Saturday, June 25, 2016

Napanee Vacation: Death, Cancer, Life

Death is always with us.  We maintain an illusion of life in which we know that death and life abound but somehow we are permanent.  Yet this life is by its very nature impermanent.  And each night I sleep.  I enter this death like equation where to my subjective self I leave the objective world of community and enter a dream like state, another world, as memorable as memories themselves.
Cancer is a disease of threatened death.  Immunologically we think of it as the body turned against itself, some auto immune phenomena, that is either a lack of recognition of the good self and hence destruction or a lack of policing of the bad self and hence destruction.
This phenomena of cancer has been associated with environmental disease as in those poor ladies who painted watch faces with radioactive paint till they succumbed of cancers or the mining men who breathed in asbestos.  That's the environmental stressor model.
Then there's the genetic angle.  Genes mutate and cancer is a mutation associated with age or the bombardment of the genetic code by various waves of unseen energy and particle some travelling through the ozone layers while others come from more proximal microwave emissions.  The Russians so certain of the science of the latter  spent millions bombarding the American embassy with hoped for disease causing EMF.  There are viruses too that trigger cancer, infections such as Herpes Simplex II which was so thoroughly associated with cervical cancer that it gave rise to the Pap Test as the principle preventative protective strategy.
Ever since I became a doctor cancer has been being cured with greater success though the greater length of life has resulted in this miracle being obscured by the apparently increased death in the elderly from cancer.  The wear and tear of the Australian beach crowd has with time created a whole group of melanomatous skin cancers with each year of excessive sun exposure and recurrent damage to the skin till cancer arises from the suns bombardment and aging.  Everywhere cancer is being cured.
Psychiatrists have long held that physical illness of chronic disease and even some acute illness is ‘anger turned inward’.  One is by definition either outwardly homicidal in attitude or inwardly suicidal in attitude.  As with all the physical attributes psychologically there is a balance, a right place between the polar extremes.  At that point the homicidal and suicidal tendencies of Freud’s forces of life and death are balanced.  Chronic disease follows the upset of the golden rule, that fundamental equation, ‘love thy neighbour as thyself’.  One must show a healthy balance of self care.  Too much narcissism and self centeredness results in hypochondriasis or real disease and the attraction of illness if only by shadowing doctors who work always around disease.
By contrast one can spend time mostly in the love of others, altruism and selflessness.  My brother is a husband and a parent and worked for the government which treated its civil servants psychologically as they did their military servants, expendable and hierarchically, socially stressful places despite their apparent union benefits.  There is stress from the juggling of the roles too and fulfilling the duties of society.
My brother has stayed. He’s a brick. I’m  He is the Rock of Gibraltar . He's the army to my navy.  He's the artillery and I’m calvary. He’s taken a tremendous amount of bombardment by staying whereas I’ve charged and retreated from the bullies that abound in our present day 'uncultured' society
The other psychiatric and philosophic aspect of the cancer which isconsidered from a communications perspective is that ‘ cancer is that which you can say in no other way’.  Communication theory sees us as essentially ‘communicating units’ and all we say and do are expressions of seeking and giving help.  A child cries and a mother comforts him or her.  Disease is a way of seeking help or solving a puzzle.  Gods come to us in disease is a saying that relates to the idea that when we are well and outwardly rewarded we do not tend to turn inward to consider the meaning of existence or to communicate our questions about existence or even our individual lives. Disease is doubt.  Happily ruling Wall Street with hookers and cocaine and simulated battles or impressing the ladies with ones muscles and tattoos in government circuits one can remain shallow and fatuous.  However faced with cancer there is an inward turning.
When I am wounded in battle my sword arm, until that moment so strong, is suddenly cut and no longer answers to the command of my ego.  What is the relationship between fate and free will, I ask myself. How is it that my enemy has found this weakness I did not know myself or what was I thinking to let down my shield.  Why does the zen master say one's enemy is a friend who teaches us our mistake. Why does the psychiatrist call disease the great teacher?
In the Bible the wound of note is the struggle between the angel and man which eventually lead to the naming of Israel.  These ideas are not new.  All philosophy and religion have been given to answering some questions about disease and death with cancer, the big "C" being the metaphor for "satan incarnate' or 'living death', the primo disease.  There are similar stories of wounds and myths around the world.    The crack in creation is where the light comes in. In sickness we are forced to consider the aloneness of sickness and life. I am born between piss and shit and I die, ashes to ashes.  Cancer is but  a slow death or a speeded up life.  My minister friend with cancer told me he'd only begun to really live when he was first diagnosed with cancer. He described an intensity of life he'd not known since childhood and how he'd been mostly a spectator for many years and now was pulled fully and completely into the game of life.
There’s no sudden and acute motor vehicle accident death or death by beheading in war.  Cancer a slow struggle, a marathon. The fight against the slow death is Sisyphus.  Kierkegaard said , Life is suffering unto death".  It's a simmer rather than a boil.   It’s a ‘siege’ by comparison to a charge.
The recovery changes a person.  It’s a near death experience on a daily basis with a whole reconsideration of the means of dealing with the external exigencies of reality. If a person ‘solved’ life’s problems one way cancer may well demand a whole new set of tools to overcome it.
Cancer is that which I can say in no other way is a consideration that if I can find another way of communicating then I might no longer need the cancer.  The pessimist becomes the optimist and the cancer disappears.  The independent soloist turns to the community for aid and surrender to the care of others who experiment with their various ideas of cure and success.  Witches brews and chemotherapy all contribute to the natural self healing of the individual who once was a neut like creature capable of regrowing tails and limbs, a genetic code which exists within, which hasn’t been lost, which we are again doing with the help of the lab.  Stem cells differentiate into whole new body parts.  We have the stem cells still.  We all are self healing.  Medicine and surgery simply assist.
It’s not like we plant the seeds but more that we weed the garden. All the seeds are there to grow resplendent but we must prune and care for the flowers we wish.  Cancer is it’s own robust weed.  There’s something incredible at the cellular level when we contemplate cancer. It’s dandelions on a golfers green.
We are always messing with creation. We are dictating to the universe that we want this order, this life we have created, not this other mutation. We are ‘stewarding’. We are leading. All self doubt is left behind because to cure cancer we must give it our undivided attention and solve the rubrics cube in a race against time.  Meanwhile all that is past is demanding equal attention as it did when one was well. The war goes on but my sword arm no longer lifts the sword. If I don't pay attention I can find myself kicking my feet like a kangaroo while dragging my sword arm behind me.  For 80,000 years I learned to slink off to the cave where I nursed my own wounds or formed a pact with a medicine man or woman and hopefully a child or wife or husband fed me in my monastic vigil and struggle with God. We are herd animals, not lizards. There's comfort in companionship.  I never admit it but I still like when a friend brings me soup when I am sick.
I want to live, I say and God, or the Great Unknown asks me ,how much or am I sure. It’s a Job like place this narrative of Cancer. .  The siege is on and the enemy is at the door.
I am here with my brother who was diagnosed as having pancreatic cancer.  He only learned when he was first diagnosed with pulmonary embolism. . Breath is the sacred nectar of life the rhythmic wonder of existence.  He was literally breathless when he began this journey.  The healing care and brilliance in Napanee and in Kingston has been stupendous to behold.  As a doctor I've been so thankful to know my brother has had the care of the oncology team there.  Pulmonary embolisms, blood  clotting oddly in lungs is so often a harbinger of cancer so the Sherlock Holmes began and found this pancreatic mass where it did not belong. The anomaly was called 'cancer'.
To date my brother hasn’t had any symptoms attributable to the cancer itself except fatigue. His loss of appetite, nausea and malaise have come with nerve sensation loss from the treatments.  It’s the same as if a terroist cell has taken up a presence in the centre of the city infiltrated key areas and is planning on setting off bombs and destroying all from within. No one knows they are there, except the police and soldiers who enters with the intent of getting them out. The only thing the city notices are the apparent wars started by the police and soldiers. It's so easy then to blame the cure for the disease.  We hear it all the time in politics.  There is a politics of disease.  The internet is rife with insanity and special interest groups, pseudoscience and marketing.  My brother, always wise, trusts in what is really known.  He trained as a scientist at the University of Manitoba.  He understands the depths of what the loving doctors are telling him. He has worked well with the Kingston oncology team and the Napanee outreach.
Now a year later and my brother’s cancer has not gained to any degree.  The battle has waged.  The weeding and pruning have taken place. The seeds of new plants have grown while some of the old have been demolished. There is new life but there is also death.  Having survived that first day of breathless near death he’s gone on to succeed a year against a Borg like phenomena whose kill ratio is 9 out of 10.  Only the A student solves the puzzle and lives beyond five years.  He's one fifth of the way along that life journey. It’s been a sharp learning curve.  My brother is a genius though. He was the smart one in the family. I was the slow learner by comparison.  I don't doubt his capacity to live. Cancer is a minor matter compared to the challenges he's faced so far and overcome.  His family are a testimony to his love and skill and merit.
The central question of life is ‘fate’ and ‘free will’.  Buber described the idea of “I and it’ and then the move to “I and thou’.  The "other" is the whole world.  Here the "other' is cancer. "I and Cancer".  There is to immunology the central theme of ‘self’ and ‘not self’.  I have a white blood cell response to a foreign bacteria that invades my body.  My basic immunological system has ‘boundaries’ and the foreigner is removed.
We all have cancer. Our bodies are restoring the homeostasis daily by the minute and hour.  The self healing structures are removing mutations and clearing the diseased cells away.  Our treatments expedite this.  We assist the self healing process.  We fight the invader and we strengthen the host.  The terminology of medicine is full of ambiguity.  We call a person the ‘host’ as if they have invited cancer for dinner and are now having their own personal party but can't alone throw the cancer 'bore' out of the party.
 I have gratitude for today. I am here at Hay Bay and have known another day with my brother. He’s an amazing man, his marriage and home and children a reflection of he and his wife’s dreams.  I love seeing his love in action, all the years I’ve watched him devote himself to his family in a world where individualism and selfishness are the halcyon call of our Kardashian and Myla Cyrus day.  I don’t even think he’s ever snapped a ‘selfie’ of himself.  He’s a quiet man in that way.  At the same time he can talk a persons deaf with tale upon tale, a trait we both share with our beloved Irish mother.  On the surface he might at times chatter but with him still waters run deep, not stagnant.
He’s angry as all cancer patients are.  There’s a grieving process that Elizabeth Kubla Ross described regarding dying.  As cancer is the offer of a slow death or a chance of recovery , this horns of the dilemma is met with all the range of appropriate emotions. We daily grieve to some degree the lost dreams of yesterday. I never was the astronaut I wanted to be as a kid and became instead the prosaic doctor. My brother would have loved to fly but walked instead and now must even crawl awhile to get a head.  We're not stationary in our family.
I am grateful to be here.  So much of family and medicine is being present.  The world as a whole run away from disease thinking fearfully living a life of trying to avoid all distress.  Cancer is like lepracy.  Disease is stigma.  The struggle is personal. It’s not a public matter. It’s a private matter. The parasitic people would still like to take advantage of another's misfortunes.   Family and friends gather.  We are there as much for protection as our own learning.  Socrates is speaking.  He never did need to take the hemlock. He did not wish to be exiled so did, but he could have left.  I can live or I can die. My brother has chosen life and I'm glad to be a cheer leader if only that.He has my rapt attention. I am honoured to be welcomed by this great artist and he creates his masterful Houdini trick of escaping cancer and death this time. We both accept that 20 or 30 years from now we may wish to succumb but not now, not when we are both so young. My father lived till 94. My mother said she was tired and wanted to go at 89.  A son should outlive his parents.  My brother has the will and gifts.  He loves life.
Having worked in medicine some thirty years with tens of thousands of patients and so many facing cancer, disease and old age, along with the gun shot wounds, I’ve been never certain what the outcome will be.  The house always wins in the long run , but countless winners gladly take their millions even from the lotteries.  It’s never over till the fat lady sings. It’s also not over unless the bullet has your name on it.  A WWI soldier who survived Vimy Ridge taught me that. He was my patient in his 80's.
The success of this generation is in the longevity. We are all living a decade longer and all the killers of a while ago are cured.  Even these new diseases of deadly destruction are being beaten with alacrity. I know so many cancer survivors.  
Even the old go on and on so that there are nursing homes galore and the courts are all about physician assisted suicide not because people are dying but because they refuse to.  Life is so good that the historic killers of war, disease and starvation aren’t doing their former job to the satisfaction of politicians. Our society, thanks to science, technology and wisdom is living longer and better than ever before.  And not just millions, but billions more than ever before.
The media is sick.  That is a central source of societal disease.  Fear mongering negativity and deceit.
The successes are amazing. But yes, when we are a hundred, we may wish to remain asleep. Neither my brother or I am there yet.  Now we celebrate life .  But at a hundred I wouldn't care so much if he left me.  I would have liked for my mother to have stayed another year or two but even Dad was ready to leave at 94.

IMG 0484IMG 0478IMG 0489IMG 0475IMG 0485IMG 0486

Napanee Vacation: Death, Cancer, Life

Death is always with us.  We maintain an illusion of life in which we know that death and life abound but somehow we are permanent.  Yet this life is by its very nature impermanent.  And each night I sleep.  I enter this death like equation where to my subjective self I leave the objective world of community and enter a dream like state, another world, as memorable as memories themselves.
Cancer is a disease of threatened death.  Immunologically we think of it as the body turned against itself, some auto immune phenomena, that is either a lack of recognition of the good self and hence destruction or a lack of policing of the bad self and hence destruction.
This phenomena of cancer has been associated with environmental disease as in those poor ladies who painted watch faces with radioactive paint till they succumbed of cancers or the mining men who breathed in asbestos.  That's the environmental stressor model.
Then there's the genetic angle.  Genes mutate and cancer is a mutation associated with age or the bombardment of the genetic code by various waves of unseen energy and particle some travelling through the ozone layers while others come from more proximal microwave emissions.  The Russians so certain of the science of the latter  spent millions bombarding the American embassy with hoped for disease causing EMF.  There are viruses too that trigger cancer, infections such as Herpes Simplex II which was so thoroughly associated with cervical cancer that it gave rise to the Pap Test as the principle preventative protective strategy.
Ever since I became a doctor cancer has been being cured with greater success though the greater length of life has resulted in this miracle being obscured by the apparently increased death in the elderly from cancer.  The wear and tear of the Australian beach crowd has with time created a whole group of melanomatous skin cancers with each year of excessive sun exposure and recurrent damage to the skin till cancer arises from the suns bombardment and aging.  Everywhere cancer is being cured.
Psychiatrists have long held that physical illness of chronic disease and even some acute illness is ‘anger turned inward’.  One is by definition either outwardly homicidal in attitude or inwardly suicidal in attitude.  As with all the physical attributes psychologically there is a balance, a right place between the polar extremes.  At that point the homicidal and suicidal tendencies of Freud’s forces of life and death are balanced.  Chronic disease follows the upset of the golden rule, that fundamental equation, ‘love thy neighbour as thyself’.  One must show a healthy balance of self care.  Too much narcissism and self centeredness results in hypochondriasis or real disease and the attraction of illness if only by shadowing doctors who work always around disease.
By contrast one can spend time mostly in the love of others, altruism and selflessness.  My brother is a husband and a parent and worked for the government which treated its civil servants psychologically as they did their military servants, expendable and hierarchically, socially stressful places despite their apparent union benefits.  There is stress from the juggling of the roles too and fulfilling the duties of society.
My brother has stayed. He’s a brick. I’m  He is the Rock of Gibraltar . He's the army to my navy.  He's the artillery and I’m calvary. He’s taken a tremendous amount of bombardment by staying whereas I’ve charged and retreated from the bullies that abound in our present day 'uncultured' society
The other psychiatric and philosophic aspect of the cancer which isconsidered from a communications perspective is that ‘ cancer is that which you can say in no other way’.  Communication theory sees us as essentially ‘communicating units’ and all we say and do are expressions of seeking and giving help.  A child cries and a mother comforts him or her.  Disease is a way of seeking help or solving a puzzle.  Gods come to us in disease is a saying that relates to the idea that when we are well and outwardly rewarded we do not tend to turn inward to consider the meaning of existence or to communicate our questions about existence or even our individual lives. Disease is doubt.  Happily ruling Wall Street with hookers and cocaine and simulated battles or impressing the ladies with ones muscles and tattoos in government circuits one can remain shallow and fatuous.  However faced with cancer there is an inward turning.
When I am wounded in battle my sword arm, until that moment so strong, is suddenly cut and no longer answers to the command of my ego.  What is the relationship between fate and free will, I ask myself. How is it that my enemy has found this weakness I did not know myself or what was I thinking to let down my shield.  Why does the zen master say one's enemy is a friend who teaches us our mistake. Why does the psychiatrist call disease the great teacher?
In the Bible the wound of note is the struggle between the angel and man which eventually lead to the naming of Israel.  These ideas are not new.  All philosophy and religion have been given to answering some questions about disease and death with cancer, the big "C" being the metaphor for "satan incarnate' or 'living death', the primo disease.  There are similar stories of wounds and myths around the world.    The crack in creation is where the light comes in. In sickness we are forced to consider the aloneness of sickness and life. I am born between piss and shit and I die, ashes to ashes.  Cancer is but  a slow death or a speeded up life.  My minister friend with cancer told me he'd only begun to really live when he was first diagnosed with cancer. He described an intensity of life he'd not known since childhood and how he'd been mostly a spectator for many years and now was pulled fully and completely into the game of life.
There’s no sudden and acute motor vehicle accident death or death by beheading in war.  Cancer a slow struggle, a marathon. The fight against the slow death is Sisyphus.  Kierkegaard said , Life is suffering unto death".  It's a simmer rather than a boil.   It’s a ‘siege’ by comparison to a charge.
The recovery changes a person.  It’s a near death experience on a daily basis with a whole reconsideration of the means of dealing with the external exigencies of reality. If a person ‘solved’ life’s problems one way cancer may well demand a whole new set of tools to overcome it.
Cancer is that which I can say in no other way is a consideration that if I can find another way of communicating then I might no longer need the cancer.  The pessimist becomes the optimist and the cancer disappears.  The independent soloist turns to the community for aid and surrender to the care of others who experiment with their various ideas of cure and success.  Witches brews and chemotherapy all contribute to the natural self healing of the individual who once was a neut like creature capable of regrowing tails and limbs, a genetic code which exists within, which hasn’t been lost, which we are again doing with the help of the lab.  Stem cells differentiate into whole new body parts.  We have the stem cells still.  We all are self healing.  Medicine and surgery simply assist.
It’s not like we plant the seeds but more that we weed the garden. All the seeds are there to grow resplendent but we must prune and care for the flowers we wish.  Cancer is it’s own robust weed.  There’s something incredible at the cellular level when we contemplate cancer. It’s dandelions on a golfers green.
We are always messing with creation. We are dictating to the universe that we want this order, this life we have created, not this other mutation. We are ‘stewarding’. We are leading. All self doubt is left behind because to cure cancer we must give it our undivided attention and solve the rubrics cube in a race against time.  Meanwhile all that is past is demanding equal attention as it did when one was well. The war goes on but my sword arm no longer lifts the sword. If I don't pay attention I can find myself kicking my feet like a kangaroo while dragging my sword arm behind me.  For 80,000 years I learned to slink off to the cave where I nursed my own wounds or formed a pact with a medicine man or woman and hopefully a child or wife or husband fed me in my monastic vigil and struggle with God. We are herd animals, not lizards. There's comfort in companionship.  I never admit it but I still like when a friend brings me soup when I am sick.
I want to live, I say and God, or the Great Unknown asks me ,how much or am I sure. It’s a Job like place this narrative of Cancer. .  The siege is on and the enemy is at the door.
I am here with my brother who was diagnosed as having pancreatic cancer.  He only learned when he was first diagnosed with pulmonary embolism. . Breath is the sacred nectar of life the rhythmic wonder of existence.  He was literally breathless when he began this journey.  The healing care and brilliance in Napanee and in Kingston has been stupendous to behold.  As a doctor I've been so thankful to know my brother has had the care of the oncology team there.  Pulmonary embolisms, blood  clotting oddly in lungs is so often a harbinger of cancer so the Sherlock Holmes began and found this pancreatic mass where it did not belong. The anomaly was called 'cancer'.
To date my brother hasn’t had any symptoms attributable to the cancer itself except fatigue. His loss of appetite, nausea and malaise have come with nerve sensation loss from the treatments.  It’s the same as if a terroist cell has taken up a presence in the centre of the city infiltrated key areas and is planning on setting off bombs and destroying all from within. No one knows they are there, except the police and soldiers who enters with the intent of getting them out. The only thing the city notices are the apparent wars started by the police and soldiers. It's so easy then to blame the cure for the disease.  We hear it all the time in politics.  There is a politics of disease.  The internet is rife with insanity and special interest groups, pseudoscience and marketing.  My brother, always wise, trusts in what is really known.  He trained as a scientist at the University of Manitoba.  He understands the depths of what the loving doctors are telling him. He has worked well with the Kingston oncology team and the Napanee outreach.
Now a year later and my brother’s cancer has not gained to any degree.  The battle has waged.  The weeding and pruning have taken place. The seeds of new plants have grown while some of the old have been demolished. There is new life but there is also death.  Having survived that first day of breathless near death he’s gone on to succeed a year against a Borg like phenomena whose kill ratio is 9 out of 10.  Only the A student solves the puzzle and lives beyond five years.  He's one fifth of the way along that life journey. It’s been a sharp learning curve.  My brother is a genius though. He was the smart one in the family. I was the slow learner by comparison.  I don't doubt his capacity to live. Cancer is a minor matter compared to the challenges he's faced so far and overcome.  His family are a testimony to his love and skill and merit.
The central question of life is ‘fate’ and ‘free will’.  Buber described the idea of “I and it’ and then the move to “I and thou’.  The "other" is the whole world.  Here the "other' is cancer. "I and Cancer".  There is to immunology the central theme of ‘self’ and ‘not self’.  I have a white blood cell response to a foreign bacteria that invades my body.  My basic immunological system has ‘boundaries’ and the foreigner is removed.
We all have cancer. Our bodies are restoring the homeostasis daily by the minute and hour.  The self healing structures are removing mutations and clearing the diseased cells away.  Our treatments expedite this.  We assist the self healing process.  We fight the invader and we strengthen the host.  The terminology of medicine is full of ambiguity.  We call a person the ‘host’ as if they have invited cancer for dinner and are now having their own personal party but can't alone throw the cancer 'bore' out of the party.
 I have gratitude for today. I am here at Hay Bay and have known another day with my brother. He’s an amazing man, his marriage and home and children a reflection of he and his wife’s dreams.  I love seeing his love in action, all the years I’ve watched him devote himself to his family in a world where individualism and selfishness are the halcyon call of our Kardashian and Myla Cyrus day.  I don’t even think he’s ever snapped a ‘selfie’ of himself.  He’s a quiet man in that way.  At the same time he can talk a persons deaf with tale upon tale, a trait we both share with our beloved Irish mother.  On the surface he might at times chatter but with him still waters run deep, not stagnant.
He’s angry as all cancer patients are.  There’s a grieving process that Elizabeth Kubla Ross described regarding dying.  As cancer is the offer of a slow death or a chance of recovery , this horns of the dilemma is met with all the range of appropriate emotions. We daily grieve to some degree the lost dreams of yesterday. I never was the astronaut I wanted to be as a kid and became instead the prosaic doctor. My brother would have loved to fly but walked instead and now must even crawl awhile to get a head.  We're not stationary in our family.
I am grateful to be here.  So much of family and medicine is being present.  The world as a whole run away from disease thinking fearfully living a life of trying to avoid all distress.  Cancer is like lepracy.  Disease is stigma.  The struggle is personal. It’s not a public matter. It’s a private matter. The parasitic people would still like to take advantage of another's misfortunes.   Family and friends gather.  We are there as much for protection as our own learning.  Socrates is speaking.  He never did need to take the hemlock. He did not wish to be exiled so did, but he could have left.  I can live or I can die. My brother has chosen life and I'm glad to be a cheer leader if only that.He has my rapt attention. I am honoured to be welcomed by this great artist and he creates his masterful Houdini trick of escaping cancer and death this time. We both accept that 20 or 30 years from now we may wish to succumb but not now, not when we are both so young. My father lived till 94. My mother said she was tired and wanted to go at 89.  A son should outlive his parents.  My brother has the will and gifts.  He loves life.
Having worked in medicine some thirty years with tens of thousands of patients and so many facing cancer, disease and old age, along with the gun shot wounds, I’ve been never certain what the outcome will be.  The house always wins in the long run , but countless winners gladly take their millions even from the lotteries.  It’s never over till the fat lady sings. It’s also not over unless the bullet has your name on it.  A WWI soldier who survived Vimy Ridge taught me that. He was my patient in his 80's.
The success of this generation is in the longevity. We are all living a decade longer and all the killers of a while ago are cured.  Even these new diseases of deadly destruction are being beaten with alacrity. I know so many cancer survivors.  
Even the old go on and on so that there are nursing homes galore and the courts are all about physician assisted suicide not because people are dying but because they refuse to.  Life is so good that the historic killers of war, disease and starvation aren’t doing their former job to the satisfaction of politicians. Our society, thanks to science, technology and wisdom is living longer and better than ever before.  And not just millions, but billions more than ever before.
The media is sick.  That is a central source of societal disease.  Fear mongering negativity and deceit.
The successes are amazing. But yes, when we are a hundred, we may wish to remain asleep. Neither my brother or I am there yet.  Now we celebrate life .  But at a hundred I wouldn't care so much if he left me.  I would have liked for my mother to have stayed another year or two but even Dad was ready to leave at 94.

IMG 0484IMG 0478IMG 0489IMG 0475IMG 0485IMG 0486

Napanee Vacation: Death and Cancer

Death is always with us.  We maintain an illusion of life in which we know that death and life abound but somehow we are permanent.  Yet this life is by its very nature impermanent.  And each night I sleep.  I enter this death like equation where to my subjective self I leave the objective world of community and enter a dream like state, another world, as memorable as memories themselves.
Cancer is a disease of threatened death.  Immunologically we think of it as the body turned against itself, some auto immune phenomena, that is either a lack of recognition of the good self and hence destruction or a lack of policing of the bad self and hence destruction.
This phenomena of cancer has been associated with environmental disease as in those poor ladies who painted watch faces with radioactive paint till they succumbed of cancers or the mining men who breathed in asbestos.  That's the environmental stressor model.
Then there's the genetic angle.  Genes mutate and cancer is a mutation associated with age or the bombardment of the genetic code by various waves of unseen energy and particle some travelling through the ozone layers while others come from more proximal microwave emissions.  The Russians so certain of the science of the latter  spent millions bombarding the American embassy with hoped for disease causing EMF.  There are viruses too that trigger cancer, infections such as Herpes Simplex II which was so thoroughly associated with cervical cancer that it gave rise to the Pap Test as the principle preventative protective strategy.
Ever since I became a doctor cancer has been being cured with greater success though the greater length of life has resulted in this miracle being obscured by the apparently increased death in the elderly from cancer.  The wear and tear of the Australian beach crowd has with time created a whole group of melanomatous skin cancers with each year of excessive sun exposure and recurrent damage to the skin till cancer arises from the suns bombardment and aging.  Everywhere cancer is being cured.
Psychiatrists have long held that physical illness of chronic disease and even some acute illness is ‘anger turned inward’.  One is by definition either outwardly homicidal in attitude or inwardly suicidal in attitude.  As with all the physical attributes psychologically there is a balance, a right place between the polar extremes.  At that point the homicidal and suicidal tendencies of Freud’s forces of life and death are balanced.  Chronic disease follows the upset of the golden rule, that fundamental equation, ‘love thy neighbour as thyself’.  One must show a healthy balance of self care.  Too much narcissism and self centeredness results in hypochondriasis or real disease and the attraction of illness if only by shadowing doctors who work always around disease.
By contrast one can spend time mostly in the love of others, altruism and selflessness.  My brother is a husband and a parent and worked for the government which treated its civil servants psychologically as they did their military servants, expendable and hierarchically, socially stressful places despite their apparent union benefits.  There is stress from the juggling of the roles too and fulfilling the duties of society.
My brother has stayed. He’s a brick. I’m  He is the Rock of Gibraltar . He's the army to my navy.  He's the artillery and I’m calvary. He’s taken a tremendous amount of bombardment by staying whereas I’ve charged and retreated from the bullies that abound in our present day 'uncultured' society
The other psychiatric and philosophic aspect of the cancer which isconsidered from a communications perspective is that ‘ cancer is that which you can say in no other way’.  Communication theory sees us as essentially ‘communicating units’ and all we say and do are expressions of seeking and giving help.  A child cries and a mother comforts him or her.  Disease is a way of seeking help or solving a puzzle.  Gods come to us in disease is a saying that relates to the idea that when we are well and outwardly rewarded we do not tend to turn inward to consider the meaning of existence or to communicate our questions about existence or even our individual lives. Disease is doubt.  Happily ruling Wall Street with hookers and cocaine and simulated battles or impressing the ladies with ones muscles and tattoos in government circuits one can remain shallow and fatuous.  However faced with cancer there is an inward turning.
When I am wounded in battle my sword arm, until that moment so strong, is suddenly cut and no longer answers to the command of my ego.  What is the relationship between fate and free will, I ask myself. How is it that my enemy has found this weakness I did not know myself or what was I thinking to let down my shield.  Why does the zen master say one's enemy is a friend who teaches us our mistake. Why does the psychiatrist call disease the great teacher?
In the Bible the wound of note is the struggle between the angel and man which eventually lead to the naming of Israel.  These ideas are not new.  All philosophy and religion have been given to answering some questions about disease and death with cancer, the big "C" being the metaphor for "satan incarnate' or 'living death', the primo disease.  There are similar stories of wounds and myths around the world.    The crack in creation is where the light comes in. In sickness we are forced to consider the aloneness of sickness and life. I am born between piss and shit and I die, ashes to ashes.  Cancer is but  a slow death or a speeded up life.  My minister friend with cancer told me he'd only begun to really live when he was first diagnosed with cancer. He described an intensity of life he'd not known since childhood and how he'd been mostly a spectator for many years and now was pulled fully and completely into the game of life.
There’s no sudden and acute motor vehicle accident death or death by beheading in war.  Cancer a slow struggle, a marathon. The fight against the slow death is Sisyphus.  Kierkegaard said , Life is suffering unto death".  It's a simmer rather than a boil.   It’s a ‘siege’ by comparison to a charge.
The recovery changes a person.  It’s a near death experience on a daily basis with a whole reconsideration of the means of dealing with the external exigencies of reality. If a person ‘solved’ life’s problems one way cancer may well demand a whole new set of tools to overcome it.
Cancer is that which I can say in no other way is a consideration that if I can find another way of communicating then I might no longer need the cancer.  The pessimist becomes the optimist and the cancer disappears.  The independent soloist turns to the community for aid and surrender to the care of others who experiment with their various ideas of cure and success.  Witches brews and chemotherapy all contribute to the natural self healing of the individual who once was a neut like creature capable of regrowing tails and limbs, a genetic code which exists within, which hasn’t been lost, which we are again doing with the help of the lab.  Stem cells differentiate into whole new body parts.  We have the stem cells still.  We all are self healing.  Medicine and surgery simply assist.
It’s not like we plant the seeds but more that we weed the garden. All the seeds are there to grow resplendent but we must prune and care for the flowers we wish.  Cancer is it’s own robust weed.  There’s something incredible at the cellular level when we contemplate cancer. It’s dandelions on a golfers green.
We are always messing with creation. We are dictating to the universe that we want this order, this life we have created, not this other mutation. We are ‘stewarding’. We are leading. All self doubt is left behind because to cure cancer we must give it our undivided attention and solve the rubrics cube in a race against time.  Meanwhile all that is past is demanding equal attention as it did when one was well. The war goes on but my sword arm no longer lifts the sword. If I don't pay attention I can find myself kicking my feet like a kangaroo while dragging my sword arm behind me.  For 80,000 years I learned to slink off to the cave where I nursed my own wounds or formed a pact with a medicine man or woman and hopefully a child or wife or husband fed me in my monastic vigil and struggle with God. We are herd animals, not lizards. There's comfort in companionship.  I never admit it but I still like when a friend brings me soup when I am sick.
I want to live, I say and God, or the Great Unknown asks me ,how much or am I sure. It’s a Job like place this narrative of Cancer. .  The siege is on and the enemy is at the door.
I am here with my brother who was diagnosed as having pancreatic cancer.  He only learned when he was first diagnosed with pulmonary embolism. . Breath is the sacred nectar of life the rhythmic wonder of existence.  He was literally breathless when he began this journey.  The healing care and brilliance in Napanee and in Kingston has been stupendous to behold.  As a doctor I've been so thankful to know my brother has had the care of the oncology team there.  Pulmonary embolisms, blood  clotting oddly in lungs is so often a harbinger of cancer so the Sherlock Holmes began and found this pancreatic mass where it did not belong. The anomaly was called 'cancer'.
To date my brother hasn’t had any symptoms attributable to the cancer itself except fatigue. His loss of appetite, nausea and malaise have come with nerve sensation loss from the treatments.  It’s the same as if a terroist cell has taken up a presence in the centre of the city infiltrated key areas and is planning on setting off bombs and destroying all from within. No one knows they are there, except the police and soldiers who enters with the intent of getting them out. The only thing the city notices are the apparent wars started by the police and soldiers. It's so easy then to blame the cure for the disease.  We hear it all the time in politics.  There is a politics of disease.  The internet is rife with insanity and special interest groups, pseudoscience and marketing.  My brother, always wise, trusts in what is really known.  He trained as a scientist at the University of Manitoba.  He understands the depths of what the loving doctors are telling him. He has worked well with the Kingston oncology team and the Napanee outreach.
Now a year later and my brother’s cancer has not gained to any degree.  The battle has waged.  The weeding and pruning have taken place. The seeds of new plants have grown while some of the old have been demolished. There is new life but there is also death.  Having survived that first day of breathless near death he’s gone on to succeed a year against a Borg like phenomena whose kill ratio is 9 out of 10.  Only the A student solves the puzzle and lives beyond five years.  He's one fifth of the way along that life journey. It’s been a sharp learning curve.  My brother is a genius though. He was the smart one in the family. I was the slow learner by comparison.  I don't doubt his capacity to live. Cancer is a minor matter compared to the challenges he's faced so far and overcome.  His family are a testimony to his love and skill and merit.
The central question of life is ‘fate’ and ‘free will’.  Buber described the idea of “I and it’ and then the move to “I and thou’.  The "other" is the whole world.  Here the "other' is cancer. "I and Cancer".  There is to immunology the central theme of ‘self’ and ‘not self’.  I have a white blood cell response to a foreign bacteria that invades my body.  My basic immunological system has ‘boundaries’ and the foreigner is removed.
We all have cancer. Our bodies are restoring the homeostasis daily by the minute and hour.  The self healing structures are removing mutations and clearing the diseased cells away.  Our treatments expedite this.  We assist the self healing process.  We fight the invader and we strengthen the host.  The terminology of medicine is full of ambiguity.  We call a person the ‘host’ as if they have invited cancer for dinner and are now having their own personal party but can't alone throw the cancer 'bore' out of the party.
 I have gratitude for today. I am here at Hay Bay and have known another day with my brother. He’s an amazing man, his marriage and home and children a reflection of he and his wife’s dreams.  I love seeing his love in action, all the years I’ve watched him devote himself to his family in a world where individualism and selfishness are the halcyon call of our Kardashian and Myla Cyrus day.  I don’t even think he’s ever snapped a ‘selfie’ of himself.  He’s a quiet man in that way.  At the same time he can talk a persons deaf with tale upon tale, a trait we both share with our beloved Irish mother.  On the surface he might at times chatter but with him still waters run deep, not stagnant.
He’s angry as all cancer patients are.  There’s a grieving process that Elizabeth Kubla Ross described regarding dying.  As cancer is the offer of a slow death or a chance of recovery , this horns of the dilemma is met with all the range of appropriate emotions. We daily grieve to some degree the lost dreams of yesterday. I never was the astronaut I wanted to be as a kid and became instead the prosaic doctor. My brother would have loved to fly but walked instead and now must even crawl awhile to get a head.  We're not stationary in our family.
I am grateful to be here.  So much of family and medicine is being present.  The world as a whole run away from disease thinking fearfully living a life of trying to avoid all distress.  Cancer is like lepracy.  Disease is stigma.  The struggle is personal. It’s not a public matter. It’s a private matter. The parasitic people would still like to take advantage of another's misfortunes.   Family and friends gather.  We are there as much for protection as our own learning.  Socrates is speaking.  He never did need to take the hemlock. He did not wish to be exiled so did, but he could have left.  I can live or I can die. My brother has chosen life and I'm glad to be a cheer leader if only that.He has my rapt attention. I am honoured to be welcomed by this great artist and he creates his masterful Houdini trick of escaping cancer and death this time. We both accept that 20 or 30 years from now we may wish to succumb but not now, not when we are both so young. My father lived till 94. My mother said she was tired and wanted to go at 89.  A son should outlive his parents.  My brother has the will and gifts.  He loves life.
Having worked in medicine some thirty years with tens of thousands of patients and so many facing cancer, disease and old age, along with the gun shot wounds, I’ve been never certain what the outcome will be.  The house always wins in the long run , but countless winners gladly take their millions even from the lotteries.  It’s never over till the fat lady sings. It’s also not over unless the bullet has your name on it.  A WWI soldier who survived Vimy Ridge taught me that. He was my patient in his 80's.
The success of this generation is in the longevity. We are all living a decade longer and all the killers of a while ago are cured.  Even these new diseases of deadly destruction are being beaten with alacrity. I know so many cancer survivors.  
Even the old go on and on so that there are nursing homes galore and the courts are all about physician assisted suicide not because people are dying but because they refuse to.  Life is so good that the historic killers of war, disease and starvation aren’t doing their former job to the satisfaction of politicians. Our society, thanks to science, technology and wisdom is living longer and better than ever before.  And not just millions, but billions more than ever before.
The media is sick.  That is a central source of societal disease.  Fear mongering negativity and deceit.
The successes are amazing. But yes, when we are a hundred, we may wish to remain asleep. Neither my brother or I am there yet.  Now we celebrate life .  But at a hundred I wouldn't care so much if he left me.  I would have liked for my mother to have stayed another year or two but even Dad was ready to leave at 94.

IMG 0484IMG 0478IMG 0489IMG 0475IMG 0485IMG 0486

Friday, June 24, 2016

Brexit and Canada

The United Kingdom has voted to leave the European Union.
There are two forces in history which are always at play.  These are centralization and decentralization. Authority can be democratic or autocratic.  The sad story of the European Union is that it had the opportunity to be a democratic organization, a federation as it were of equal ‘states’ or ‘countries’ but increasingly it took on the character of the USSR.  Rather than following the US model of ‘state’ versus ‘federal’ authority,  with all it's checks and balances, including the second amendment, Merkel made the European Union in the image of the communism she knew and revered,  All leftists love the promise of power that comes with  government committee dictatorship,. Despite the hundreds of millions killed by communists they claim to celebrate diversity while killing any opponent.  Not surprisingly they ally today with "Islam is a religion of peace", except Islam describes only those who worship Allah and Mohammed.  All others are persecuted or killed.  The devil is in the detail and the language but both demand 'political correctness'.   The end result is a hegemony of power in the hands of an elite and their administrative henchmen and henchwomen.
Communism is increasingly socialism ruled by layers upon layers of apparatchiks and laws upon laws with declining common sense and an amazing unwillingness of this liberal elite to listen to the ‘ignorant’ and “irrelevant’ democratic masses within each country.  Committee dictatorship is the better term for socialism which goes with this Lipstick and Limousine Liberals elite
Justin Trudeau wanted the one world order offered by Brussels.  Justin Trudeau’s doesn’t care for the common Canadian values but loves the jet setting elitism of his his reign so far.  Billions of Canadian tax payer dollars given away to the United Nations. Canada is peddled to foreigners for Liberal privilege and influence.  Canadian traditions and values are denied.
“Get the fuck out of my way!” is new Trudeau anthem for the  nation. “My way”.  That’s what Merkel wanted. That’s what Obama wanted. It’s what Trudeau said. Fuddle duck deceits.
There’s a different way. It’s called “Our Way”.  Brexit didn’t reject ‘Our Way” . Britain rejected Brussels communist centralism.  
I don’t reject Canada. I reject Justin Trudeau’s dictatorship,arrogance and  bullying ignorance.  Perhaps Canadians will get the courage to reject tyranny earlier than Britain.  I don’t want Trudeau’s United Nations with all it’s communism,dictatorships and it’s celebration of tyranny with all it’s lies.
I can only hope Canadians will demand a referendum on Trudeau and Quebec Liberals.  Brexit gives me hope.

Brexit and Canada

The United Kingdom has voted to leave the European Union.
There are two forces in history which are always at play.  These are centralization and decentralization. Authority can be democratic or autocratic.  The sad story of the European Union is that it had the opportunity to be a democratic organization, a federation as it were of equal ‘states’ or ‘countries’ but increasingly it took on the character of the USSR.  Rather than following the US model of ‘state’ versus ‘federal’ authority,  with all t's checks and balances, including the second amendment, Merkel made the European Union in the image of the communism she knew and revered,  All leftists love the promise of power that comes with  government committee dictatorship,. Despite the hundreds of millions killed by communists they claim to celebrate diversity while killing any opponent.  Not surprisingly they ally today with "Islam is a religion of peace", except Islam describes only those who worship Allah and Mohammed.  All others are persecuted or killed.  The devil is in the detail and the language but both demand 'political correctness' with it's political police and 'Muslim correctness" with it's 'religious police'.  The end result is a hegemony of power in the hands of an elite and their administrative henchmen and henchmen.
Communism is increasingly socialism ruled by layers upon layers of apparatchiks and laws upon laws with declining common sense and an amazing unwillingness of this liberal elite to listen to the ‘ignorant’ and “irrelevant’ democratic masses within each country.  Committee dictatorship is the better term for socialism which goes with this Lipstick and Limousine Liberal class of hypocrites.
Justin Trudeau wanted the one world order offered by Brussels.  Justin Trudeau’s doesn’t care for the common Canadian values but loves the jet setting elitism his reign so far has been all about.  Billions of Canadian tax payer dollars given away to the United Nations and Canada is peddled to foreigners for Liberal privilege and influence.  Canadian traditions and values are denied.
“Get the fuck out of my way!” is new Trudeau anthem for the  nation. “My way”.  That’s what Merkel wanted. That’s what Obama wanted. It’s what Trudeau said.
There’s a different way and it’s called “Our Way”.  Brexit didn’t reject ‘Our Way” , just Brussels communist centralism.   I don’t reject Canada. I reject Justin Trudeau’s dictatorship and arrogance and ignorance.  Perhaps Canadians will get the courage to reject tyranny earlier than Britain.  I don’t want Trudeau’s United Nations with all it’s communism and dictatorship and it’s celebration of tyranny with all it’s lies.
I can only hope Canadians will demand a referendum on Trudeau and Quebec Liberals.  Brexit gives me hope.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Napanee Vacation early thoughts

I’ve just found out that its been so long since I sat cross legged on the grass that my back muscles and legs don’t remember how we did this. And to think I once sat sunrise to sunset in meditation.  My back and knees were younger then.
I just bought a baseball bat.  My brother Ron is at the physiotherapist.  He and I and my father before us used to get neck pains.  It’s always put down to whiplash but I think it’s man’s struggle to walk up right.  Knuckle draggers unite!
Earlier I was reading about Guru Nanak, the founder of Sikhism. He wanted to unite the wisdom of the Hindus and Muslims of his region.  His practice mystically was meditation on the name of God and coupled with this chanting poetry.  He spent time with the Sadhus and the Suffi’s.  He developed the not original but important idea of the community meal where men of all religion, all castes and all classes ate together.
I thought of the mystical saying of Eastern zen.  Does the butterfly think the philosopher or does the philosopher think the butterfly?
The challenge to the student is the ‘one and the many”.
Quantum Physics, since the revelations of Neils Bohr has taught we are Energy.  Einsteins formula E=MC2 simply dictate that Mass is slow energy essentially.
Descartes famous theorem was “Cognito ergo sum”.  I think therefore I am.
The “I-dea” or I god , is the ego, which acknowledges self but cannot with certainty say there is another.  This is beyond the ‘me’ principle to the ‘we’ principle of today.
When we are afraid we are more likely to withdraw into the paranoid position of what Buber, the great Jewish philosopher called the “I and It’ as opposed to the “I and Thou” of love.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

First Day of Summer and Strawberry Moon

It was hot and sunny yesterday but cloud overcast in the evening made it so I couldn't see the Strawberry Moon.  Today it's overcast but warm.  
I miss the glorious summers of Winnipeg. They were hot and dry but not Mexico hot where the roads got soft. I walked barefoot everyday in Winnipeg as a kid but it was hot.  Real hot. Dry hot.  Shorts and t shirts and sunburn then tan, dark tans.  The skies were endless. In the evening you could watch the thunder lightening rain storms coming for miles, passing over and leaving, I bicycled everywhere.
Here the summer is a kind of spring fall hiccup with the heavy humidity and lots  of in between rain. Some hot days for sure but not the weeks on end of prairie summer.  Here it's a rain forest and we gets weeks on end of rain but the sun comes and goes.  I'm still wearing a jacket and carrying an umbrella in the boot of the car.
The flowers and green here are beautiful.  How the plants love this weather. I was attracted to Burnaby when I first came by the emeral wealth of the plants, so luscious. Even here in downtown , round the corner from Strathcona Church, the plants are alive.  None of the brown of summer San Francisco.  We really are fortunate.  I feel blessed in Canada's summers whereever. Even the close downtown Toronto summers I remember when I lived there were glorious.  Mostly thanks to the indoor winters and the nasty bugs of spring in so much of Canada.  The contrast makes one appreciate what I suspect LA folk feel entitled too.  They don't know what they have. That's why they're complaining so much about paying more for air conditioning and demanding a carbon tax when no one in the south was willing to equalize the horrendous costs of heating we have burdened for hundreds of years.  
Now I'm at work for the last day for a week or so. I've arranged for a friend to live in my home. I've taken all my valuables to storage and am taking Gilbert with me for a little sailing.  It's been too long. Months without being on the boat.  I haven't sailed since last summer. Tom and I had the fast little boat out in the fall but I've not had sails up for what seems like eternity. For years and years now I was out every other weekend, any free time I had, I was in a sailboat, motoring or sailing, living in the movement of the ocean.  I miss anchoring so much, especially sleeping at anchor.  Maybe I'll catch fish too. I love catching fish and barbecuing them immediately after. Aluminum foil and lots of butter, some garlic too.
I'm trading my Yamaha 450 in for a Honda 500 cc side by side.  Gilbert can't jump up on the Yamaha and I worry about him behind me.  With the side by side it's like a little car and he can sit beside me.  Also Tom who I hunt with didn't like riding on the back of the Yamaha when we were hunting.And Laura likes the side by side better because both her and gilbert can ride together. I like the roll bars and the windshield and roof to keep out rain and wind.  I missed the windshield on my Polaris.  I'll be able to use this backwoods more of the year in worse conditions . I'm really looking forward to having this for the fall hunt.  Bowhunting begins end of August.  Mustn't lose the now.
I really have been enjoying motorcycling with the harley on the dry days. Rode over to see Laura who was dog and house sitting on Mayne Island.  Nice dinner at Max's.  She's loving my old AC now that I have a larger one at my office.  
I was getting into a routine. I like the efficiency of it but a part of me has been increasingly wanting to do the "run in the halls of the high school' routine. My self imposed workaholism and dutifulness, meeting all the incredible demands thrown on me these last months has been really difficult. Being an adult. All the while I've been pushing down the desire to hop on a plane and back pack in a foreign country visitting churche and monasteres. I really want to go to Ethiopia and Egypt.  The Coptic Church is the last main stream division of the early church I've yet to study. My travels in the last few years have included Bethelehem, Jerusalem, the birthplace and place of death of Jesus. Then Greece and Istanbul and Cappadoeca and Rome and finally Moscow and St. Petersburg and Baku, Azerbaijan, all the major sites of the spread of Catholocism, the early fathers, Constantine, the Orthodox and Orthodox Greek church , the Armenians and the spread east.  The Coptic Church represents the spread south of Christianity and I still hope to go.
My friend is doing missionary work in South Sudan despite the threat of war.  
I watched BlackHawk Down about the tribal uncivilization of the African nation. This week I learned of the new president of South Africa buying the most expensive luxury plane for himself in keeping with the corruption problem that plagues the African continent and the politics of the United Nations.  Then I watched a documentary on Saudi Monarchy with all the beheadings the medieval Wahabi religious police. 
In my work I've seen too many torture victims from other countries around the world to be able to really appreciate the complaining of so many Canadians ignorant of how good we have it.  
I'm disgusted by the stupidity of Justin Trudeau and his Tyrant Napoleonic behaviour because I have been so appreciative of the freedom and fortune Canadians have had especially these last 10 years.
While all over the world poverty and economic collapse has condemned nation upon nation Albertans and the Conservative Government with the wisdom of Mr. Stephen Harpers economic policy protected Canadians from what is now happening to socialist Venezuela.  The liberals are trying to centralize, control and communize our society like that except they want the United Nations to be Big Brother.  It's nuts.They haven't an original idea but just keep finding ways to tax and destroy the work of the marjority of Canadians for the benefit of their henchmen, especially those in Quebec.
Meanwhile the Americans are sending two carriers to the Phillipines to protect against the expansionism of China.
I don't know if I'm just more sensitive and my anxiety is pereption or if it is as it seems, rumors of war.  The European Union vote is going on.  Everywhere there has been division and near saves.  The Gotthard Tunnel opening celebration satanic pagan rite with Merkel and the other leaders of Europe seemed utterly bizarre. 
Now there's the election with Hillary and Trump.  Hillary makes Justin Trudeau look good with her Benghazi history of throwing the Ambassador and miliary under the bus.  Don't know how many people in foreign service were killed as a result of her email leaks .  Now this Saudi girl friend with the husband who selfies his dick around is as bizarre as Bill and Monica.  
I almost miss the day when we didn't know our leaders were perverts and stupid or twisted but believed in lies put out by the PR.  Now I keep thinking of Freud, so disillusioned when the british came to rescue him from Hitler, his comment, "Maybe the paranoids are right". 
It's hard not to be paranoid.
But anxiety is a measure of one's distance from God.  There is always hope and faith.
I've been thinking of death alot too and after life.  I really do believe this just carries on.  I don't have a sense of finality.  Friends do come and go. I miss my parents.  I miss the dogs I've known but I feel so deeply I'll see them again. I really look forward to hugging my aunt. I imagine her 'in some tea room' in heaven 'debriefing' me. If anyone knows who killed Kennedy it would be her and she'll tell me.  CS Lewis's book on afterlife and Mark Twains story of the sea captain in the aflterlife are my favourites. I really would like a pig farm. But my missing the coutnry makes me think I've been too long in this concrete jungle.
I see such a tough skew of reality. I talked to my criminal lawyer friend Karen about this slice of reality we are so daily exposed to.  Insaniety, addicts, perverts,  psychotics, psychopaths, pedophils, murderers.  All these people I know personally are the scourge of society and yet I talk with them daily, understand the reasons their lives went awry and think there but for the grace of God.  But I can't talk with people who live 'sheltered lives'. The mainstream world seems a place of the mental ill and child like, sheltered from the harshness  and reality of life.  I have known so much death and disease.  I don't see people at their best.  I don't get to live in denial and spout polly anna nonsense.  
A priviledged black friend goes on about Islam, 'religion of peace' and I can only think of the torture victims I've seen from her religious 'paradise' country.  The police beat the feet of women with hammers so they wouldn't go out to protest again in Desert spring. They have permanent traumatic athritis and they walk like 100 year old cripples.  
I'm worn out.  I've seen so much misery. I've heard such horrid tales of woe.  I've listened to such tragedy. Daily people tell me of the abuse of man for his fellow man. The woman cries as she tells me of the religous man who shot her child in front of her to teach the village a lesson.  Another swaggers with his story of being in charge where he came from but now isn't elevated to what he believes his due , because he killed people.
I'm tired.  I feel like showers don't wash me any more. I can't seem to shake off the office.  I hear the stories in my sleep waking up and I've been dreaming of being at work. That was what it was like when I was working in the emergency taking care of Myocardial Infarctions and calling orders for a delivery and then doing huge stitches to hold a severed quad together, all arriving at once, the triage, the deluge, the nights and days of never leaving the work and pain. I have this now. And every day I'm fighting now for my patients, to get medications and tests and services and beds.  There's layers and layers of administration all paid to tell you no and increase the 'rationing' while all the money goes up to the new Trudeau dynasty.  Every week there's less and less and work gets tougher and tougher. And everyone is angry.  Every day doctors are begging me to see their patients, telling me no one is willing to see the mentally ill, how there are no resources.  I'm always late. I'm working 12 hour days and not getting paid for so much I do while knowing I work for people who wouldn't lift a finger for a dying child if their wasn't some money in it for them.  
"It's just a job", she told me. Remembering her saying this haunts me.  Or the Auditor who said, "no one doesn't anything without getting paid money" and my thinking how this narrow ignorant tax man actually is a prisoner of his insaniety.  
My friend borrowed my truck. He's dropping off my ATV at Honda.  Maybe I should charge him to borrow the truck and maybe he should charge me for dropping off the ATV.  I'm just not thinking about money enough.  I always think I should be like the "clever' ones above who wouldn't do anything for free.
My colleague only sees the rich, selects them, and that way he gets paid for all the services that are now uninsured but which the patients demand and need.
My patietn was discharged home without nursing care, lay in his bed,curled in a ball in pain, no one able to get his medication, no one coming to see him.  It's becoming terrible to be  alone in Canada.
The Trudeau government is trying to steal the pensions, which we put into the fund matched by the employer, our money, invested on our behalf but now the Liberal government says it's their money.
I'm fearful of the future. I see so many of the elderly and vets being trashed these days.  I fear this because I'm aging and don't believe Justin Trudeau cares for the older Canadians.  He's taking selfies and dancing and showing off promising marijuana and spending tax payer money like it was her own personal limitless trust fund.
I must have Faith. God is good.  I'm blessed.  All shall be well. All Shall be Well. Our father.  
This too will pass.  
Thank you for this day and all the wonders of summer.