme religion is against all that Canadians like myself value;and his appearance of utter ignorance of the cost and despair his ‘aggressive’ policies involve along with all the broken promises of the election campaign. His utter deceitfulness is frightening when one looks back at history and sees that leaders who have got into power on one mandate have suddenly switched gears and proposed a personal agenda which is self serving but threatens to bring the majority of Canadians to poverty and war.  His economic polices are disastrous.
Obviously I could go on.
I have this recurrent image of myself on my Harley Davidson Electroglyde 1600 cc Motorcycle barrelling along life’s freeway at a 110 km/hr and there in the centre of the road is a huge steaming pile of human excrement, a bullshit pile of immense dimension.  Now like a rookie motorcyclist I’m studying that pile with fascination.
( “if some affliction befalls a humble man, he immediately blames himself for deserving it and will not reproach or blame another.")
Emmett Fox, the spiritual leader, teaches quite succinctly the fundamental spiritual  ‘law of attraction’, that that which I am attracted to I will go to and will find more of and indeed God, a loving parent, will give me more of.  I am seeing politics everywhere.  I am aiming my motorbike right at the pile of excrement. I am emotionally disturbed to hear Justin Trudeaus whining snivelling debutante voice, the voice of a high school acting student. I am irritated to see his fatuous face. I’m emotionally invested in his male imitation of Myla Cyress.  I have given him power.  It’s not at the rational thought level that the law of attraction works but rather at the ‘feeling level’.  The problem with Trudeau and with politics and the media is that I’m watching them and listening to them. It’s mostly Facebook with that weasel leftist little Lenin wannabe Zuckerberg and his advertising now on my once personal stream.  His propaganda is constantly bringing forward the radical leftist agenda he wants. He’s a lipstick liberal, just like Lenin, a rich lawyer boy who maintained his wealth and status manipulating brownshirt peasants just as the socialist Hitler did to put himself in power and Lord it over the masses.
Zuckerberg now is promoting poverty for all with the globalist agenda that guarantees a liberal elite unprecedented power. World Communism (often presented  under the guise of socialism, like a candy coated tourd)achieved finally through the Frankfurt school and work of Italian Gransci et al.  This isn’t ‘paranoia’ or ‘racism’ or any of the ‘propaganda’ ‘sloganeering’ that passes as intelligence to this incredibly stupid people whose principal communication is ‘name calling’.  At least their standard chanting war refrains have gone up a notch from their ‘running dog imperialist’ poor English translation of Chinese and Russian bullies.  They’ve refined their marketeering to the local but continue to wage war on society because only with global war can they topple those who are in charge and place themselves in charge.
The Left want a revolution and they want war.  The lipstick liberals and their limousine elite crowd want total war.  Only in WWIII will they be able to ‘win’ to the top. Lenin was as great a murdering leader as Mohammed.  Mohammed was as great a war  lord as Stalin and Hitler.  There is no surprise that communists and muslims have formed ranks today to create global jiahad, sharia communism, because they are both spawn of warlords, the genius of murdering mad men.
By contrast Jesus and Buddha are not war lords.  Constantine, a Roman emperor lead Christians as did eastern leaders lead Buddhists to war but the religion of Jesus and the Buddha were not war leaders. Islam is a religion of war. Buddhism and Christianity are religions love and peace.  Marx promoted war and claimed that war was necessary. Communism is a aetheist death religion given it's the only true political expression of aetheism.  Nazism, another socialism was neopagan, lead by the neo pagan Hitler.  The paid gangs of rioters who serve George Soros and his economy crashing ambulance chaser follow the actual play books of toppling nations created by  Mohammed and Marx/Lenin/Engels and Castro and Mao.  Pierre Trudeau, Justin Trudeau's father, used the same agenda to bring tanks into Canada and declare national law before destroying the economy and overwhelming the health care system by bringing the sick families of immigrants into the country as paid voters.  It's called 'political science' and it's the science of 'soft war' which precedes 'hard war'.  These men aren't pacifists. They war mongers.  Stalin just continued the mass murdering Lennin began. Mohammed's family continued jihad right into Spain and almost took Venice were it not for the defensive Crusades that stopped their global war after the Muslims killed millions of non muslims , a practice they continue today.  Every day an Iman in a mosque in a western country calls for the death of non muslims. This is no religion of peace. Communism is equally a religion of death and destruction. Why Justin Trudeau is lying to Canadians is what terrifies us.
Intelligently I disagree with the Liberal position because Communism has destroyed country after country and the destruction of the once great Europe is occurring now because of the very policies that Justin Trudeau is putting forward.  Atheists have killed more people in a century than all the religions of the world killed in all the centuries before.
So I am afraid.  If I were calm about this matter I’d be like the great political writer JJ McCullough who always has a certain aloof wry humour to his commentary. He doesn’t have the hysteria that is so obviously insane that immediately indicates that a person isn’t there for a discussion but rather for an argument. JJ McCullough only tried to discuss the privilege and bullying of Canada by Quebec and Quebec parliamentarians wanted him silenced and censored. Today the left wants to silence anyone who doesn't promote Sharia Communism.
I don’t think I’m perfectly sane when I speak about that great asshole Justin Trudeau. There is the Big Kahuma and then there is the big Asshole.  I’m indelicate and this bothers me to.  I have been taught as a gentleman that I must respect the ‘rank’ even if I consider the ‘man or woman’ who holds the rank a ’turd’.  Yet here I am down at the low brow level of the leftist Trudeau calling him names like he and his followers did to Mr. Harper.  I have lost the high ground and am fighting in the sordid streets where the brown shirt gangsters of the liberals and their low brow followers congregate with niqab covered faces so the cameras don't pick up their looting jewelry stores.
Politics because it is about fear and aggression brings out the worst in us.  It's brought out the worst in me. It’s like the business meetings of Alcoholic Anonymous. I saw the most serene and loving of people who had shown no hostility go mad with rage over the discussion of how the chairs in the room were to be placed.  I’ve watched churches divide over the politics of who will be granted the contract for the repair of the roof. No greater hostility and violence of spirt was apparent to me than at the university where the vilest of human behaviour occurs because of the lust for power and grants in those not so hallowed halls of a great deal of business and a huge dollop of politics and just a little taste of learning.  Institutions are by nature the seats of politics and the place where humans best learn ’the sport of politics’.  There’s compromise and team playing. But they're commonly vicious and deceitful.  Canada is a toxic country.  It wasn't always such.
Anyone like me who is happiest alone is normally no better than a critic because critics are a loud cacophony of idiocy that surrounds all human endeavour. It’s the boots on the ground people like Justin Trudeau and Donald Trump who are the leaders of the world.  Donald Trump goes every day to work and Justin Trudeau goes to work when he’s not vacationing with his large extended family.
 I honestly fear I couldn’t last a day in parliament because I think politics is downright stupid. It really scares me. They’re like a street gang in suits.  Tough boys and girls fighting for their personal gain and claiming that it’s for the good of all, all the while trying to please a myriad of rich and poor suitors.  It’s horrid.
In psychiatry we speak of projection and counter projection.  When I use the term ‘projection’ I mean that I’m putting emotionally on another what I am carrying over from my past.  Counter projection is the equal and opposite play of emotional baggage. No one is without it.  If a black man has been beat up by three white men he will be suspicious of the fourth. If a white man has been beat up by 3 black men he will be suspicious of the fourth.  Everyone uses tactics to get the other person to ‘disarm’ emotionally. The strategy favoured by psychopaths and sociopaths is to demand ‘unilateral disarmament’.  “Trust me”.  The naive youth are forever becoming the cannon fodder because they’re so stupid. I’m a crotchety old dog because I’ve survived this long only because I’ve been beat up and lied to by politicians and media and the rich and powerful and gangs and I’ve just barely survived with an inordinate number of scars. If people don’t have scars they weren’t in the fight.  The guy who lost his leg in war wasn’t stupid as the people back home think, he was where the action was.  Only the wounded know.  A whole lot of people live off the deaths of others and because they’re dishonest about their indebtedness come up with all manner of insanity to convince themselves they’re better.
When I first reported to the authorities a person who was killing and breaking the law I was savaged. I have been savaged every time I have reported killers, pedophiles and thieves.  Kill the messenger is the basic Canadian strategy of ‘preserving the status quo’.  The ‘bad man’ is part of a ‘bad nest’. If you just take out one as I learned early in my career the others who support that evil turd will come after you.
Justin Trudeau represents a third of Canadians, most of Quebec, a whole lot of Eastern urban girls and boys and a whole lot of bought votes like the refugees he brought in on condition they would vote for him.  Two thirds of Canadians don’t like him.  The vast majority of Germans did not like Hitler or his party initially.  It doesn’t take a ‘majority’ of people to take over a country. That’s the basic principle of communist revolution. They take over countries by infiltration of key organizations and undermine individuals.  The problems the Americans faced with North Vietnamese is the assassination teams that roamed the countryside of south Vietnamese killing any good leaders in the villages.
 In Canada ‘character assassination’ is the name of the game and anyone who stands up to the bullies in power will be subjected to attacks the likes of what we witnessed with Donald Trump. No one will ever know how many women Obama groped and how often he said he was going to get some pussy other than Michelle.  It didn’t matter that Bill Clinton was a rapist or at least Hillary paid a woman off so she would not have to face that slur in court.  Who cares if Hillary and Abedin had a lesbian relationship but Donald Trump was slurred in the most intimate way.  The prostitutes that Mao or Lenin had were never an issue politically because the left doesn’t care about their own leaderships ‘foibles’ or ‘humanity’.  The bullies don’t have a code or standards.  They exist to use those with a code or standards against them.
I always hear loner aetheists calling people who go to church hypocrites yet there is no greater group of hypocrites than an atheist philosophy department. My favourite hypocrite is an atheist philosopher. The greatest whiner of modern times was the great deconstructionist who had an emotional hissy fit when a brilliant philosopher subjected his pet deconstruction theory to deconstruction.  Critics are only good when they are pointing fingers.
I brought up PROJECTION because I know I’m “projecting’ when I am critical of Justin Trudeau. He and his wife Sophie absolutely remind me of my time professoring at the  university when I was married and I believed and spoke all that fatuous effete dilletante crap that gets a guy laid with stupid girls after drinking a little wine and smoking a few joints. We all ‘love’ and ‘love’ is good and the girls back then were so easy, like Sophie. Sexy, easy, adoring, sensual.  A regular white bra Kardasian.  You imagine they’ve got dildos and do anal and oral sex and it’s fun in the bedroom when Sophie isn’t manipulating and conniving and giving Trudeau shit, when Sophie and his mother, the drug addict sexsensationalist Maggie Trudeau aren’t ganging up on the poor guy.  He’s actually taken his "in laws" on vacation. Where are the comedians with such rich material.  Really. Where are they.  Cowards. The Justin Trudeau family with all the sex scandals and drugs and Maggie and Sophie and Trudeau and the nannies and the private helicopter rides to satanic islands of concubines and privacy is just hilarious material but no, the comedians don't dare. Canada is a police state. Comedians have been fined for 'speech'. Overnight with the throning of Justin Trudeau the Dark Ages settled into Canada and we reverted to a world where criticizing Mohammed or Allah meant death.  Now comedians don't laugh at the bizarre nest that is the dope smoking Trudeau family.
I was Justin Trudeau. I was a young man in a very bad place and I felt suicidal with the difficulty of the decisions I had to make when I was at the top in my University days professoring and lecturing and sounding like an arrogant idiot I was. I blamed anything and everything on everything and anything but me.
Justin Trudeau’s life is the shits. I had it. I was right there mouthing platitudes and arguing with the wife at home. I never had the monster children that required 2 nannies and the dozen army and navy seals surrounding them and talking to them and keeping them in line along with the crazy wife and crazy mother and all the manufacturers of weapons and marijuana wanting me to push their product. Then there’s  the nightmares of Daddy's  elephant and the mouse  causing him to be with out sleep and he’s just wanting everyone to love him. Then the fucking media who he's bought and paid for takes a picture of him eyeing Ivanka’s tits with raw lust , and only yesterday  he elbowed the tit of just about the best looking breasts in the opposition.  No one understands what it’s like to be a castrated man and he’s acting his very best trying to please the bike gangs and mafia in Quebec and when he met the head of China he wet himself if he wasn’t sodomized by that really barbaric scary dude.  Justin Trudeau keeps having to have dinner with guys who have literally killed thousands, many with their own hands. He's dining in Cuba with guys who have gone into jails where they've personally tortured peasants then killed these defenceless unarmed men with a shot to the back of head or a slash of a machete.  Muslim leaders   are chopping off the heads of people in public executions today and men chop of the heads of their wives without legal consequence.  Justin is meeting these people and he''s got to be in shock.  This is a vacuous part time drama teacher and pot head snow board who calls himself a 'feminist' to get laid by his really bitchy silly wife.  You really don’t think the Chinese leader hasn’t taken some personal pleasure in physically snuffing out the life of his enemy with his bare hands. Lenin got a real rush killing people personally . He loved being able to use his spy agency to hunt down Trotsky and snuff him in Mexico.
Justin Trudeau liked his bro Obama, he was slick like the other boys at school, a lawyer, who joked with him after dinner snorting a few lines of coke maybe . A couple of the boys laughing over cigars Obama told Trudeau what a rush to authorize a drone strike.  They probably laughed about how they'd like to drone strike Donald Trump and maybe Rona Ambrose. God, power is glorious.  Obama was Justin's friend and now this fucking Donald Trump is just as likely to poison Trudeau in Trudeau’s eyes as he is to whack a terrorist or drug cartel leader.  Donald Trump scares the shit out of Trudeau.   That explains why Trudeau always walks like he has a wet one in his white shorts.  He’s shitting himself.  Now where are the Canadian comedians with this stuff.  Charlie Head was murdered and the fact is no one in Canada not on government pay is pay enough to take any risks. Canadian comedians are cowards. I don't blame them. But really, the material here is priceless.
I was shitting myself when I was in my thirties and forties trying to sort out the lies from the lies and having all these idiots criticizing me and judging me.  .
Trudeau is my younger self. I’ve not forgiven myself. I’ve not forgiven my gullibility. I continue to hold resentments to the leaders who punished me for reporting their killing drunken drug addicted cronies. I”m still angry that the women protected the deadly drug addicted women even more than the old boys club.  I hated the double standards.  Racism is all about letting a minority kill because they’re a minority and I watched that happened and reported that but they got a free pass but the white guy got it then I got it for ‘not being a team player’.  I was supposed to watch the killing and stealing go on and wait my turn.  I was supposed to be a support to organization and never never never never be a ‘whistle blower’.  Being a ‘whistle blower’ in my case just served to hurt the good leader who had the weak secondary so that the really evil dirty killing competitor got in power.  It was a lesson in what Winston Churchill called "real politic".  His mother slept around too but she was discrete about it. My mother didn't.  My mother and father were salt of the earth.
That’s what I like about Melania. I don’t think she sleeps around. Her son is most important to her.  My mother didn’t sleep around because her children were most important to her.  Naturally having been a son I like that trait in a woman. It’s otherwise dubious especially to a group into orgies.  They would naturally not like that trait in a woman. I didn’t like non drinkers when I drank.  I really like that Donald Trump doesn’t drink. I keep wanting Trudeau drug tested but that’s just my past talking. I was punished with years of drug testing because being the least important youngest member of a drunken orgying  drug doing important crowd who were competing with the resentful fearful political non drinking non drugging monogamous crowd.  I was the sacrifice.  Nothing changed in the bigger picture. I lost millions in potential income.  Some would say I saved my soul.  I somedays think I'd rather of saved my ass.  I took the road less travelled. Now all that history is dying around me. The players are 5 and 10 years older and dying of cancer and sexually transmitted diseases and alcohol and drug abuse and dementing early.
I don’t think Justin Trudeau has the character I had.  I probably sell him short. Politicians are such whores. I was like that. I turned down a gig as a naked pole dancer and refused to do major crime. I was invited. I was there at the gate. I turned away. I don’t know if Trudeau would.  He's always seemed so weak.  Power crazed liked his father in that way and addicted like his mother.
I’m old today. I really believe I’d take a gig as a naked pole dancer today.  If someone offered me the kind of money they offered me at 20.  I just turned down a couple of thousand dollars a day pushing marijuana. I turned down the easiest job of doing abortions with a couple of months vacation, half million a year and 30 hour work week.  God there’s really money to be made on the dark side, that grey area that the Liberal government celebrates.  I personally have moved more into public health than the personal health arena simply because I’m so tired of being beat up defending the underdogs. I’m tired of constantly paying big money out of my own pocket to stop people being killed and for what.
The fact is we get the leaders we deserve.  Isaiah said that of Israel.  Trudeau is a puppet. He’s a silly little boy with a bitch wife and a crazy mother and a flakey fatuous life and low brow take on reality, experiencing a kind of drug addicted party with all the trappings of a gang fest and he’s probably dying in side.  He's mostly likely sold his soul and his ass.
When I was in that world it was horrible. Sitting next to a guy talking about maiming someone for profit with a whole lot of shakers and makers of society around me and the wife kicking me under the table to shut up.  I remember the dinner parties of bores and all those UN type egos and the utter stupidity. I just haven’t been able to do that without pot and wine. When I was smoking pot and drinking wine I could sit at such a function and get through the night ogling the girls tits. I could even listen to my second mother in law, the greatest nut bar of womanhood mother in laws whose insanity competed with the third mother in laws whose existence was the basis of all the worlds’ jokes about mother in laws. I simply couldn’t do that today. I sometimes think that the only way a sane person could accept Canadian politics today or listen to a CBC news cast is with a shit load of LSD on board.
Some one has to do that job which is probably worse than public sanitation.  I never liked tuxedos and having my picture taken and the sycophants saying how great I was.  I look at poor Justin and see that he’s really struggling.  The mentally retarded don’t have an easy life.  I’ve known Downs syndrome trisomy 21 adults and they laugh a lot and like eating and sex but they’re befuddled by life.
I’m clearer visioned today. That they had to do that old style communist political play with Justin in front of the blackboard equation prop massacring a description of a quantum computer he'd been coach all night on and prompted by the paid sycophant reporter was just too tragic.  Seeing that and the millions that went into that little play really showed just how stupid Justin must be and how many people really know it that they have to do that kind of political marketing. It was like when the Kennedy's were boinking Marilyn Munroes their handlers couldn't get enough of them backdropped by churches and talking to mother child functions.  It's politics.  But not for the good guys. They don't stoop need to stoop so low.   And I don't have to follow them there.  I'm the one watching this World Wrestling rigged massive theft fest.
I just have to follow the spiritual laws. The spiritual law of motorcycling is to focus on where you want to go.  If you see a big pile of human excrement on the highway of life you don’t watch it. You aim away from it. You go around around it.  When you were a kid you loved to scream ‘wee’ and go right through that shit but you’re not 20 30 or 40 anymore and you don’t drink and you don’t smoke so forget it. Keep your eyes on the road and enjoy the ride.
Go to the light.
Politics in general is a cluster fuck and a shit storm. CBC is the worst of news sources.  You know listening to it is like sticking a curling iron in your ear or up your ass. You’ve never done that, thank God so why do you ever turn on CBC and see how your tax payer money is being wasted and hear the worst sharia communist propaganda. They’re not going to give you the real news. They’re not going to show Justin Trudeau hugging the porcelain and upchucking his wine and guts into  the gilded toilet. CBC is not going to let you hear that Sophie is still telling him what an asshole he is after the media showed him ogling Ivanka’s tits.  It was maybe okay for Obama and Michelle and Sophie and Justin to do a little coke and have a little group sex in the White House but despite what the media say about Donald Trump he’s not going to like a foreign dignitary lusting after his brilliant beautiful and married daughter.  It doesn’t matter that he was a young cad, a father doesn’t take that shit.  So there’s Justin with a hangover and a headache and Sophie is giving him  her "I’ve got a feminist head ache for another lifetime routine " and Myla Cyress has a sexually transmitted disease and that fat ass Kardasian that Trudeau can’t get enough of watching when he’s not having to go to those boring boring meetings, has obviously got really bad hemorrhoids.  The Kardashians have hemorrhoids. Really. I thought everyone knew.
And I’m here with my dog.  I’m an egomaniac with a inferiority complex. I’m envious and afraid. And it’s got nothing to do with what’s happening today. I’ve got to get my head in the same room as my ass is and I’ve got to get my one foot out of the future and one foot out of the past and I’ve got to count my blessings.  I've got to accept God's in charge and the world is unfolding as it should.
I’ve got to accept that if I had never smoked dope then maybe Trudeau would not have become prime minister. That's the multiverse, at that node where I chose smoking and drinking to prayer and fasting,  I took chose the path that lead to this reality. I personally by my behaviour contributed to the cluster fuck I see us facing now.  This is my part of the group karma. In an alternate reality Justin Trudeau is still snowboarding and teaching kids drama. He has the fish mongers wife and the overbearing in laws and the nannies and all that shit but Canada has a real worthy prime minister who is a statesman and doesn't do drugs.   If I had been a good man and kept my nose to the grindstone instead of ogling girls tits when I was his age I would have perhaps stayed married to those darling women I married who make Sophie look like something hit by a truck . I”m reminded of my wive’s when I see Melania with Trump and her son Barron.  My first wife really looked like Melania. My second wife looked like Nicole Kidman. My third wife when she wasn't doing drugs was great.  I really was a loser like Trudeau when I was young sounding just as god awful stupid, singing ‘we shall overcome ‘ and smoking joints and fucking outdoors after the peace rallies. God it was great to be young and stupid.  At least I knew more about science,  physics,  computers on my worst day back then than he did on his best with all the best acting and science tutors and he still got it wrong.  I also taught drama back then so I really can see how incredibly bad he is in what he's supposed to be best at.  Whenever I see him and hear him in public it's like seeing Peewee singing opera. Such a bad performance. Maybe he snowboards better. I never snowboarded so maybe I'd not know what a farce he is.
Face it .  You’re jealous of Trudeau not because of his position but because of his age. You wish you could be young again and say no to dope and save yourself that wasted time when you took so many knocks in life because when you’re not fully aware you become a target. Poor Justin probably dreams of snowboarding and smoking a joint and wonders what the fuck happened to his life. And if he hadn’t smoked dope maybe he could still be a part time drama teacher snowboarding and not having to listen to the awful little kids, the in laws and the bitch wife Sophie a real fishmonger wife if ever there was one.
Here you’ve survived. You’ve got through the age of stupidity and there’s really no need to go through it.  Fast from face book. If you can give up beaujolais you can give up Face book or at least politics. Not JJ McCullough. You can read JJ but stay away from CBC and all those other main stream media marketing war mongering lie telling smooth sounding talking dick head programs.
Remember last week how good you felt listening to neurosciences driving to and from work. And don’t you see how much better you feel reading the writings of saints.  You read what Trudeau said about something and had to clean up the shit because your bowels didn’t know wether to vomit or have diarrhea. it was so unappealing. Go to the light.  Aim the motorcycle where you want to go.  Go around the shit and the shit heads.
You want to go to the light.
Forgive yourself.  Forgive Justin Trudeau. Forgive Donald Trump. Forgive all the politicians. Forgive the institution of politics. Forgive that little weasel Zuckerberg. Forgive Merkel. Forgive Mohahmmed even if he’s dead centuries and his killing still goes on.  Forgive Jesus and even Buddha because they left you and are probably in heaven watching the world and laughing at the entertainment that all this people wandering about in shit brings those who’ve gone before and get to look back from a place of grace.
And humility.
Always remember the mantra you created in your yogi days, “I am insignificantly significant and significantly insignificant’.  Get some humility happening. It’s all outside your pay grade.  You’re just another silly critic and poor Justin Trudeau gets enough shit from his mother and his wife and those Quebec biker gangs and all his other handlers.  He’s got the stupid downtown girl groupies but he can’t even look at Ivanka’s tits  Remember the trouble that porn dog Bill Clinton had.  He must have had Hillary blasting him every night. It's amazing they had a daughter with how angry that woman is all of the time.  He just wanted to get blow jobs from every young women and whatever success he had in life he’ll always be remembered as not knowing a blow job was a ‘sexual relationship’ and being an even greater liar than Nixon.
Why focus on these guys. There’s amazing guys doing amazing science and you listen to the stupid news when you can be listening to neurosciences like you did last week, hearing about the latest researcher on synapses say.
I know you hardly ever listen to this shit. You really do spend most of your time studying science and history and theology.  You've read dozens of texts on ethics and morality.  You practiced yoga and Tai Chi and pray and meditate.  I know  You try to avoid CBC like the plague turning it off but you still turn it on.  You're like a porn addict who can't resist a peek.  Everytime you listen to CBC propaganda it makes you sick.  Still you listen a bit.  5 minutes of kiddie porn.  That's all it takes to get the addiction to depravity raved up. And here you are indulging in just a taste of CBC like a crack addict who thinks he can just have a little taste then wonders why his whole attitude goes to shit.
Then yo go to Facebook despite the bullshit it’s become with more advertising and Zuckerberg filling your screen with his left wing propaganda pieces and saying 'we thought you'd like that'. And you screaming you Zuckerberg might like crack and kiddie porn but I don't want you shit lies in my home on my computer.
I liked the  dogs and humour. It’s like you keep opening the door to strangers and wondering why you can’t even block the intrusion of psychopaths and sociopaths because you won’t accept your mind is valuable. You love when you read the Bible. You felt so good last week reading Kierkegaars that your friend John Christiensen gave you. I know you don’t seek out this bullshit but you sure spend a long time looking at this piles of human excerment on the road before your swerve your motorcycle to safety. You're like a guy whose sober standing outside a liquor store window reading labels on the bottles and complaining about the display.   Go to the light.  Stay focused on the journey.
The journey is you become more humble, more virtuous, more honest, more learned, more wise, more relatable, and more spiritual.  You want to be a good person. You want to be of service to your fellow man. You want to make money so you can direct it to where you think it serves the most good. You want to do a whole lot of good things and instead you are distracted by all the shit.  You really have to get your act together and stop letting people get into your home and keep you from doing what you were doing.  They have child locks on computers to keep the criminals away from children. You need a Facebook without Zuckerberg's propaganda. You need a radio with the CBC news deleted from the dial. You got Sirius to listen to hymns and symphony but no you still, tired, at the end, of a very long day, driving home, turn on the radio to get the CBC news and what do you get, a headache.  And it’s okay to eat ice cream and watch Star Trek. It’s not like you don’t deserve it. You’ve served for decades so doing some things for yourself is okay. But why don't you really look on the bright side of life. Let someone else take care of Trudeau and Sharia Communism. You've spent your life fighting evil and getting beat up saving lives and doing the right thing.  For nearly 20 years now you've been clean and sober and you only binge drank and smoked dope a few years of your life.  You quit drinking because of your wife's drug problem.  It was great to get the help to stay sober and it was great to make all the friends who left that Justin Trudeau Sophie Obama Michelle Ottawa Washington Swamp life.  You have a good life. You're supposed to be preparing for a good death.  Prayer and fasting. Leave this world of Trudeaus and lies and CBC propaganda and globalist communism to the next generation. They may have to have a World War III and maybe they will not make it. I worry for my nephews who are so trusting and good and my god children who are so young.  But mostly I worry for my old age.  I see the government killing us old people off and having taken from us all our lives now when we are too old killing us like the Communists always do.  Firing squads or physician assisted suicides.  It's fear of aging that makes me cranky. It's my brother dying young.  It's the patients dying daily because of Trudeau's underfunding health care and encouraging addiction and drug abuse.  It's the insanity of greedy public policy.  It's aging. I'm afraid. I'm not doing well at humility. I'm not trusting God enough. God is good all of the time and God has been good to me despite myself. I must practice the presence of God and follow the light. I have allowed myself to be pulled down into the swamp and am choking on my own choice to swim in this muck.  My job is to do my work humbly thankful for what I have and focussing on the good I can do.  I must celebrate the good and avoid the piles of shit in the road.  I need to sing praises and celebrate the journey.  It's been glorious at times.  I love my little dog though his blindness in one eye has been so demoralizing.  I am upset with the forced move and the failure of administration.  I am utterly tired of the constant demands and no resources.  I am thankful for what we are doing. I must pray more for my friends with cancer and my friends who are older and feeling as afraid as I am about the destruction of the health care system, the lack of pain management and the abuse of pain medication. But my job isn't in politics.  I have to focus on healing.  Healing at the microcosm level.  I must heal myself. Recovery and my relationship with God and learning to be more humble.  It's all going to be okay. This too shall pass. Just keep cleaning up the wreckage of your past.  Thank god you quit drinking wine and smoking dope and smoking tobacco as soon as you did and that you didn't continue along that dead end.  Take the right way around the shit in the road. See the clear open high way.
Love God and Love your neighbour as your self. Your problem is that you haven’t loved God enough. You haven’t meditated enough, prayed enough, read uplifting literature enough, laughed enough, exercised enough, walked the dog enough.  That’s where you need to focus. That’s humility. You’re a student of life. Focus on the clear path. Pay attention to the Way.
Humility is a spiritual law. If you want to feel good look to what you yourself are doing or not doing that is making you feel bad.  And if you are doing something that is off then make sure there’s more balance. Remember Gandhi and Martin Luther King both made essentially the same statement, “It’s a tough day, so I must spend more time on my knees”.

Friday, February 17, 2017

Facing Friday Morning.

The snow is almost gone. It’s been raining steadily. Today though it’s just grey. Gilbert crawled into bed with me and lay down beside me , licking my cheek. Now he stands at the end of the couch looking out onto the street.  I am so thankful for his presence and friendship.
I so busy and overwhelmed with the office closure business. I can’t express my anger at the Landlady for renting me a suite without proper zoning. I’m equally incensed by the City for refusing to consider a psychiatrist office like a psychologist office but holding it strictly too the medical office definition. The zoning is there only related to the numbers and were it a medical office of general practice it would mean fifty people a day 5 days a week but I’ve only worked there half time seeing at most 30 patients a week.  But beurocrats have the dubious distinction of dealing with their rules and regulations never having to face reality or humanity.
It is no surprise to me that Confuscianism was countered by Daoism and Buddhism.  The Confuscists know nothing of the ‘Way’.  The bureaucrats have lost their way.
I have struggled to hold true and with the kindness of friends have found places where I can continue to see patients in clinics of friends.  Now I’m dispersed to three clinics.  I’m letting go of my staff and moving out records and furniture.  In a week I’ll see my last patient in the old place.
I’ve had these living room spaces of healing I’ve created for over thirty years.  I started though in a medical examining room. As a country gp I did my first psychotherapy and hypnosis in a room where I also lanced absesses and did examinations.  It’s like that again.  A sterile environment, functional.
Today’s beurocratcy doesn’t like couches.  It’s gone Sharia. Every man is a rapist. Every doctor is a sex offender. We’re all guilty and the ugliness is everywhere.  I have focussed solely on healing. I’ve struggled with the wonder of creation and the struggle of life.  I’ve insisted that I’m a healer and not a policeman while watching my colleagues in high places run in terror from the front lines of disease and suffering where the uncertainty abounds ,to the safety and security of the humourless committee rooms filled with cowardice and pomposity.
I am comforted though by the humans in my new surroundings. Other labourers in the healing process. We’ve not sold our souls to the policing controlling superior safety of the beaurocratic insanity.  There are more and more regulations with less and less evidence of value and less and less time in healing with more and more time in writing.  I hardly have time to look in the face of the sufferer and yet those who make the rules have long ago rejected contact with the hoi polloi.  The machines are more interesting. They love the numbers.  The human touch of hand on wrist is disgusting to them.  They develop ways and means of gathering data electronically.
We are fast becoming lifeless.
There is a death smell in the system where fewer and fewer heal and more and more give orders.  We carry a burden of disease in beaurocracy.  The cancer of the incompetence of administration is profound.  It is said that peace time is forever condemned to the corruption and expansion of the useless bureaucracy until war forces efficiency and relevance on the force with overnight paring and reduction.
I’m struggling with my resentment to the powerlessness I feel facing untreatable diseases, dying patients, dying family.  I’m alone at times in a foxhole and the messages that come in from headquathers where the perverted fatuous party goes on day and night with endless resources and countless bodies is at stark contrast to how little we have on the front.  I don’t know if it’s them I am angry with or God.
In my own dark night of the soul all I can ask over and over again is God help me to forgive the bureaucrats, their grotesque sins of omission, their Nuremberg mentalities and self righteous posturing and utter utter stupidity.  Please God forgive me and help me see them as the angels they are.  Help me again to face the disease with my patients and give me strength to stand by and touch them even as the Judges and all the august tell us to not touch, not look at, not be seen by the sick.  The sick are all lepers to this administration. Their contribution is solely abortion and suicide. They don’t like life other than their own.
But I’m raving.  I’m catastrophising. It’s just the grief speaking. It’s just another death by fentanyl that’s hurting me today.  I’ll go and talk to another person who has lost a friend and miss the person who isn’t coming today that I saw last week but isn’t coming today. So many don’t return these days and I hear they are at the morgue.

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Saturday morning

I awoke without the alarm.  Gilbert was still sleeping but lifted his head when I began moving.  By the time I had coffee going he was sitting staring at his food bowl the way he does when he wants me to replenish it.  I got him a "little cesar" and a milk bone.
I’ve shaved.
I’ve not showered yet.
I did put sweats and sweater over my night shirt.  Gilbert was excited and at the door by the time I was donning my long black coat. I love the purple scarf that Anna knitted me.  My beret looks dashing and ancient, unisexual.  (I wore my first beret at 16 going to the 1967 World’s Fair in Montreal.  I wore jeans and an Army Navy Store dark Navy sweater. I couldn’t tune my guitar but I played it nonetheless back then.
No one is up yet.  In the trailer park there’s usually someone out and about even this early. The older men, retired, go to bed early but begin projects early in the day. Many worked jobs for a lifetime that required them to be up by 5 am.  It’s already 8 am. Maybe they’ve gone to the A&W to have breakfast with the other old guys.  I see that some of the trucks are gone.
The Brunette River makes a nice running sound in the still woods. Everywhere there is snow and ice.  I have to be careful walking. I’m wearing clogs and no socks so get snow in my shoes.
Gilbert is off leash, sniffing and peeing on everything.
I walked down to the water.  I’ve actually got naked and swum in these shallow pools in the heat of summer. I consider it now.  A friend who polar bear swims most days says it’s marvellous for his sexual stamina. He’s young and crazy too, so I’m sure that contributes. He says his partner is sexually insatiable.  There’s a whole lot more there  than icy swims whatever the Romans said for it.  I rationalize my way out of a cold dip.  I think instead of the coffee that is calling me.
When I get back Gilbert is happy to have had his toilet and left his greeting cards.
I don’t know what I’m going to do today. It strikes me like a Buddhist gong on a mountainside. I’m programmed daily from morning to night with demands. It’s been so exhausting these last weeks moving a practice, dealing with the landlord and city and provincial bureaucrats.  There’s lawyers and accountants and business men and dying. There’s information overload. All the government regulations authorities demand I read their endless stream of changes any of which is a mine waiting to explode. There’s a constant threatening tone to their supposedly friendly communiques.  They are all so very bossy.  Little children who can't mind their own business but insist on telling everyone else what to do. I wish they weren't so ignorant and insecure. They have thin skins, are incredibly egotistical, little real life experience and all manner of personal secrets.  Very sick and dangerous people.  What's so sad is they utterly lack insight and are desperate to please their superiors.  They want so much that little bit of approval.
Meanwhile liberals, democrats,left wing extremists and sharia communists are rioting all over America.  Marches, destruction and threats of death.  If one questions their tyranny they risk imprisonment for hate speech. " I hate your violence” can get a Canadian jailed if they mistakenly ‘name’ the object wrongly.  Political Correctness is so aggressive.  It's a violence itself. I go through my week constantly walking on egg shells.  Barefooted I tip toe amidst the broken glass of all the easily offended worked up by highly paid agitators and todays elitist activitsts.
Doesn’t anyone understand I was a "pacifist".  I was never an activist. When I marched in the streets with love painted on my face, I was't even marching. We walking arm in arm.  We laughed and sang and gathered together in fear. It wasn’t war. It was peace. We weren’t angry. We were afraid.  We loved our land and didn’t want it to become something other.  We weren’t gathering to destroy our way of life but to hold onto love against the anger.  Now the angry are everywhere, entitled and loud.
Oh well.  I woke at 3 in the morning last week.  I couldn’t sleep. The cacaphony of voices inside my head had come alive. I was dreaming of my brother.  I was so sad, so very sad. And alone. I’ve felt so very alone since he died. We were so often like friends, apart a lot but when we were together it was like we were kids again, when we shared a room talking late into the night, keeping our voices very  low, so the parents couldn’t hear, long after lights out.