North to 100 mile house

When Laura, looking pretty, arrived Friday morning at 9 am, Gilbert, the cockapoo went crazy, barking, circling, sniffing.  It was great to see her.  We had a five day weekend together with Gilbert.  I immediately brought my white Ford F-350 around. . I have a motorcycle mount for the front of the truck.  I attached that then loaded the KTM690 enduro.

I’d decided also to take my West Marine inflatable kayak along. I had the Honda 2000 generator too. Bear season was open for rifle and deer season for bow.  I had  Winchester 300 Coyote and the Excalibur crossbow. It was the opening of bow hunting season on Sunday.  We’d planned a travel day going and returning with Sat. Sunday and Monday for outdoor adventure.

Laura travels light with an Eagle Creek carry on luggage and colourful sack.  I have the cammo duffle bag and Harley Davidson bag that together carry gear and clothes.  Gilbert likes to use these to sleep on high up in the back seat as we drive along the highway≥

I keep my Adventurer Camper at the unbreatable Chilliwack RV Storage.  From Burnaby to there it was only a couple of hour drive despite highway construction.  We’d stopped at Abbotsford’s great Canoe and Kayak Store to buy another paddle for the kayak.  

Laura and I are getting better at positioning and loading the Camper. It’s less anxiety provoking and really a good feeling when a second bouse was on the back of the truck as we pulled  away heading north.  

It started a cloudy stormy rainy day but miraculously the sun came out as we drove from Chilliwack to Hope. The corn fields were ripe. The glorious evergreens began to replace the farm lands as we ascended out of the Fraser valley floor.  At Hope we took the #1 highway that splits offf from #3 to Princeton through Manning Park and Coquahalla, the high country freeway.  I stopped at DQ and got us all DQ hamburgers with cheese, Gilbert just likes the paddy.  I’ve taken to having mine without the sauce driving. No need to change shirts. 

Laura and I recalled the spring summer and fall I left my Forest River trailer in Boston Bar coming up weekends.  The road has all the old railway tunnels. Sailor, Alexandra and Hell’s Gate..  We always remember the time riding the Harley together home we’d hit the road fault entering the tunnel, We’d become airborne forever going from light into the dark at 120 km per hour, only able to pray before we hit down in total darkness passing safely on.  The truck and camper are the latest in a series of travel camping arrangements.  We like it the best today.  Every possible camping vehicle combination was on the road north with us, some carrying bikes, quads or pulling trailers or boats. There was a recreational exodus north.

At the rest stop with the fenced off leash dog park blind Gilbert loves I changed from jeans to shorts. We used our own toilet and just loved the high country sunshine and heat.  I’m always ecstatic once we come out of the lowland to the high country sage and tumble weed country.

A herd of goats greeted us in Lytton.  It was 10 years before when we were in a car with tent in the trunk that we passed a similar herd of mountain goats on the highway and walking about the town.  There were young with therm and they all looked healthy and robust.

The views of the river winding through the high country tumble weed hills were spectacular.

At Cache Creek we stopped at the Grubstake Store we’d visited in past years. A lovely oriental couple have really outfitted it well for campers and fishermen. We found everything we wanted and now had a fully stocked camper.  We even had Hagen Dash ice cream bars to enhance our glamping experience.

Lots of nostalgia passing through Clinton.  Laura reminisced about walking here when Faith was still a baby her mommy’s tummy. Now she’s a going concern.  It was here I shot my first moose with Bill Mewhort 30 years before. We hunted mulies in the high hills back in those days,climbing high up the mountain before dawn to meet the game as they left the rivers and lakes. 

It was temping to stop there. But I was in exploring mode.  I’d bow hunted Hundred Mile House with Tom seeing lots of deer though not shooting any. Laura and I loved Hundred Mile House  having stayed here several years before and even considered it as a possible place to live. 

Now here we are in the municipal campground. The 100 mile House RV Motel and Park were full.  Not needing hook up it was just nice to park after a long scenic day of driving. Sandwiches sufficed for dinner.  Gilbert loved the new dog sniffs and walks.

On my iPad I read a kindle western before falling asleep a little after Laura who’d been reading about a woman pilot in the war. Gilbert cried in the night to be let up on the bed but settled when I shhhhd him.  He’s jealous I get to sleep with his favourite person and he’s left down on the floor in his own dog  bed.  Life isn’t fair.

There was promise of aurora borealis but the sky was cloudy so we didn’t see the night display.  The fresh cool air was a delight.

Waking this morning in the pine smelling outdoors by a running stream  was heaven.  

Hello God this Saturday

It’s a new day. Thank you for the wonderful sleep. I did appreciate the interesting dreams. Thank you Dad for visitting. I love seeing those who have passed come near. Our worlds crossing over. There here and the now and the there and the then.  I’m in this nebulous mysterious place of grandeur and simplicity. I love the blue sky and fluffy clouds. This late summer days have had that smattering of refreshing rain. It’s good to know that forests are cared for. The raid stops fires. The fires come and go. Renewal and return. It’s a time old cycle.  We are in the midst of much.  I’m thankful to be alive now.  I’m glad to have awoken in your brace. May I always think of you first and always.

Thank you for the lovely woman in the bed beside me .She is such a comfort and delight. I glanced to where there is usually another pillow but there was her tossled hair and seductive curves.  The dog was with her. He’s totally smitten by her and I understand. She is so sweet.  Like sunrise. I slip from bed to meditate.  

I’m thankful for that time on awakening. Breath in. Breath out. The cycle. The mystery of life. The gift of this engine of daily life. I’m so often taking for granted my heart and lungs and the circulation system of my body.  My mind like a hamster in a cage has his whole list of priorities. But for this time I pay close attention to the essential.  My mind then drifts back to work to a myriad of concerns then I lead it back to the simplicity.

I remember reading Walden Pond. I love Aurelius.  I was blessed as a young person to read the classics. A Kempis.  Brother Lawrence.  For years I studied Paramahansa Yogananda then later Augustine.  These journals of the greatest lives left as memoirs.  I’m thankful for those lives distilled for the young. Almost gnostic insights. The gospels are gnostic to the unenlightened. I am always amazed by the discoveries in the holy of Holies.  New meanings. Insights. Special references.   It’s a key to a locked space within that flies open with attention.

I’m here now with you in this place and time. I’m aware that the distance between electrons, neutrons and positrons , all the apparents matter, is indeed huge. We have football fields of emptiness within. The being of my self is mostly empty. Who armies of neutrinos can pass through the spaces between what we think of as matter. The quanta of light are overlooked. I’m energy and light.  Yet gravity and depression and anxiety pull me down.  The incredible lightness of being. The spirit world. The levitating laughing joyful self is always present but caged, weighted down.  Giving myself to Jesus, laying my burdens at his feet. Learning his command, Do not be afraid! I believe he walked on water and so could I. We all can. Children of God.  But to be childlike is not so simple as it sounds.  Dancing is difficult for the serious.  

Now this day I ask for dance and song. I give myself to you. I would do your will. Thy will be done.  There is I and Thou but I would be less so you could be more.  I am the bubble make me the sea.  Let me rest in Thee.  God come closer.  Let me know you more fully.  Let me serve you better. Today I would be a better disciple. Today I would laugh with the grand belly laugh of creation. I would sing the body electric. I would rest on Eagles Wings. I’d soar to the depths of love. I love Thee. I am here for Thee.  

Thank you for the coffee. Thank you for the heat. Thank you for the light. Thank you for the mundane. I really like the alimentary system. I’m amused again by this holes, the mouth and anus and urethra.  What amazing design and consideration. A marvellous vehicle to take me about this mystical sacred realm.  Thank you for the indoor plumbing.  So much is here that I did not conceive and know not how they came to be except by consideration of history and texts. The electricity is incredible. The moving pictures. All the computers and images and mirroring devices .  I’m so thankful for the fun of the keyboard and computers and cameras.  I love the iPhone and iPad.  The light inside is good too and the heater.  

The air, O2 and CO2, and the Krebb’s cycle. I love internal combustion.  I imagine a design class of children. I know it was made in 7 days , Genesis gives the broad strokes but couldn’t this whole world have been made by babies. In the details.  It’s got a quality of unicorns and puppies and kids working together with crayons and paints.  I know that’s not mentioned in the first days.  This was created and that was created and later came Adam and Eve.  But maybe that was just the stage final production and there was this kids with duck tape and WD40 phase of creation.  Lots of mistakes and messes and God laughing and the unicorns running about. It’s even possible there was. Great stew and a giant stirring the pot.  Just trying to get the sky light right.  Showing God different colours like in a carpet store. Or trying out paints on mountains.  I love the leaves of plants. The flowers are awesome.

I have so much reason always to be in awe. Lift me up Lord.  Let me see the world through child’s eyes. Carry my burden of cares for me. Holy Spirit Come.  Here and Now Lord.  I am yours.  

Thank you Lord.  Good morning.  

I need a cleaning lady or I could do that myself again.  I did the dishes already.  It seems like yesterday I shook the rugs but it was weeks ago.  I have that cluttered table screaming at me. There’s never enough space but then I’m hoarding. The Minimalists are perhaps wiser. My floor is littered with doggie toys.  I’m looking at wires about the tv and DVD. Books and books and more books and I’m always flogging myself for not reading enough especially when I love so much to read the ‘fun’ stuff.  I’m only on chapter two of the fascinating textbook I began months ago.  Meanwhile I ‘ve read a half dozens westerns and historical fictions.  Paul said I do what I don’t wish to do and I don’t do what I wish to do. I muddle through.  I don’t wish to read the biography of Clausewitz today.  I read Chitral 1895. I’ve been moving my reading more to India. There’s been Salt Spring and Tennessee.  I’ve been studying war medicine.  I saw another soldier. I was interested in the US law regarding ‘service related’. How to separate the two. I’ve been moseying along those lanes of enquire.

Today I will walk the dog. I may swim. We said we might go to Costco. I ‘ll roast more coffee.  I’ll make breakfast. I barbecued steaks and rabbit last night. We watched the Israeli movie of the 6day war.  I read hundreds of books each year.  I’ve read thousands of medical and psychiatric texts and hundreds of history.  Then there’s all the how to manuals about radar and Icom. I sometimes miss my Hamm.  I’m a survivalist. I have all the skills and next week I’ll get the bow out another year.  The rifles come out.  I’ve target practice and backwoods hiking and motorcycling off road to do.  I’ve been dreaming and thinking of my sailboat. I miss the tradewinds. The Harley has been fun this summer. I have most enjoyed the music too.  Three dog night . Deep Purple. Santana. The $5 bin at Walmart. My Harley radio doesn’t treat CD’s well but to repair the radio costs a thousand so buying some ‘throw away’ cd’s for the summer, that’s how long they last before scratched and warped by heat, is a better solution for now.  

I ordered opera glasses.  I had some. They’ve been swallowed by the storage locker. But these new ones aren’t hunting binoculars repurposed but the read thing and only $35.  I was surprised at the price considering I’ve paid a thousand for boating and hunting binoculars. But those have been lifesaving. The binoculars for opera are only 3 x 25.  I’ve been looking forward to going to the symphony and opera this fall or winter.  Certainly I want to see and hear Pink Floyd next year. Bucket list is such a mundane descriptions for the stars I want to visit and the trips I want to take riding the cow around the moon. I’m still waiting for my space ship, a flitter saucer. I almost feel the motion on the Harley but then I miss the horses and keep ‘planning’ to arrange a ride again.  There’s so much to do. So many things calling. I envied my brother going on safari. It would be wonderful to see a zebra or giraffe in the wild.

I see so much sadness in my work. So many people beaten down by circumstance and toxic bosses and environments.  Living circumscribed lives. We have the most amazing park here in Vancouver. Our beaches are incredible. There’s public transport. I’ve got various vehicles and rarely do I get there but then I prefer to go to the interior or to the north and have a truck just for that purpose. But I see daily people who are depressed but they refuse to leave their cages and take a bus to the beach or the park or ride the gondola to the top of the mountain. Self pity has them in it’s grip and a thousand excuses but it’s all there. A smorgasbord. 

Thank you Lord. Help me make the right choices. Guide me in my day to day endeavours.  Help me steward my time and resources. Help me focus. Help me continue each day in your grace. Thank you Lord. Thank you God. Thank you Jesus. Hallelujah!

“Telling her that men of genius conceived their best projects when drunk”

I love this quote from the Big Book of Alcoholics’ Anonymous. It’s from Bill’s story where he’s reassuring his wife Lois about his drinking. Today the story would no doubt include drugs. 

The subjective thought on drugs or alcohol is that of ‘superiority’ or ‘enhancement’. It’s not objectively true.  The book Not God by Kurtz discussed the perception of alcoholics of ‘god like’ capacity. This has been explained by modern neuroscience as the ‘regression’ which occurs with drugs and alcohol. The brains of alcoholics and addicts are not ‘enhanced’ but rather the ‘filtering’ is removed. FMRI’s show the frontal lobes of the brain, the frontal lobe, being the seat of judgement especially social judgement, being impaired.

Tom Waits, the musician and original song writer , of ‘the Pianos been drinking’ fame, said that he stopped drinking because it affected his ability to write songs.  Brian Wilson, the song writer of the Beach boy’s posited that one song appeared to be the product of the drugs and alcohol he used that week but that drugs and alcohol cost him many years in and out of asylum and struggling with insaneity.  The question he asked was ‘how many great songs he could have written had he avoided drugs and alcohol and stayed out of the asylums.’’

Most of the ‘genius’ are young and their most creative work occurs after 15 or 20 years without drugs or alcohol which are commonly a fact of the late teens, 20’s and thereafter. These early decades when drugs and alcohol are not a significant factor in development are described as the time when the ‘spiritual bank account’ is being enlarged on.  Commonly artists describe alcohol and drugs leaving them ‘spiritually’ and ‘creatively’ bankrupt.

Cocaine for instance causes a rapid discharge and depletion of neurotransmitters associated with activity and pleasure. The cocaine then interferes with the recovery of the brain for weeks thereafter.

The ancient tribes who did incorporate hallucinogens in their healing ceremonies recognized that these were best done annually with supervision of the community and witchdoctors.  This is clearly at variances with the compulsive driven experience of the addict daily struggling to experience something with a brain rather like a flogged and dying horse.  

The military studied drugs extensively to find if any ‘enhanced’ performance. They would have volunteers take drugs and then set them to do obstacle courses or perform simple tasks or strategizing as required in the rather straightforward environment of war scenarios. They found all drugs impaired function. Some aspect of function would be improved while another aspect was lost.  The only drug that the military subsequently used in war was ‘stimulants’, like Ritalin or Dexedrine.  These were found to maintain awareness and alertness for an extended period of a day or two or even three.  Deteriorating judgement over nights without sleep were the consequence beyond the initial benefit.  Further after the stimulant allowed several days and nights of function without sleep the person ‘crashed’ and slept for days.  This still allowed a person to stay behind enemy lines awake without ‘snoring’ in an awkward place.  Soldiers going ‘behind lines’ or on ‘certain missions’ carry ‘stimulants’ for very limited and specific use under extreme duress as a stopgap measure.  

Though steroids have been shown to enhance performance in sports to some extent the cost is in the realm of judgement, ‘droid rage’, and physical health.  One may win a ‘race’ but lose a marriage, alienate kids, lose a job, or go to jail.  All of these ‘consequences’ are overlooked by addicts who are usually responding to ‘cravings’ when they make their ‘best arguments’ for their ‘god like’ capability ‘if only they have another drink, toke or line’. 

It really was a false promise of the 60’s and 70’s that doing drugs and drinking would result in a ‘better world’ and ‘better people’.  The evidence collectively has been anything but. Indeed we now know that Hitler was a major proponent of ‘better living through chemistry’ and was on all manner of drugs during his reign of terror.  Mushrooms, not known in Canada for their ‘belligerent properties’ were recorded by Robert Graves as the drug of choice for the ‘Bezerk!” In medieval war. Peasants armed with rakes and hoes would do mushrooms and charge their opponents. These folk were part of the ‘cult of the mushroom’.  

The capacity of drugs to alter judgement is today most seen with alcohol though all drugs share this propensity. Alcohol abuse is the principal associated factor for domestic violence, social violence, sexual abuse, child abuse, and accidents.  Unfortunately government leaders are directly compensated from the sales of all ‘legal drugs’ so have a major conflict of interest and in general government sources of information are affected by this.  In the aboriginal communities of the north a decision was made to have a ‘wet’ or ‘dry’ reserve. Wet reserves were dominated by sexual abuse, incest, child sexual abuse, violence and suicide, sometimes described as ‘hell on earth’ or ‘Peyton place’ compared with the ‘dry reserves’ which were commonly model communities described as heavenly or ‘little house on the prairies’.  Most of the problems of ghettos are not gun ownership but drugs and alcohol and gang crime associated with drugs and alcohol.  

Fortunately 30% of a community doesn’t do drugs or alcohol, 60% don’t use drugs or alcohol to the point of ‘altered consciousness’ and only 10$ actuall use drugs or alcohol to get ‘drunk’ or ‘high’. Whatever ‘best projects’ this latter group might conceive is completely cancelled by the negative consequences of drugs and alcohol on judgment and genius.

Right now the ‘fentany’ epidemic is not affecting the 50 year olds who used to be the ‘junkies’ addicted to heroin. The people dying in the ‘fentanyl’ epidemic are in their late teens and 20’s.  The question then is how many of these genius who died might well have lived and found a cure for cancer or a new propulsion system that would take ships across the galaxy.  The same argument has been against war. But it’s always old men and old women who benefit most from the sales and promotion of drugs and alcohol and indeed war.  These folk are never considered genius by any stretch of the imagination. Clever men and women with character flaws of avarice and hoarding and abuse of power but not anything more than clever.  These are simply not the folk who write the songs that move a nation.  It actually can be argued that there is more money in stupidity than genius and that wealth accumulation is done by manipulating and using geniuses.  Sadly so many of those who have power abuse it and those that abuse it are commonly those with issues with drugs and alcohol.  

Requests for the leadership of the UN to be drug tested have fallen on deaf ears. Pilots and doctors are drug tested but today judges, congressmen and world leaders in the UN are not tested for drugs or alcohol abuse even like our athletes who have random testing.  The random testing of athletes has indeed shown that the greates of all by sheer numbers don’t ‘need drugs or alcohol’ and indeed ‘losers’ do.  So today we continue to have genius in the labs of Stanford and UBC but our leadership in the courts and parliament are not drug or alcohol tested despite all the evidence that their collective performance is grossly negatively impacted by their persistent belief in the very thing that Bill Wilson, one of the great genius of the 20th century was able to honestly and humbly admit to his wife.  His thinking under the influence was wrong.  

 

Gratitude Thursday

Thank you God for the universe, the galaxy, the stars, the sun and this planet Earth.

Thank you for the atmosphere and gravity. 

Thank you for the light today

Thank you for the rain yesterday. 

Thank you God for my home and my sleep and breakfast this morning.

Thank you for Ethiopian coffee.

Thank you especially for Gilbert who licked my face awake today.

Thank you for running water and indoor plumbing.

Thank you for waste disposal.

Thank you for City Workers, for hydro and sewage disposal and garbage men.

Thank you for truckers who bring produce and ‘stuff’ to the city.

Thank you for primary producers who do all the work that politicians claim credit for.

Thank you for health care.

Thank you for doctors and nurses and assistants.

Thank you for teachers and education that is not propaganda.

Thank you for journalists with ethics and conscience and people who tell the truth.

Thank you for those folk who have the capacity for shame and don’t like sociopaths.

Thank you for flavours and scents.

Thank you for feelings.

Thank you for family.,

Thank you for Netflix and refridgerator and snacks and couches.

Thank you for vehicles.

Thank you for bodies and movement.

Thank you for breath Lord and meditation and prayer.

Thank you for music.

Thank you for dance.

Thank you for all those things I take for granted.

Enlighten me Lord.

Let me know your will and give me the power to carry that out Today. 

Recovery: Whose job is it?

Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous

“You will be most successful with alcoholics if you do not exhibit any passion for crusade or reform. Never talk down to an alcoholic from any moral or spiritual hilltop, simply lay out the kit of spiritual tools for his inspection.””

Commentary

When we are teaching junior doctors and counsellors we advise them to watch themselves carefully to see if they are putting more effort than the patient into ‘rescuing or curing’ them.  Whose job is it?  I can’t make a person drink the medicine. I can give them the medicine.  Indeed it’s been said that I will hold their head under the water to make them drink but that after a while even with that approach even some would drown rather than drink.

Addiction is in part a pout.  Enablers are treating alcoholics and adults like children when they are adults.  Perhaps proto adult,  Adolescent really, but to be adult you don’t start ‘babying them’ for their own good. You offer them resources to ‘recover’, not to persist in their addiction.

I remember hearing these two addicts discussing social services, “I’ve now got a place, there’s free meals at the church, and I’ve got a bus pass, now all my disability money can go to drugs.’  

Giving money to an addict is actually giving money to his dealer.  One of the most successful ‘harm reduction’ policies which worked for years until some aetheist interfered, was a local priest who took checks from addicts on Welfare Wednesday check day, then doled their money back to them daily. I have a patient whose sister gives her brother $10 a day because when he had $20 he spent it on crack. His dealer actually approached him each day to ask if he had $20.

Adulthood is ‘accountability’.  

The brain disease of addiction is that it causes the forebrain or judgement to be impaired. A person loses the capacity for ‘delayed gratification’.

 “I want it all and I want it now.”

There is a regression from adulthood back to adolescent learning.  In recovery we describe the person as "40 going on 15." It seems there’s an emotional delay that occurs once a person becomes addicted. Most people learn to ‘self soothe’ without drugs and alcohol. The alcoholic or addict may act juvenile but they’re always very canny.  Their capacity to think is not impaired in that sense. The fatal flaw is their inability to carry through with plans.  They have all the ideas of the ‘adolescent’ or ‘child’ but lack the capacity to complete tasks, overcome adversity, work together, delay gratification.  These are all adult skills.  Drugs disrupt learning 'adulting'.

I treat mechanical brain injury, when a person drives a motorcycle into the wall hitting their head and chemical brain injury, when a person dumps drugs and alcohol on the chemical circuit board of the brain.  The behaviour and function are very similiar though fortunately for the alcoholic and addict initially the damage is reversible if they abstain.  The recovery process are the same.

In ‘detox’ treatment, empirically it was necessary to establish a barrier if only slight to access.  Years ago when I was heading a detox we would admit a person who while drinking had remorse and wanted to ‘go on the wagon’.  As the drugs cleared their system they ‘changed their mind’ and left. Today most detox require a person to be seeking detox for 24 to 48 hours. The success is greater.  The greater the commitment the greater the success. Even with Suboxone a person must be in ‘withdrawal’ before the treatment can begin. If this medication which is a combination of opiate and antagonist was given to a person ‘high’ it would just throw them into painful withdrawal.  

The treatment of choice for addiction and alcoholism is abstinence.  Harm reduction has always been considered a valid ‘stepping stone’ or ‘entry’ point to recovery.  Recovery is the whole ‘process’.     

When you feel you’re doing more work at their recovery than they are, it’s time to back off.  Alcoholism and addiction are in part escapism. The adult with every drink becomes more childlike, seeking the tit or womb.  They become legless and incompetent.

With an injured person in the emergency we as doctors provide immediate care and take over the function for the person in the first day but even if we put them on respirators and bypass machines we are always working to get them off.

The survival post surgery is best in those who get up and walk on their own.  Why would we think differently in treating mental illnesss. The aim is to restore a person to full functioning. Yet there are enablers and those who ‘appear’ to care. but are really negative not believing in the possibility of recovery for an individual.  They are the enablers who infanticize the alcoholic or addict and provide them everything.

I wonder when I see what my mechanical brain injured patient is given versus the chemical brain injured person. When the latter is getting ‘more’ something is wrong.  The recovery from mechanical brain injury, if severe, still can occur but it’s slow. Fortunately the person isn’t continuing to hit themselves in the head with a hammer like the addict who continues to relapse.

If they  are alcoholic or addict continues to drink especially then we are the problem not them. We are enabling them to do more brain injury and more destruction.  Limit setting is adulting.

Unfortunately as children mirror adults, addicts and alcoholics mirror their caregivers.  When caregivers are unable to set limits, have rules, be themselves disciplined in their ‘giving’, then the addict or alcoholic doesn’t learn. As a life guard my first lesson was not to let the drowning person pull me down with them.

The original AA members when they went out to talk to an active alcoholic found that if they went alone they were as likely to start drinking again themselves.

We’ve seen many of the institutions established in good faith to help alcoholics and addicts take on the emotional maturity and behavioural developmental stages of the alcoholics and addicts.  The institution is pulled down by the drowning alcoholic and addict.  

There are caregivers and victims.

The joke in the church was that it should be called ‘sinners anonymous’. It was also said that we should not  ‘judge’ another because they ‘sinned’ differently.

It was found in Al Anon, the organization for friends and family of alcoholics, that ‘enabling’ and engaging in the ‘self delusions’ of alcoholics,’arguing with them’ , ‘coercing’ them etc was counter productive.  The Al Anon learned instead to ‘detach with love.’

The “holier than thou’ approach to addiction simply doesn’t work. The ‘I am the doctor, you are the patient’ doesn’t work either. What has worked quite miraculously is the approach of “I’ve had your problem" and "I’ve got a little further ahead while I’m still working on a problem.”

I asked a doctor how he had climbed Mount Everest and he told me that there was a club in Switzerland where people who had climbed Mount Everest gathered. He’d gone and learned from them.12 step programs have been similar clubs.  These are people who were spiritually bankrupt but now are rich on life. 

The job is not to ‘feed’ the alcoholic or addict for life’ but rather to ‘share the spiritual tools with those who want to learn and want recovery’.  The "Stages of Change" was developed by Prochaska to address the Motivational level of individuals who had various diseases.  As a caregiver one offers the ‘options’ and encourages ,but doesn’t do the work for the individual and doesn’t enable or ‘carry’ the person other than briefly.  

One of the problems with lack of resources in the area is that many ‘acute’ resources have been commandeered by the ‘chronic’ .  Hospital beds that are specially established as an ‘acute’ services are being used by mismanagment government for ‘chronic beds’.  Lack of chronic low cost housing results in losses of millions as the mismanaged constipated system backs up and high priced acute services are wasted on ‘chronic’ care.

Perhaps this is evidence that the ‘system’ and ‘institution’ has become more drunk or drug addicted or ‘diseased’ than those for who the service was intended.

Hello God

I’m awake again God.  A hard start. Two pushes on the snooze bar.

Now I’m preparing to ride my motorcycle into work. 

The weather report is no rain. 

Autumn morning chill is present.

I’ve taken to turning on the electric heater before meditating.

I make a space for you God. I call, “Holy Spirit Come.”

I ask for guidance. I say the Lord’s prayer.

I have had coffee.  Gilbert has eaten.  

I got more tunes to listen to on the motorcycle.

Walmart is selling the 70’s off at $5 a cd’

Greatest hits of the greatest of the greatest.

People asking me about the future. 

It seems so distance. Tomorrow is miles from now.

I don’t know. I don’t have any clear sign.

I’m winding down in some ways.

Wondering when I’m going to grow up.

Astonished how the time flies.

Wonder if I’ve ‘made something of myself.”

The ‘shame and blame’ low brow shallow arrogant authorities ,

That ‘lick up and kick below’ set, have me questioning 

My service, sacrifice and stats.

They’re emotionally unintelligent, spiritual absent.

“It’s just a job,” they say, 

Motivated by worldly power, ego, and pension. 

I seek service, adventure, challenge.

The Quest for the Holy Quail.

I’ve not been a one trick pony.

My focus on non compliance,

St. Paul’s I do what I don’t want to do

And Don’t do what I want to do

Ambivalence and Choice, trauma

And Freud’s Thanatos.

The elite don’t care about ‘lives saved’.

It’s all appearances.

I did suit up and show up. I filled a chair.

Today I’ll do that again.  

Take myself from here to there.  I wonder about this transit issue

I miss walking across the lawn to my clinic. Evading geese,

Rather than traffic jams.

I shared dreams with those who lied.

Looking back I see decades of relationship loss.

It doesn’t make sense God.

I’m here and don’t know where to go or what is coming.

I feel like I’m on the bench waiting for my play and the game is almost over

I’m going through the motions.  I’m putting in the time. 

I’m over the peak and on the downhill side.  

You’ve been there for me always. I’ve been beholden to you.

I’ve seen so many miracles and been blessed in so many ways.

I’m thankful for all the blessings.

I like that feeling of being in the flow.

I like being lifted on eagles wings.

I thank you for the holy book, the angels and the gifts.

I’m going to move towards the door.  

I ‘d like to play hooky, like high school.  

But the more I’m away, the less I desire to return.  

I’d a hankering for Africa, now wonder about Asia and South America.

I’d return to a number of places but feel after India I’ll be sated again for a while

I’ve books to write. Exercises to do.  I’d like to study more.

I’ve always liked learning.

I don’t like traffic so much.  I don’t like the stop and go.

I’m wearying of the commute.

I’m worrying too.  

I don’t like when I worry and the fears assail me.

With you on my side, and I’m on your side, I need not be afraid.

Do not be afraid, you commanded.

I’ll move now. I’ll put one foot in front of the other and get out the door.

It’s all easy once I leave.  Getting out the door is the challenge.

A hard start. I fessed the snooze bar twice this morning.

Salt Spring Island Rally 2019

I parked the truck and camper in the exact spot Laura and I had tented for last years’ Salt Spring Island Rally.  Registering we met Brian who has come most every year. He has a magnificent Bigfoot Camper that he’s taken across Canada and back. This year he’s explored BC and Alberta. 

“I’m thinking of moving out of the city,” he said, “So I wanted to see what choices there were. I really liked Qualicum.”

I’d lived and worked on the island for several years so I reminisced about the pros and cons of island living. 

“Most everything is attractive except dependence on ferries.” I said.

Laura’s sister had loved living a decade on Mayne. Laura shared her thoughts on that.  A couple of others joined us standing outside the hall, singing the praises of the towns and islands of BC.  Here we were loving Salt Spring. 

We registered ,then ran into Murray who’d ridden his Harley over, this year with Chris on the back.  They were tete a tete.  We felt guilty interrupting their mutual appreciation society. 

That afternoon we walked Gilbert,lay in the sun, read iPads and delighted in the much loved baby playing on the blanket next to our camper.  Lots of young girls about and young guys all happy to entertain their little gleeful tot delighted in taking her first steps.

The first speaker was in his late 30’s describing the loss of 25 years and the joy of this last 7 months.  He was present and alive, bright eyed.  The future looked good. An inspiration.

Laura and I had sandwiches for dinner. Later Murray and Chris came by and we invited them in. We talked and talked. Swapping stories and telling tales. Laughter and comraderie. Then departures and early to bed. I slept so soundly.  Fresh air.   Calm and peace.

In the morning I lifted Gilbert onto the bed. I like my own toilet.  It makes returning to bed for the group hug and snooze more easy.  Laura contentedly rubbed the little cockapoo’s back.  I had more pleasant dreams.

Then up again walking Gilbert in the sunshine.  Campers getting up.  I made expresso on the gas stove top.  Laura bathed.

The morning speakers were a panel, one with months of the new life, another with years and the last with decades.  Each speaker left a remarkable pearl of hope.  

The afternoon was free.  A lot went into the Ganges market as we’d done so many years before.  It’s an easy walk or quick drive.  Murray took his Harley.  Brian said he was going to have a nap.  I lay on the lawn chair in the sun.  More reading and a great afternoon nap. Someone had talked of self care and I was thinking an afternoon nap was just the ticket.

The call to dinner came over the loud speakers. Guys and girls had been barbecuing lamb and pork for hours. We took our tickets getting salad, potato salad, coleslaw and scrumptious lamb.  I had a large scoop of mint sauce.  The buns were fresh with butter as well.  Just like every year we sat down by the benches, the tables filled with the hungry.  Murray and Chris joined us.  Murray had a lamb bone for Gilbert again this year. Gilbert was in heaven when we returned and immersed in lamb bone for hours thereafter. 

Chris told us the tale of their meeting. She had two tickets to Judas Priest and Murray said he’d love to go. They knew each other before.

‘Should we take one vehicle?” Chris had asked.

“I could pick you up on my bike,” Murray said.

“Great.” Chris said, “So there I was going to Judas Priest on the back of Murray’s Harley. What could be better.”

They’d been having fun ever since.  Laura shared of our meeting and then my inviting her to Saipan later, getting back together when I returned to BC.  

More shared tales of motorcycling,camping, yachting.  

We talked of aging with others. Murray and I talked of the perfect retirement community, proximity to hospital, access to groceries and services.  It’s a common theme. It’s a new conversation trend I don’t recall even a couple of years ago.  

The countdown is always special to me, a ritual that reminds me of where I’ve been.  I’ve been to this Salt Spring Island Rally more than a dozen times over the years recognising the same faces, missing others.

The Quesnel speaker was hilarious, so deep, so true.  Keep coming back.  She brought tears to my eyes.  Later Murray and Laura said she did that to them too.. Brian knew her and liked her.  

There was a dance after but when I walked back to let Gilbert out to pee it just seemed ‘late’.  

“I think Jo Ann Scott’s got the right idea about dances in the day.”  Laura said.  “She’s always going to the jazz dance brunch”>

Despite best intentions I was already out of my pants and lying on the bed reading when the music began a half hour later. I love bed.  We let Gilbert stay up on the bed for a group hug and cuddles but then put him down in his safe little doggy bed.  We’re afraid he might fall off the tall camper bed.  

I heard the music through the open skylight. It sounded good.  I drifted off to sleep thankful for a great day and great friends.

This morning I walked Gilbert and brought back blue berry muffins, juice and coffee.  Laura was up and delighted with the blue berry muffin coffee service.  The Camper is the best. She’s in the shower.  We’ve the morning speaker to attend in an hour.  Often we sing Amazing Grace as well. There’s a great voiced country singer who leads. Then it’s a brief stow and get ready for the road before heading to Long Harbour for the ferry back to Vancouver.

Another fabulous Salt Spring Island Rally.  Sunshine and serenity.

 

Salt Spring Island 2019

We loved the Twassessen Gulf Islands ferry ride,. Having White Spot bacon cheese burgers while whales broke the surface ahead and around. Being in Active Pass brought back fond memories of the SV Giri. Laura reminisced about Mayne Island.  Pretty soon we were through and there was the place where I caught ling cod and salmon. There was Montague Harbour where I anchored so often. Then we were coming into Long Harbour

We drove the Ford F-350 white pick up truck with Adventurer camper triumphantly onto Salt Spring.

The SSI Rally began the next day.  I called Kirk. He lives on the island and manages Islandia Bed and Breakfast here among other business endeavours.

“Take the Vesuvius Road.’  He said.

It was a bit touch and go to nget the wide tall camper up his winding driveway but Kirk really was a good flag man. Great to see him.  60 years of friendship and still going.  Hugs. Laura has know him 20 years so it was a grand reunion.  Then we finally met John, whose place this all is.  

The truck and camper were left in the parking area, the struts getting  a real work out to balance the camper on the slopes.  Nachos on the deck.  Old friend and new friend conversations. It’s been a year since we’ve seen Kirk.  Facebook has kept some of the history going. 

The view from the deck is magnificent. Pine, spruce, eucalyptus of the island.  The channel below. The new cabin cruiser at anchor with the 77 corvette gas engine.  Stories of adventure with the new ‘project’. 

Tannis and Lindi had visited. Talk of Robertson’s. Discussion of Vincent Massey High School.  The reunion next year.

“I was shocked at how many people had died.” He exclaimed

“We’re at that age.” I replied.,

John was keen to swim. Kirk and I followed him down the steep stairs to the rocks. I remembered the Minaki dock and diving off that in the morning. Mr. Laidlaw would lead the pack of boys.  The girls would swim later with Mrs. Laidlaw.  A quieter affair.  Not the cannon balling and screaming of the boys.  The water as cold as this was.  

John,​Kirk and I swam out to the platform.  Three guys lounging.  There must be thousands doing this at this very moment on docks and platforms through this latitude.  The sun declining.  Evening whispering pink at the edges of the sky.  We swam back.  Hot shower luxury at the top of the stairs.  Change to dry clothes.

Kirk barbecued the salmon perfectly.

We ate and talked of the paranormal. Personal reflections on seeing the ghosts of our dead family and friends.  Visitations before and after funerals.  Sweat lodge and ICU stories of others. Moody and Eben Alexander. Psychic Wars.  Princeton. Duke≥  Kirk talked of Prem.  John had been to India and reflected on the places Laura and I’d  be visiting in our up coming trip.  He talked of 3 d printing and start ups.  Kirk and I shared about what we knew of past loves, the angels who’d passed through our lives.  Nostalgia, humour and gratitude.  

Lots of laughter.  God friends. God friends.

Laura had gone early to bed.  Gilbert had made friends with Cocoa the black cat.  Cocoa followed Gilbert and I back to the camper to ensure we were safe.  Laura and I slept so soundly. The quiet and joy of this graceful place.  Kirk shared that the B&B had hundreds of ‘bests’ and ‘thanks’.  Elegant, cozy, refined and nestled here in the heart of ancient spiritual Salt Spring.  

In the morning Kirk guided me up the winding Islandia drive way.  Then he drove ahead to take us back to Ganges. We stopped for propane , parking there to walk on to the Tree House Cafe.  More old friend conversations and laughter.  Fabulous Huevos Rancheros. More coffeee.  Gilbert loved all the passing dogs and people.  It was a beautiful blue sky and sunshine day.,

Parting hugs.

Laura and I drove up to the Farmer’s Institute.  Parked in the field and organized the camper. We were the earliest. Others would stream in through out the day,. We loved watching them set up tents. Lots of young girls. The cutest most loved baby in the camp beside ours.  Dogs and children sounds.  

Just great to see Brian.  Retired forester, he shared all the places he’d been this last year in his camper. The year previous he’d taken it across Canada but this year it had been mostly northern BC and Alberta. I’d been to Pemberton and others who’d joined us waxed poetic about camping there and the Okanagan.  Brian has a great hug. We’re lucky to see each other a few times a year. One of the best of people.  

So many big hearts here.  No big egos. We’re melllowed with age. Some big brains but really it’s the big heart people we so enjoy.  I was reminded of Kirk’s friend Judith and her poverty of wealth but richness in friends.  Kirk had told us of her death and celebration of life, quoting her phrases that others had repeated. 

We collected our reginstration material, coloured our name tag sheep.  Back at the camper we napped and read. The first speaker came on in the evening. Fewer people than previous year.  Lots of announcements. Then a classic story shared. At the end we ‘circled up’.  Holding hands in a big circle, saying the briefest prayer of hope.  

We met up with Murray and Chris. They’d come on his red Harley, camping where he had the year before≥. We were glad they came by.  We shared stories. Laura and I really liked Chris. Murray is a favourite for his humor and stories.  Daring dashing larger than life character. 

“She’s down to earth and easy to be with,” Laura said of Chris.

“I didn’t talk too much.  Didn’t offend anyone.” I asked.

“You were just fine.  Wa all had a good time. “ she said.  

I worry when I’m having a good time.  Paranoid, I look around for government thought police and joy police.  Wait for the next shoe to drop. Trauma’s of the past.  Two faced folk lying.  But it’s safe here. I’m relaxing again.  Among friends. God people.

In the bed before sleep Laura, Gilbert and I all hug then I put the poor boy down in his bed.  Laura and I read our iPad Kindle stories then drifted off to sleep., We heard other campers voices sharing.  No loud canned music.  No techno noise.  Campground sounds.  Country night sounds.  

I woke this morning and felt so rested.  I’ve slept in the group mind of God’s children.  There’s a lightness of spirit in the air.  I open the camper’ Venetian blinds and see he baby  playing on his blanket  next door by his older brother. The mother is having her coffee.

I walked Gilbert about the half waking , half sleeping camp.  I  picked black berries from the bush by the road. They tasted so sweet. 

Islandia B&B

SSI Rally - Lambroast and camp out at the Farmer’s Istitute

We are as sick as our secrets

Former Supreme Court of Canada Beverley McLaughlin wanted more transparency in the courts.

Former President Obama extended the electronic ‘spying’ of Homeland Security to include nearly all of the US, Canada and even his allies, prime ministers and presidents in Europe.

As a psychiatrist I have been privy to tens of thousands of ‘secrets’.  

Anthropologists have argued that the ‘big brain’ of man developed for the capacity of deceit. Being small and weak humans were able to develop superiority through ‘sneaking’ up on their prey and forming alliances as well as mysterious tools to compete for food and dominance. 

In families there are limits set on lying, and this extends to tribes.  It is alright for sociopaths to lie to others but they must tell the truth to each other to be able to conduct business.  Trust is necessary for cooperation and alliance. Nations have broken down tribal restraints.  Eventually the ‘tribal god’ became the ‘god of all’.  The world community sees all ‘people’ and ‘humans’ as ‘family’ or now of this greater ‘human tribe’. Except in war truth telling was encouraged to promote industry and transparency.  The development of agreed ‘weights and measures’ internationally is just one such example.

When people are afraid, especially paranoids, they are secretive. They have impenetrable boundaries. When people are joyful and feeling safe they have membranes with open doors.  

Shame is used in the family and the tribe to modify a child’s behaviour or a deviant’s behaviour.  The child is toilet trained and everyone thereafter frowns when they poop on the living room carpet.It’s not rocket science by any means but there is a thing called ‘social science’.  Children learn to ‘internalize shame’ and that essentially is ‘guilt’.  Without mommy chatizing the child for pooping on the carpet the child uses the toilet because they got praise for this from mommy. Having internalized the parent they don’t need the group to be watching where they poop. They have learned what is ‘appropriate’.  In later life, undersocialized people are reminded with catch phrases, ‘don’t shit where you eat’.  

When a child moves from the family to the tribe to the nation there are more and different rules.

Secrets aren’t as much about what people are told but rather about what is ‘appropriate’ to be shared with family but not appropriate to be shared with the tribe or strangers.  

At one time the STATE or Government or Courts had boundaries.  There was until very recently clear domains of ‘privacy’ and ‘confidentiality’.  These are no more.  

When I began as a doctor patients could speak to me privately and confidentially.  It was only on life and death matters that I was required to share ‘patient’s secret’s’ with others.

Priests once had confidentiality but the state punished priests like doctors.

Lawyers had and to some degree have ‘client lawyer’ privilege but this had eroded greatly. 

Always the STATE uses the hysterical explanation of ‘terrorism’ or ‘climate change’ to justify erosion of ‘individual rights’.  Communist countries have no individual rights.  Democratic citizens have no idea how Easterners and Middle Easterners, communist/Aetheist laws, and ‘sharia’ law deny citizen rights.  Socialism has been described as a minor variant of communism.  Stalin actually called them one in the same. In Socialist dogma socialism is a developmental step that precedes communism.  

The issue here is always the group versus the individual.  Utilitarianism says that the rights of the group supercede the rights of the individual.  The family is extremely utilitarian and doesn’t want the child to poop in the living room. Libertarianism is the opposite of Utilitarianism and says the rights of the individual are as important as the rights of the group.  Historically the more centrist a government is , the more the STATE dominates, the more LEFT Wing it was said to be.  The more the individual is held as important and their ‘rights’ are enshrined the more RIGHT wing the group is seen to be. To complicate matters right and left politically are not a line but a circle. Extremism of any kind leads to tyranny.

The hunter gatherer tribe was an egalitarian unit based on meritocracy and strict division of labour defined by necessity. The agricultural society lead to the ‘strong man’ and ‘strong group’ war leaders.  Agricultural society allowed for large scale war and enslavement.  It gave rise to Kings and Queens. 

In the 12th Century in England the Magna Carta was a document which was forced on the English king essentially saying that he could not poop where he wanted and was no longer supreme being with only a divine authority or his own psychotic perception of authority. He must henceforth share power with his barons and lords.  From this beginning democracy or the ‘will of the people’ followed.  There was no Magna Carta in the east.  Sharia Law continues to maintain a hierarchy with the elite power fully enshrined by the law. There was no ‘French Revolution’ or “American Revolution” in Muslim Countries.  The Saudi Arabian King and other kings of the Middle East as well as some in the East have never had a Magna Carta.  They are extremely authoritarian with absolutely no libertarianism. They are the law or above the law. 

Aetheist communist countries rejected an ‘unseen God’ and ‘religion’ but replaced it with it’s own God of the STATE.  The ‘COMMITTEE” became the King and all powerful and rewound history in communist countries to pre Magna Carta, pre French Revolution and pre American Revolution.  Lenin a violent Bolshevik assasinated and murdered the democratic leaders of the day. Later like Hitler Lenin rewrote history and claimed to have overturned the Czar or King and made a fairytale mythology which was the lie that allowed his ‘dictatorship’. He rolled back history to ‘pre Magna Carta’ .  King Lenin is replaced today by King/Czar Putin and King Xi Ling.  It has long been held that you can ‘vote your way into socialism but you must fight your way out’.  Cambodia was just one of many Communist Dictatorships. Communists have murdered millions and their aetheism has always been associated with genocidal dictatorship. After Cambodia overthrew the communist dictator democracy and capitalism was restored. Capitalism is the oldest economic system, decentralized an based on individual bartering.  Communism and socialism have centralized economies defined by the STATE whereas democracies have decentralized libertarian economic systems called capitalistic.  

The STATE today is secretive because frankly the STATE represents the lowest most vulgar and least socialized of all.  The STATE is pooping in the living room.  Communist countries succeeded as long as they were able to maintain secrecy.  Naziism was ‘STATE SOCIALISM”, whereas COMMUNISM was INTERNATIONAL Socialism.  The Nazi’s hid the story of the Holocaust.  They hid their mass graves. They lied behind closed doors.

Pierre Trudeau was a communist. His son is a communist.  Both elites believe that the STATE and CEntralized control is necessary. They hide all manner of matters behind closed doors.

The ‘twitter’ account of President Trump is a contrast.  He’s the first non lawyer to be president in decades. Lawyers make secret back room deals.  

The Supreme Court Judge in Canada wanted ‘transparency’ .  The Media was supposed to provide transparency in the west. In the east, in Communist Countries and in Pre Magna CArta countries, there is no ‘truth’ in media, it’s all propaganda like CBC and CNN new today.  

There was a time a few decades back when the media was decentralized but today as few as 2 corporations control Canadian mainstream media. In the US the mainstream media is dominated by the Democrats but is highly partisan with very little diversity, media owned by either Republican or Democrat interests. In contrast the media of the east and Middle East and all Communist Countries is state controlled and purely propaganda.  

There is no ‘freedom of speech’ in Communist countries or in the Middle East or in Pre Magna Carta society.

The importance of Epstein , the pedophile, is not that he alone was fucking infants, and was associating with President Bill Clinton and Prince Andrew, it’s that he was able to be ‘secretive’ about it for so long.  Beverly McLaughlin wanted transparency in the courts.

This requires ‘freedom of speech’ in the community. 

To have ‘democracy’ you have to have the ability to tell the truth without retaliation.

The saddest part of my work life is hearing thousands of secrets and people walking about with tremendous shame.They have secrets about people they have killed, about people they have seen killed, about dirty financial deals they’ve done, about dirty financial deals they’ve seen, about rapes and incest they’ve committed and about rapes and incest they’ve seen, about torture they’ve done, about torture they’ve seen.

Holding a secret is sickness inducing. The power of confession and therapy is that it takes a burden from one’s back. But the STATE in CAnada denies sharing of ‘secrets’ because the Bank, Insurance Companies, the Boss , the Judge must know all.

We are becoming again a highly secret society.  

Yet in Communist Countries and in pre Magna Carta Middle Eastern Muslim Countries and Eastern Royal countries people live in constant fears carrying countless secrets.  There is a reign of terror outside of America.  People outside of democracies live in a veritable reign of terror. The IRON Curtain was there to keep people in. The BAMBOO CURTAIN kept ideas out and kept the slaves of Communist Countries and other Eastern countries in. 

Only the elite and rich were able to travel freely.

I have shared my secrets, lots of them.  It’s done to counteract the darkness that is competing with the light in the world.  

The more daring thing a person can do today in the Trudea communist dictatorship is to be open.  In the Middle East today women are going to jail for 10 years for exposing their faces. The Muslim men are coming to Canada and bringing pre Magna Carta ideas, and pre French Revolution and Pre American revolution politics to join with the Dictatorship of Trudeau.  Some reject it.  Most prefer the freedom of the US where democracy at it’s highest level has ruled.

Any of us who have been around a few decades have heard communists describe one country after another as their ‘mecca’.  Venezuela was the last one and now Sweden and Norway and Denmark are the ‘examples’ of Communism. They are barely out of the ‘tribal’ state . The United States is a huge country of diverse population and language. These little tribal pockets by comparison have hardly made it to nations and are ruled by clear majority. WW2 destroyed their traditional cultures and forced on them centrist idea. 

Canada had a French and English group and had for a long time before the Trudeau communist take over shared power.  The communist Northern European nations have never had the challenge that South Africa has with it’s White and Black populations.  Their ‘elite’ have never truly been threatened in recent years. . They are countries of extreme secretiveness.  They harbour Nazis still just like Argentina but they’re put up a false face as ‘successful’ as  Venezuela was.

Margaret Thatcher said the trouble with socialism is that it runs out of other people’s money to spend. It’s all STATE and government. Brussels today is a bureaurcrats cancer. Anyone who works and produces and creates wants out of the EU because bureaurcrats, while necessary, are like a cancer if they are left unchecked. 

We are as sick as our secrets.

People believe that they alone are ‘bad’ but really they have no idea, ‘power corrupts’ and ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely’. Epstein and Weinstein and the Saudi Princes and all the excess bureaucrats of Ottawa and Washington would have the guys in Alabama and Saskatchewan believe that he’s ‘different’ ‘apart’ and ‘less than.”

DNA studies of divorced children find that 50% of the children are not the fathers.

The American Judge selection is democratic. The Canadian judge selection is by APPOINTMENT.  The American judges are ‘squeaky clean’ compared to any Canadian judge. Beverly McLaughlin the Brilliant UBC professor of Law and former Supreme Court jusdge called for transparency.

The British Empire and the Empires before it ran behind closed doors. Backroom deals by lawyers and bureaurcrats.

Enough.  

Transparency and democracy and decentralized control. Power to the People. 

Now I still believe in the power of the office. In the military one ‘salutes’ the rank, not the individual.  I greatly admire the Prime Ministership but not Justin Trudeau.  That’s the way I feel about authorities who abuse their power and quasi legal or legal authorities who go ‘against the evidence’.  

The truth will out.

We are as sick as secrets.  

Monday Morning Journal

I’m pleased that I’m awake. I slept well. Gilbert joined me in the wee hours. Reassuring to feel his little body pressed up against my back.

It was chilly.  My first thought. Pulling the blanket over my shoulder

A touch of autumn chill in the summer time air.  This August uncertain weather. Rain yesterday.  Premonitions.  PTSD.

I meditated. Nothing special. Going through the motion. Quaker, contemplation.  Silence. Calling on the Holy Spirit. Breathing. Reminding oneself that breath is where it’s at. The often forgotten breathing that is the motor of life.  

Coffee, granola, yoghurt

Facebook.

Gospel Riders put up a Larry Norman song.  Never heard the guy. Listen to his song.  Why not ask Jesus.  See that Janis Joplin sang it to. But didn’t listen to herself.  We’re all like that. Advice we give others we don’t take ourself.  What about Jesus?  

I picked up the bible yesterday and put it down. I have the Big Book by my couch and haven’t read it this week. I mean to do so many good things. Write a book about the Christian diaspora.  Write another addiction book. 

 I cleaned my desk a bit so I could begin writing travels with Gilbert.  I’ve been thinking of all the little ‘repairs’ that need doing.  I let them expand in my mind, minor tasks, nothing critical but they become the focus and I flog myself. Steal the joy of the day with focus on what ‘needs’ to be done.  

I was in a spiritual whirl wind in Tennessee. I read cyberdocs and others share their joy.  I’m grieving a bit. Another year before we meet. Then Phillip is meeting in Serbia in October, Hope Alive’s annual meeting. I’d like to be there.  But I’m in India in the fall. . This week another round up at Salt Spring.  Camping. Spiritual speakers. Sharing.  Learning more about the disease of addiction.  

I’m not joyous and free.  I’m laboured. I’m a little lethargic.  I read about the enthusiasm of childhood and wonder at all the trauma and mixed days that have me again fearing leaving the house. No good reason today. But I really could hide under the blankets till next I’d have to pee.  I’m going through the motions. I’d rather be skipping school. 

Jesus loved children and saw that we’d have to be childlike to get into heaven. Innocence and naivety no , but open hearted, trusting. I trust God. Not the world.  I mostly fear being falsely accused and hammered by the government. I fear reporting killers and rapists and experiencing the retaliation of truth telling. I fear that I’ll not walk by and say nothing when cruelty occurs.  I fear getting pulled into helping others again only to be punished like them.  I’ve been an ally of the sick, disenfranchised, marginal, stigmatized, old and very young.  I’ve been bullied like them..

Now it’s pretty good.  I’m not alone.  But old. I’m not too marginalized now..  I’m condemned for experience age and knowledge.  I hurt. Physically.  That’s the weather change.  The coming of the cold. 

I’m here to celebrate. There’s dancing on Salt Spring. Hopefully I’ll see Kirk.  I tried seeing Tom on the weekend. It’s as good to see others. I like the encounters.  History.  Our personal relationships.  Old friends.  Even old enemies are not so bad. 

I’m blessed really.  I have so much to be thankful for but instead of looking at all the blessings I’m condemning myself for the dirty dishes.  I’ve a scratch on the truck that needs a white pen to repair it. I used a clear pen already to stop rust but I need to stop at the dealer and get  another white touch up pen.  

My mind has always been like that. Constantly focused on repairs and not enough on thankfulness. I just looked up and saw the fridge magnets where the glorious travel spots and memories are displayed. I rarely look at the surroundings.  There in the corner is the picture I took so many years ago in Oxford when I thought first to be a doctor.  Now I want to be a writer again.  I feel I’ve done my bit.  I’ve served. I’m amused that in my mind my ‘life of service’ ended with 65.” The arbitrariness. Now I’m on borrowed time.  

I still get asked if I want to be a doctor. I certainly say yes. I love healing and helping people who are ill. But medicine is co opted by the government that has no boundaries and micromanages everyone as if we are their employee. Few of us are. Most of us are contractors but they’re ruling us now like we were military conscripts. They are boorish bullies without boundaries and no grace. They are self serving ignorant thugs. Doctors who have sold their soul to the company store. Collaborators for cash. 

So I ask myself , why am I working for a corrupt organization that is so often causing the deaths I’m trying to prevent.  More and more people are denied what they were promised or have as their due and I’m being an ‘advocate’ rather than doing therapy.

 I’m writing letters for them to government agencies and insurance agencies because these bullies have coopted the medical system and turned us into ‘police’.  We are “ policing “ for the government and insurance. 

 “You must have a doctor ‘co sign’ your illness’. Everyone is now a criminal in Canada and reduced to bad child by these agencies of evil.  Overnight the bank might as well tell adult Canadians you need a doctor to ‘co-sign’ your having a bank cheque.

I’m less impressed with my organizations that take millions of dollars and pay them selves richly but haven’t stood up to these bullies that demand doctors write bullshit. I just referred a patient to a university department and my colleague’s beurocratic entity demanded several pages of hand written data as a barrier to my getting service for my patient. 

 “Hi John, would you see my patient?”  

“Sure Bill, send them over.”  

That was what we did. I’m a highly trained specialist. He’s a highly trained specialist. I wouldn’t ask his help if I didn’t need it. He trusts my judgement. I trust his.  We make the call. Now there’s a dozen layers of costly beurocracy.

Now the patient demands a full body scan for the common cold and if we don’t give it the government beats up the doctor with committee tribunals.  

I”m afraid to go to work.  I’m afraid of the bully bureaucracy.  The College of Physicians and Surgeons of BC is utterly insensitive and the University, the Canadian Medical Association and The Canadian Psychiatric Association, all these administrative sorts, are paid for paper pushing. They serve themselves. They don’t serve the doctor or the patient. 

I have to gird myself to go into that hell of idiocy. Monday morning brings this out. Health care beurocracy phobia.

My favourite recent example is the 5th multi million dollar ‘investigation into the missing women’ of the northern BC all the while the bus line that stopped the girls from hitchhiking in he north was closed for lack of funding.  It was the same idiocy that had a million dollars of lighting put in campuses to protect the privileged university girls from rape where rape was as rare as intelligence when a mile away the rape stats where highest in the impoverished areas where municipalities couldn’t afford lights.

That’s what I see.

So I don’t want to be a doctor and deal with low IQ burearocrats chosen for their never having studied Nuremberg or read ‘totalitarian societies’. On their interviews they are asked have your read Kafka’s “the Castle” or 1984. If they answer yes they don’t get the job. Cowards are promoted. 

Meanwhile I seem to have a psychological issue with authority. I’m carrying a whole lot of character flaws. I ‘m impatient. I’m critical. I’m judgemental. I’ve got a whole lot of work to do on my own self so why point a finger at the ‘face of government’.  I’ve got to be more grateful.

The fact is the Canadian bureaucrat is quite possibly more intelligent that his fellow species of dung beatle the world over. I’m comparing him to perfection rather than remembering that everyone in the world wants to come to Canada for health care because I as the doctor have been subjected to ‘rent control’ for 30 years, underpaid, over worked and without corruption.  Canada is the best of a bad lot.

I’m here. It’s my choice to be here. I’m doing this work. I say to pay for my truck but I don’t even need to have any of these ‘things’. I was touched by my friends living overseas for cheap.  I don’t want to join Doctors Without Borders and face another bureaucracy.  I just want to go to work here today and be more child like. I want to appreciate the sick bureaurcrats killing Canadians on behalf of the corrupt government which is less corrupt than other political structures.  

I want to count my blessings. I want to think more of Jesus. I want to be good at heart. I ‘d better shower.  

The problem is me.

I miss Milton. He used to say he had a sticker on his mirror that said, ‘you’re looking at the problem.’  

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change

The courage to change the things I can

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Okay thanks for the pep talk Jesus.  I ‘love shower shave and go out the door and face the ‘complaints department of life’.  

Bio

Psycho

Social

Spiritual

That’s the work I’m trained to do, hear a concern and work together to see it as 4 dimensional and develop a strategy of working together with the patient to achieve a resolution.

The phobia for the unknown stranger exists because for years I’ve been assailed with constant impossible demands. Only a fraction of humans are reasonable. Unreasonable people sick are even more unreasonable.Reasonable people are unreasonable people when they’re sick it doesn’t help that the boss is even sicker.

“I have this problem doctor. I want a pill like cocaine that’s medically approved.  “

I want you to tell my employer I’m sick

I want you to make my insurance pay me to go to India

I want you to lie for me.

I want you to tell my husband I can’t have sex

 I want you to give me money

I want you to do as I tell you.

If you don’t do as I tell you, see this gun, I’m going to kill you.

If you dont’ so as I tell you, I’m going to complain to the College of Physicians and Surgeons of BC and they’re going to believe me. (who is lying ) over you because they always do. I’ve already complainedd to a dozen agencies and they’ve all hurt everyone I don’t like because I’m bigger and tougher than them all.

If you don’t do as I tell you I’ve going to get my lawyer to ruin you.

If you upset me I’m going to stalk you and the police aren’t going to do anything 

If you don’t do as I tell you I’m going to kill your dog. I already killed your last dog. I’ll kill this dog. 

If you don’t do as I tell you I’m going to threaten your wife. I threatened that second one didn’t I.

If you don’t do as I tell you I’m going to scream and have a scene.

If you don’t do as I tell you I’m going to destroy the walls of the building and your landlord is going to evict you , remember when I did that?

If you don’t do as I tell you I’m going to punch you in the face, remember all the times I did that? 

Now hurry up and get me -housing, hospital beds, money, drugs, lawyers, sex, services.

You’re just here to do stuff for me. That’s what the others do. You are here to do as I tell you.

Google says you’re supposed to do this.

My pharmacist told me that you’re supposed to do this.

My herbalist told me you were no good and you should do this.

My mother told me she read your blog and you’re sicker than I am

You called my brother a pedophile and put him in jail and I’m going to pay you back for that.

You can’t write that down.

I don’t want my boss to be able to hear what we said. You’re supposed to be confidential. The insurance company gets this.

I’ve had sex with my doctors and I don’t trust doctors.

I’m having sex with my lawyer and he’s willing to sue anyone I want as long I keep giving him blow jobs.

My friend is the Premier

Do you know I have more money than you’ll ever see and I could buy this hospital.

My brothers are hell’s angels so you’d better do as I tell you.

All of that’s true.

Knives gunshots punches.

And the worst is the College bureaurcrats acting like they are superior and blaming you for being shot at. Virtue signalling syncophants, 

Well it’s the way you communicate. People who have never been on the real frontlines, have never certified a dangerously insane person in the community, have never had a pedophil arrested, have never treated escorts with ptsd or lying lawyers or multi millionaire power brokers or mafia, silly suburban doctors picked for promotion because of their ignorance and inexperience, have the arrogance and grandiosity to act and talk like they “know”. 

I miss Dr. Brown. I miss the old guys who had similiar experiences, had rolled up their shirt sleeves and could talk with authority. These people today  are wannabes, wankers,  and get arrogant and superior when you call them on their inexperience and safe protected lives in institutions and good neighbourhoods.

It was years after the plane crash I couldn’t fly but I got back up in the air and now I’ll go out the door again. Life is an adventure.  I used to do counterphobic stuff. I used to think if I drove my Harley and sailed through storms and did white water canoeing I could be less troubled by the social stupidity.  Now I don’t know.

Now I think the answer really is Jesus. 

Summer Church

Well, God, I’m sorry I’m not making it to church today. I’ve said I’m more of a winter Christian church goer than a summer Christian church goer. Even Constantine worshipped the sun and he lived in Italy.

I woke up in time. I really considered it.  The trouble is I was way laid by Facebook.  Instead of getting together with friends and worshipping, praising and singing hymns I got on the old Facebook saws of the Gun Debate, why Criminals have guns and get away with it while law abiding citizens are taxed and shamed for owning guns.  That ties in with why good girls like bad boys and why Prime Minister Trudeau has walls and guns and vacations and  parties. Why are Prime Minister ‘Stoner’  Trudeau and his wife ‘Swinger’ Sophie surrounded by guns and walls but I’m supposed to trust my government?.

I’ve got serious concerns about government despite Jesus saying ‘give until Caesar what is Caesar’s due’ and ‘Forgive them for they know not what they do.” Jesus Christ was God incarnate. The government killed God Incarnate.  My dealing with government even recently is that they simply can’t recognize lies. They reward criminals. That’s been my experience.  They have SWAT TEAMS waiting to catch jaywalkers while terrorists are paid millions for killing friends.

I’m sitting here feeling ‘self righteous’ . But I’m not  in church.  

It’s too late to get showered and dressed. I’m here in this really comfortable sleep wear, in my home, with my dog, on my couch. I haven’t had my second cup of coffee yet. It looks like it may rain so I don’t want to take my motorcycle with Gilbert on the back. 

I was out yesterday. I did a good deed and made what amounted to a country house call, did some storage locker cleaning, drove for 4 hours. Now I don’t want to ‘rush’. I want to be off the clock. Tomorrow I’ll be harried and rushing and apologizing for being late with always an hour and a half task to be done in 50 minutes.  Here I could be in church today aiding my peace of mind.  I could be smiling with friends and singing praise.  Unstead I’m on my couch. I love my couch.  

I finished reading Susan Juby’s Nice Recovery, hilarious and poignant memoir with lots of good recovery information, all round enjoyable read.  She’s amazing. 

I started a western. I’m going to read the western today. I wanted to sit outside on the lawn chair. It’s not sunny. Gilbert’s napping. We’ll go for a walk. I have a work task I can do on the computer. I have some outstanding housekeeping things like completing the India visa application.

I’m feeling lazy and slothful. Some day I’ll wonder why I didn’t live my life,   didn’t jump out of a plane, have a sex change, find a cure for cancer or climb Mount Everest. I was on Facebook arguing politics instead.  I’ll be feeling guilty about this ‘wasted’ day on the couch when I could be hustling. Martha and Mary.  Down time.  I’m always doing ‘down time’.  I like napping as much as Gilbert does.  The pressure to do, will be on soon enough. This is a lull in the war.  Winter is an ongoing fight against the depression of rain,  snow.  darkness and gloom.    I’m off the clock.

I have this goal to write a book. I could work on one of the three I’ve envisioned. The non fiction addiction book needs me to be sitting in a medical library or at least having a bunch of books around. If I cleaned up my table I might be able to move on that task. I’m cluttered to death. Thankful. 

It would be easier as a transvestite to be able to just walk outside in the ambivalent night clothing I like wearing inside.  I’m covered.  I don’t  look ridiculous. It’s no different that those ancient years I smoked dope and lived in a housecoat on a weekend.  I totally relate to housecoat wearers. I’m in ambivalent  nightshirts.  I don’t want to get out of the gender neutral nightshirt to put on shorts and T-shirt.  I miss the summer sailing and life in a sarong.  Pants of any kind are associated with work.  Least so torn khaki boat shorts and southern trade winds. We’re strangled by clothes in the north in winter, bundled in parkas.

I’ve got a list of ‘to do ‘ things, like get another tattoo. Sit in hot tub, swim, walk dog, de clutter desk, shower, complete visa, do on line CME, write book.  

I’m writing to keep up the habit. After doing the autobio task and realizing I’m still angry with government having ‘institutional resentments’ despite having done 4th steps and as a Christian praying to forgive my enemies, bureaurcrats who have abused their powers and are corrupted deceitful parasites.  I’m still dealing with my fear of aging and fears of future. I want to be sailing across the Atlantic or down to the Caribbean. Whatever I’m doing I seem to be wondering if I shouldn’t be doing something else. I seem to be marking time, coasting.  There’s only an up and down elevator. I ‘m still in up mode but slow speed. I meditated and did some exercise this morning.  I’m here preparing to go in a camper to the Salt Spring Round Up and after that to the opening bow hunt. Life is good. I’m doing okay. I fear I’ll mess it up. I’m not good without a white knight mission.  

I’m kind of hiding in my home. It’s where my stuff is and I’m less likely to have someone run me over or shout at me. I’m having a down day, anxious, agoraphobic. Battery charging. Too much with the world.  

I could have gone to church.  Church is good. Instead I’m here God.  Well.  

Thank you God for all your blessings. Help me do thy will. Help me be positive. Help me have more faith and help me be less judgemental. Let an atttitude of gratitude despell all the darkness.  Remove the barnacles from the bottom of my boat since the sludge I’ve gathered has slowed down my progress to you.  Hallelujah.  Lord Jesus Christ. Hallelujah.  

Ps: This inspired me to shower and shave and change to shorts and T-shirt. I walked Gilbert. Sort of pre rain day. Grey.  Reminds me of the days I was at anchor in northern harbours, sitting inside my boat, reading and drinking coffee while the rain came down on the deck and water around.  A ‘turn down’ day.