Yesterday was a good day

What constitutes a good day?  Yesterday.  Today I hope will be as well.

It’s summer. The sun is shining.  We’ve had several days of pleasant temperatures, sunshine, blue sky, the loveliest of weather.

I woke and meditated. The more I meditate again, the more I enjoy meditating. Like going to the gym. The mind is a muscle. I’m strengthening capacity. . I’m also ‘listening to God.’  Closing of the cacophony of thoughts nad talk.  All the ‘me-ness’ is quieted so that I might hear the ‘wee small voice’ of you.

I’m doing that after wakening. Plus sit ups.  Diabetes is about ‘girth’.  The doctor’s say the ‘belt size’ is what matters.  The pear shape.  The sphere shaped. I’ve been ‘out of shape’ for a couple of years, begun by stress and reduced exercise due to injury and persisting or increased intake due to ‘couch’ and screen’.  

Then I had Ethiopian expresso and comfort food ‘shreddies’.  Breakfast.  Taking the time for simple things. A weekend of steady speed but none of the week day rush of the ‘clock’ and time and the factory sense of going in one end of the day to spit out the other, exhausted.  Instead, it’s a ‘day off’.  

I cleaned.  I have been seeking a new cleaning lady for years but who can I trust?  I don’t want someone complaining about ammunition that has fallen out of cammo jacket and hidden.  I don’t want sex toys to shock the innoscent. I don’t want women’s clothing xlarge sizes to be a matter of contempt.  I don’t want my writing to be judged.  I feel vulnerable. The stuffed bear causes me as much concern as the cock ring or the chemistry set.

There is the ‘narrow’ sliver of reality where I feel I am ‘safe’.  For years I meditated in private and burnt incense, an out cast in my neighbourhood.  Doing yoga so many years before it became the ‘in thing’.  Constantly frowned on. Hiding the fasting. Hiding the prayer. Hiding the glass of wine, the smoking marijuana. The sex with women who would later become wives then it would be ‘okay’ but not the oral sex or doggy style, just missionary position.  

I was in a nursing home and felt sad for the men in one room.....four of them in beds....and the attendant there, judgement, frightened, uneducated, inexperienced, but powerful.

I stood out as a child. The teachers stripped me and strapped me and showed my red beaten bottom to all the class. I was whipped in public.  I suspect it leaves some scars but today there are so many of us. Outsiders, not one of the ‘designated victim’ categories.  

My wealthy friend was severely shamed and beaten and now fear growing old being controlled.

It’s all trust issues.  

Mostly I don’t think about these things.  I get on with life. I clean my own dishes. I’ve been the “wife” for 20 years to female doctors.  I did as I was told. I conformed. I’m immensely good at conforming.I’ve been like all who become leaders so very good at following orders and taking direction.

My cohort of men die shortly after retirement because they lose purpose, direction, and meaning. 

The meaning of my life has as long as I can remember, ‘to know you, God’. Everything else has been like picking flowers along the trail. I’ve been since a child trying to figure out this ‘experience’. I’ve tasted everything that looked sweet. I’ve been poisoned countless times. I’ve tried everything that I could imagine would give clarity to the murkiness of being.  

I’ve worn so many identities. I always hear Donovan’s song, ‘the doctor bit was so far out....looking through crystal spectacles.....I believe I’ve had your fun’.

Yesterday I read.  I love reading. It’s only that I used to have a schedule of reading an hour of ‘heavy’ reading - science, chemistry, neurology, psychiatry, philosophy, theology, ....for hours everyday I’d read hours of ‘that sort’. I read so many textbooks.  On the side, to keep my interest in the ‘reading’ process I’d read something ‘light’.  A novel, humor, poetry, travel, literature. 

Because I am a writer I read wide and far. I’ve read comic books, pornography, horror, every genre known to man, and countless, ‘how to’ books. I especially liked Joseph Campbell.  I was interested in the ‘story teller’.  I studied the ‘structure’ of the ‘joke’. I read all these writings as a ‘guild thing’.  

I’ve taken to enjoying reading ‘light’ stuff. I’ve not read a ‘Science’ or “Nature” magazine cover to cover in a few years. I used to read the monthly journals in my field until I wrote a letter to the editor and told him he was ‘irreleveant’.  An academic who long stopped caring about clinicians.  Increasingly so little in my field has relevance and stokes the ego of some financially related project of self aggrandizement.

I still research everything.  If I don’t have an answer I look it up. But it’s less compelling.  I’ve done everyone else’s job in my life and worked such long hours and to exclusion of so much to ‘serve’.  The Christian ‘servant king’ example. 

Now I struggle with ‘bitterness’.  I’ve a very fine old man wanting to die. I’ve always convinced people to live because they’ve been unable to convince me to die  But I was so hurt this last encounter with the Borg like low brow of the College bureaucracy with their callous grandiosity and pompous stupidity that I felt ‘god why have you forsaken me.’  They cannot even tell a lie when it’s kicking them in the eye.  They celebrate lies over truth.  A sick sociopath there said “women don’t lie about sex’. She was psychotic with power and privilege.  Deeply disturbed and dangerous≥ She knew no ‘truth’ let alone objective scientific truth.  They didn’t even know what was so terribly wrong with them. So much denial in beurocracy and mirroring committees to echo each other. They eschew any opinion but their own≥. 

They have been killing people with their insensitivity and ignorance and I was suicidal then again.  The fleeting thoughts.  Faced with this man and woman who preened themselves, the ‘teacher’s pets’.  I have this goon as a nation leader and a war going on in the Security council.  I don’t have much faith in this world.

I’m turning more and more to God.  

The men were stripped of their guns and uniforms. They couldn’t get an erection without viagra.  They could have all the dirty thoughts they wanted but the care giver didn’t speak English. They stared at the ceiling.  Veterans.  There in that room.  

I met the head of psychiatry for University of California.  He was slightly demented.  He had a couple of poor uneducated people following him about loyal and kind but just there for the ‘extra’ really.  

I’m playing and singing ‘Streets of London” again. “Have you seen the old man in the closed down market......have you seen the old gal....have you seen the old man......how can you tell me you’re lonely?

It was a good day with my dog and the cat. I’ve been worried about the cat, Gilbert’s best friend. He’s been skinny and not gaining weight again.  Sort of less engaged.  Waking late.  I’d thought to take him to the vet but he rallied and hung out with us eating the special diet I got at the vets.  He’s drinking and active but not so happy. Gilbert is darling.  They’re such good buddies.

So I walked Gilbert. An hour along the river. I took pictures of flowers. I love taking pictures like I enjoy reading. I even got lawn chairs and lay in the sun when I got back.  I’m brown today.  

Then in the afternoon I rode the Harley over to Nanda Jeweller and had a clasp repaired but also bought some gold.  I love Ganesh gold.  It makes such good gifts.  He has diamonds now. It was good to see Ganesh and laugh.  His son was there and we talked about camping and India.  There had been a fellow running about Vancouver stabbing people with needles and they showed me the video.  

I think of needles as weapons.  The men with disease who raped women. I admire women, their courage and faith with men.  Naked in rooms. Accepted foreign fluid, gifts of uncertainty, vaginas and other orifices.  

I’m afraid of disease. I’m afraid of slow death. I’m afraid of cancer.

It makes sense to send old men to war. Death by bullet seems more appealing to lingering boredom.  Ganesh said he’d jump out of a plane if I wanted company. He figures his heart could do that. I worry about my knee. I’m not doing the grouse grind again.  My knee is much better but I need a protection tattoo.  More barbed wire or mail. An excuse for ink. Inks’s another addiction.  

For decades I listened to men and women of every walk of life.  The free association of their unconscious. Their ‘shame’ and ‘humiliation’ anger and fear.  

Week in week out. Thousands , a cross section.  

I’ve listened to countless nightmares.  I’ve heard such sadness from the refugees who have been imprisoned for “different ideas’, “different expression’.  I’ve seen women and men permanently crippled from be4ing in jails and asylums . They come here to escape further torture.

I don’t quite know how they do it. Compartmentalization.  

I know the ‘truth’ and now the ‘propaganda’ of the CBC and other mainstream media news outlets irritates and offends me.  Public lies on a grand scale.  The people individually have reported their experience and I ‘ve heard it. It’s consistent with what I can ‘find’ but what’s being ‘told’ is so very different.  

I’m disillusioned.  But I still say ‘carry on’.  Keep on ‘trucking’.  I remember convincing everyone having ‘bad trips’ back when , it’s going to be okay. I convinced women to climb out of trees.  

I visitted my friend John.  I was sorry I’d interrupted his meal.  I thought I’d arrived earlier but they serve dinner at 5 there.  It was fun talking of friends and God and music. I told him of the Paul McCartney c oncerrt.  He  told me of seeing Jimmy Hendrix.

I remember with Canadian ex pats sharing like that. 

I looked in at three chinese men in one room and wondered if they were Christian, what class they were from, whether they were Hong Kong or Main land or Taiwan, Canucks fans or soccer fans, ex military, or criminal.  They were not talking to each other. One smiled at an orderly.  I suppose they had family.

I’m alone.  I devoted twenty years to marriage for family and children but they were feminists and princess and the thought of children was so secondary. But then I am the writer of my life. With God we chose each other. Women who didn’t want children and I who did but obviously didn’t. The outcome is a product of the conscious and unconscious.  In the Jungian collective unconscious we are unconsciously working out our karma and our lifetimes.  I chose them and they chose me to do the drama of marriage and sterility and divorce. Women have actually been shown to be able to avoid a sick man whose sickness causes infertility. Women choose the intellectuals for the kindliness. They choose the steady eddy for the family. Bad girls are attracted to bad men. Business women , business men.  I was attracted to them for beauty and as buddies.  I love the company of intelligent women.  

The more intelligent women are the more curious and more accepting of difference.  Studies show that the more wealthy and independent the kinkier the woman is.  The masses don’t have sex toys because they’re fully focused on their own livelihood and conforming and raising their children as their shot at immortality.

I’m completely trained for outer space flight. I’ve all the skills to be picked for a space mission. Ships captain.  Doctor.  Sniper. I’m ready for an expedition through the planets and there’s not been a trip back to the moon in 50 years.  That’s really a conundrum. Why we didn’t colonize the moon.  The space station is one thing. But the moon. And mars.

Meanwhile I’ve been trying in my spare time to levitate and promised myself I’d jump yesterday but didn’t. I didn’t check to see if I could fly. I didn’t jump in the air as a child does. I’ve been so heavy and beaten down by the constant grind of working with Cretan overlords.  Vorgon Borg master race with their guns and punishment models.  Humiliation and shame.

I’m struggling against ‘bitternenss’.  I can help individuals. I work in a system where I can still ‘serve’. I have this accumulated knowledge that fetches a price.  

Yet yesterday I enjoyed most riding my motorcycle and walking the dog.  

Then I ate barbecued chicken sharing it with the cat and dog and watched several episodes of Salvation.  It’s a series about the asteroid ending the earth and some scientists building a defence against the asteroid and an escape pod for colonization of mars.

I’m too old for that. I’ve a boat for sailing around the world and a camper and truck for touring North America and a bike and tent for travelling light. It’s a long way from when I hitch hiked across the country staying in communes and playing guitar for meals.  

I slept so well last night.  It was a good day. So long and full and yet accomplished.  I even tried to make a key to start the storage locker declutter but the key could not be made.  Even little tasks like that move things forward. I threw out a lot of excess and waste.  I even bought more medicine for the dog and cat.  That cat’s not come out this morning. I cleaned under the couch where he had this burrow and I believe he’s disturbed by my cleaning his ‘space’. He ‘s got new kitty litter.

When I meditate my mind is like this at first.   Pin balling from thought to thought. 

I can focus on God. God is focused on me.  We’re in sync but it’s not clear as to whether  God is needing me much right now. I’m often on the ‘bench’.  A lot of Christians are waiting on the ‘bench’. We’re in the game but we’re not needed on the ice this minute.  I’m like that a lot.  PResent.

I even played guitar and sang for an hour.  70’s songs. Nostalgia. I’ve been in nostalgia a lot since Paul McCartney and the exercise of autobio, reflection on life.

I’m still carrying too many resentments.  Mostly government. Which ultimately is ‘anger with God’.  It’s also in the past. There was no bureaucrat yesterday and there is none today. So I bring this past encounter with the Jack Nicholson clown characters, the dung beatles, into my present awareness. I’m the one that seeds my day with the ugliness of the past.

God gives me what I focus on. That’s the law of attraction. I must let go of the past experiences of hurt and betrayal. I must believe that these deeply stupid and evil people will meet what they deserve and/or learn and grow. I hope they will one day compensate me for their crimes.  For now I’m thankful that they are not on my radar.  They’re like drunken Zeus like character raping and pillaging.  The idea of compensation is so liberal, the stoned PM apologizing to everyone but not to me. Giving money to everyone, but not to mer.  I’d like 10 million dollars but I’m not going to kill an American soldier for it. 

Dana Davidson and Fiamengo and Jordan Peterson and Lindsay are all fighting the good fight. I don’t have to eviscerate and stalk. I don’t have to wipe out the genetic strain of my enemies. 

What I do have to do is focus on the positive. I have to recognize that God gives me more of what I enjoy, God a loving God , a law of attraction program. Focus on the positive and more positive will come to me.  I had such a day yesterday.

Today I’m actually planning on going to church. I might wear a white bra and panties. In the era of boys we wore white hats and ivory handled pistols in holsters.  Today in girls world there’s bras and panties and we cry.  Psychopaths who are heartless chameleon lizards cry best.   

It’s a while since I wore lipstick and did my nails. I’m a very lazy cross dresser at best. .  I used to enjoy a life of costume. White lab coats. Blue mechanics uniforms.  I loved getting dressed in stockings for hockey. As a kid I loved the baseball cap. I think my favourite clothing of all time is the sarong or the cut off khaki shorts. I identify as sailor.  I once loved the cammo and all the gear on my back, the rifle and hunting essentials. I could go days and nights in the outback. But now in the city I’d rather wear silk, soft and easily moving, feminine.  I’m disarmed .  The War on Boys. If raper is inervitabler better to enjoy it. Lie back and think of. Canada seems to summ it up these days. 

I remember the day my patient told me about ‘stretchy jean’ material and the day I got my first expandable jeans. I was in heaven.  As we age different things are more important. 

There’s a science fiction novel I read as a kid where the man and women wore this material like an extra skin that was impermeable to the elements but felt liking nothing on. I’ve always wanted that blue space suit which could be coupled with a helmet for air.  I’d like a babble fish translator. 

I have a Dick Tracy watch from Apple..  I’ve had all the dreams of childhood fulfilled. 

I’m blessed beyond my wildest dreams. Today I’m enjoying the presence of the dog and cat and the light falling on the Persian carpet zebra like because of the slats of the Venetian blinds I like. I miss the hard wood floors I’ve installed in houses I’ve improved.  I’ve taken several houses and had them rewired, new roofs, new floors, immense improvements at great costs only to be enjoyed by a lucky buyer.  I’ve learned so much trade at some time. I enjoyed the diesel mechanics.  Never got any good at refrideration though am good with heat and adequate with electrical. The fact that I was good with a knife was fine but I cut a piece of meat at the table wrong despite butchering thousands of pounds of meat. I always focus on the one mistake, never remembering the multitude of success.  I set such a high bar. I’m only happy with the A+. 

Perfectionism haunted me in years best. Not compared to others but my previous score or performance.  Constantly competing against yesterday.  Moving forward.  

I remember most the day my wife and I escaped ‘devil’s hole’.  Nursing that boat inch by inch ahead of the expanding ship killer. Whirlpool  She was at the helm, Katherine Hepburn, and I was Bogart keeping the engine running, pouring oil that was leaking because a dope stoned mechanic had left a screw out and the problem became apparent in the emergency. That hour of near death. And an African Queen moment. She was amazing at the helm. I was amazing with the diesel. We survived. Together we could live and rise to the occasion but she preferred her drugs and her bed and her bad memories. 

I was blessed to be with such remarkable men and women. Even now I have countless invitations and I prefer time alone with my dog and am concern with the cat though he’s up and has eaten a tablespoon of food.  I’m reduced to worrying about cats and once I saved a dozen children in a meningitis epidemics. The mismanagement of resources by this government in the microcosm and macroscosm is criminal but they’re getting rich and that’s all they care about.  I’m having an adventure so who am I to judge.  I’ve been on my own African Queen. I know what it’s like to be shot at. I know what it’s like to be lost in the wilderness. I know a whole bunch of arcane things. I’ve set fractures alone in the country, delivered babies in cots.  I’ve talked to the demonic and even believe I cast out demons. I’ve gone to patients surrounded by swat teams and got them to let me in and talked them out of their guns. It’s a silly life.  

I have these odd memories.  And today in the light I see the spots on the fridge I missed when I cleaned the kitchen yesterday.  

I’d better get dressed. Gilbert likes going to church.  I’m a winter Christian but today I’ll make an appearance.  My mother would be pleased though she’s not fond of the papal rituals in the churches I attend. She was comforted by the ‘word’.  

I’ve stopped the heavy reading. It was always an hour of heavy and 10 minutes of light reading. Now I’m reading westerns for an hour, right now it’s English historical fiction, and I’m only putting 10 minutes into a neurology text that’s just catching me up on neurotransmitter behaviour understood in the last year. I review these things in addition to the audio tapes and the on line reports.  All the learning didn’t protect me from the low brow thugs.  The selection for bureaucrats is no longer based on wisdom and experience but rather on ideological stupidity.  And who you’re fucking or who you know whose fucking who.  But was it ever different. My idealism was adolescent. 

I am grateful for this lovely sunny day, the coffee, the running water, the clothing, the friends and family, the dog and cat, and good company and fine vehicles and safe neighbourhood. I’ve a day off.  Another day. It’s hardly begun.  I’ve been able to do nothing really. Journaling.

Journaling like this is ‘squeezing the pus out of the brain’ . It’s trashing files. It’s clearing the slate. It’s opening up some room for God.  I really want you today Jesus. Come Holy Spirit come. Restore my soul. Cleanse my heart of bitterness and rage. Help me to always see your love in all.  Help me to increase my faith and trust. Help me to be more grateful .  Thank you Jesus.