Tuesday, No Change

I awoke thanking God for good sleep and good dreams. I like best when the fallen join me and we play in the son and share remembrances.  I hit the snooze button on the iPad alarm hearing the puppy awake hopeful,. He likes when I get up but I fell back to sleep saying prayers.  Waking and sleeping again one more time before getting up. Madigan is ecstatic in the morning. Circling my feeting and falling over in his hurry.  I pet him then proceed to the toilet. He follows me in to watch me, tail wagging.  He likes best when I walk out to the living room and sit to meditate. This he has deemed is his time. Lots of hugs and tickles and belly rubs.  Squirmy dog with a stick in his mouth trying not to puppy bite me because he knows that ends the ritual.  Today no bites and the belly rubs proceed.  In time he settles to chew and I call on the Holy Spirit. Holy Spirit Come.  Come Holy Spirit. I don’t speak to God like a dog but a dog is angelic.  I am asking. I am also reminding myself to look within. I pray, ask for protection and care of family and loved ones. Mostly I ask that God guide my words and answers in my work. I want to be of service and to speak true.

It’s hard these day. Each day morphing into the next. It’s hard to realize this Covid 19 with lockdowns and fear, Communist Chinese aggrsssion, Trudeau traitorship and stupidity, horrendous corrupt wasteful spending, American election intrigues and graft, all while air craft carriers converge on the China Sea.Here at home I wash my hands, wear my mask and avoid contact with people.  I see Laura, the only one in my bubble.  Neighbours talk with me at a distance as I walk the dog.  I visitted the clinic yesterday.  I pick up my cheque every 2 weeks, leave and pick up papers. It was a delight to see the ladies. For a brief moment with Madigan being petted by each of them I felt a little joy. It was the feeling of normalcy, of human contact.  Laughter.  I was showing off my painted Christmas nails.  They looked tired.  Nurses and clinic staff are all looking weary. Patients describe the tedium of daily waiting. The days of siege are on us. The new cures have brought hope and the new vaccines are rolling out.  Dr. Bonnie Henry predicts that next fall the pandemic will have passed. The old in nursing homes continue to die, isolated, alone, depressed and abused.  The futures looks all but bright. Meanwhile Trudeau is selling euthanasia to a willing market and overdose deaths are sky rocketing. 

I’m going to shower, dress and walk the dog. The rain has stopped. Last night I watched re runs of Star Trek. It’s either that or NCIS.  I remember as a kid looking forward to getting home from school to watch the latest episode of Captain Kirk. Years later it would be Captain Picard then Captain Janeway.  I didn’t watch much of he spacestaion with Dr. Bashard and Quark so now when that is on I see mostly episodes I’ve not seen.  The show with the NCIS New Orleans fellow a Captain, as prequel, is sometimes on and I do enjoy that series.  There’s a new series of Discovery and I enjoy the androgynous girl and the gay scientist.  It has a bit of Dune like idea in the last series. Now I’ve no clue as to what they’re on about. It’s Thursday and I must remember to watch it Thursday.  Often that the time I go to the mail box in the mall.  

I’m happy Alan and Meagan are home from Britain.  Marriage plans delayed till next year.  I’m thankful for Facebook as I can see Kendra and the boys and Willie and his mommy growing in Kevin’s pictures.  Anna has another child on the way.  I love her enthusiasm. The family hunting reminds me of my youth with parents camping and dad taking us boys duck hunting cold autumn mornings.

It’s surprising that Christmas is coming so soon. It always feels like that, December flashing by then the holidays. I’m tired by the work and looking forward to a break. Scheduled days are demanding, intense and long.  At least my older colleague is an inspiration going to the clinic It’s hard to feel self pity when I’m encouraged to stay home to lessen the flow of people in the clinics. I don’t feel safe in enclosed spaces.  The TB treatment and the deafness that followed haunt me. I just don’t want to risk sickness. I couldn’t breathe in Feb this year, like a scuba accident. I felt the terror and disappointment of dwindling air and inability to expand my lungs.  It lasted for parts of a day but it frightened me. I’m aging and denial of death and mortality are work.  I’ve no fear of the other side just the passage.  I’d like to be less anxious. My fear caused everything to be tight and I couldn’t relax.  All the years of meditation including years of slowing my breathing and heart and dropping my blood pressure consciously so the pulse all by disappeared and here I am today anxious.  It was the surprise.  When I exercise I’m in control. At that time I felt out of control and wanted to live resisting dying, clinging to life.  Surprised myself. I act nonchalant about life, take it or leave it attitude, and then alone in my home I’m gasping for air, feverish and fighting my own demons.  A changed occurred to. A realization that life is to be lived and it’s to be enjoyed.  I got back one of my old joie de vivre before the years of bullying by false accusation by psychopaths and their supporting nest of sociopaths in high places.  I still am assailed by intrusive thoughts and dreams of those evil people and their banality.  It’s hard to put it aside but I must. Resentment is taking poison and hoping the other guy will die.  Life is too short. Moving on. But here in Covid there’s only waiting. I’m thankful to be working.  I don’t have the emotional state to write a novel or play or take on a creative project, writing songs, or building something.  It’s survival mode.  I do the next right thing and get through the day.  Last week I looked forward to Laura’s visit. Now I’m looking forward to holidays.  I miss the symphony, theatre and ballet. I miss going to the coffee shop on Commercial to write. I miss riding my motorcycle.  The rain, the dreary cold time, the lack of outlets.  No hugs. No hand shakes.  I admire those who still ski or those who clean their house.  I just muddle along, not forgetting Madigan. He’s a handful and now I’m dress because the highlight of my day is watching him walking proudly, his white legs and white tale against the black of his fur moving with his little determined body. He takes ten steps to keep up with me the big dog and then on the way back he takes point, checking over his shoulder to make sure I’m following. If there’s anything or anyone new he scurries back to between my feet then cautiously takes point again happy to find the way home..

Madigan is my project. If I can keep him safe and all goes well he will be a great bird hunting companion next fall and we’ll be buddies together for another 20 years.  

Thank you Jesus.