Another upset night

2 am and I’m woken again by a night mare. The patient is disgusted I question her. She is the queen and empress, the bad mother, the wicked witch of the west, the siren, the woman who holds all men in contempt. I shrivel and want to die. She is the torturer the native woman who takes delight in causing pain to her enemies. She is the one who flays victims with supreme patients. She is Eva Brawn. She is the Queen. She is Sex and violence.m

I woke up in terror judged and waiting for the men she calls to demolish me because I questioned her. She is above question. There is only one voice and it is hers. She is victim. She who wears gold and commands armies is victim. I must be smitten. Destroyed all trace removed, punished. The servant who was falsely accused. I am the decapitated. I am the threat removed.

The nightmare is a moment of all those times when she was angry and set out to destroy. The women who tried to kill me and the lies packaged in a dream with the men who join in the cannibalism.

I’m afraid. I’m weary and old and dying and zorbah the Greek is dying and the unchosen of the Sophie choice.

Despair.

I awake in despair.

I am grieving all the life and death of seen. 

No one cares.

Duty, services, oaths valour. All are forgotten.

The idealism is gone.

The masks are off.

I am the old man crying and no one cares.

The hecklers are out in force.

I had a nightmare.

But the day was good. I served. I did what I was taught to do. I filled the space, a human in the thin wall, standing with others who care, thanked by others of like mind. Asking where are my people, where is my tribe and working friends smile and see you stand beside them, others dying, others sick, the music thin like weak soup.

I did another day.

I slept 6 hours last night and 2 hours tonight before the night mare. I’ll sleep more.

I am blessed, the Horror has passed. The inability to breathe, the chest discomfort, the weakness, past.

I am okay. I will be okay. God is with me. I am with God. Life is good. I will not be afraid for thou aren’t with me.

Thank you Jesus for this life, your sacrifice, your service, your life. Humility. Humble.

Small is beautiful. All is beautiful. Thank you for the air. Thank you for the colours. Thank you for light and love.

More Nightmares

I’m awake at 3 in the morning. 4 am yesterday.  Nightmares.  The constant demands and no time and no resources and screaming authorities demanding more and more with less and less and the desire to die, to escape.

I had the insight too that this is nearly June….the anniversary month.  26 years later on the divorce from the borderline cocaine addict trying to kill me and the legion of lawyers the legal system skewed to the wealthy and the whole process of stonewalling and theivery.  

I stopped drinking and smoking tobacco and marijuana 26 years ago and again the month of June is a time of trial, the death of self, the incomprehensible demoralization, facing the revenge of a millennium, the psychic cannibals, a war against turkeys and lies, that absolute sense of defeat, why do terrible things happen to me, the betrayal, the psychiatrist who lie, the insaniety and the beast, the encounter with pure evil, and utter fear of the tyranny, abuse of power, threat and escape. I suddenly knew what prisoners of jails and asylums knew, there was no hope here.  It was the matrix. I found a spiritual solution.

My friend who died had told me this world had nothing to offer and he turned back to his priest. I accepted I was a spiritual being in material world, not a material being in a spiritual world. I was lost and by July I was found. I remember being told about an ‘attitude of gratitude’ and I was so angry, so afraid, so hurt and yet I saw the light. I had a spiritual awakening,  For the first time I didn’t feel alone. I talked about being raped. I talked about the blood pooling in the shower. I talked about the beast.  I face the borderline tyranny the liars who threaten suicide to win and dominate and manipulate but when you are back to the abyss and say no turn and threaten homicide. They flip flop, the victim victimizer shuffle all in their narcissistic reign, and it’s mesmerizing this ‘beast’.  And it’s the nature of the game. In the background Rolling Stones playing Satan. 

I am that person. Jung points out we are all the players and yet we project evil on the other, the black and white, the good. I’m good. Yet we’re all grey. The human condition is flawed. I’m material and spiritual.  Slow energy and fast,

The May and June before was leaving home. 17 and LSD and sex and the banality of it all. Those months of rock and roll and drugs and alcohol and the circus of dangerous crazy people with guns and I was a hippy afraid to go to war, the Vietnam war and images of maimed and the triune god, father, son and Holy Spirit and the girl, the young woman and crone. It realized the limits of intellect, the shattered mind, the gangs and nests of sychophants and diversity, the incest and drugs and alcohol and the 8 is too late crowd and the whole pedophilia movement.  I cried.  I was lost. I knew my father who’d been in war and knew the horror of the military and my MP uncle who knew the war and jail and the things they’d tried to warn me about.  The betrayals of violent and powerful..  Here I am again and Communist China has invaded Canada and the PM is unethical as if it matters as I read, the ethical slut.  I’m so confused and it’s all illusion. A clown world and crazy house like Halloween.  My loss of innocence. I think of all those sacrificed for the system, the power.

Just the other day I was reminded of my friends who didn’t believe the ‘system’ could be changes so opted out. The friends of that summer of love, the ones who went off to communes, the ones who joined, the military and the missionary.  It was the end of high school and a dasporo and I was arguing you could change the system from within .I would start as a dancer and actor and cycle across Europe meeting the old royal lines ,the fallen and the risen, and we’d play chess and bicycle and I’d be so naive.  My first wife wise beyond her years and safe eventually in another man’s arm.  I couldn’t change the system from within. I couldn’t change myself.

I stopped alcohol and pot and tobacco and became a celibate monk again.  I’d taken that route when dance and television and world of pink Floyd got into mind.  Deep Purple, Moody Blues, Guess Who.  And I’d be in medical school afraid of war and afraid of the homicidal suicidal demon within. I owned my self. I read Milton and knew the devil’s vanity looking at his shadow rather than the light. I served God and Good and saved lives and walked in the light and tried to be a good man.  The politics were extraordinary.  The things I saw in the wet reserves of the north and residential school, the horror!!!! The horror!!!!.

I did years of psychoanalytic therapy then. It was all for naught or it just brought me face to face with a higher power, The return to church and prayer and AA.  That first year of crossing the room to conservative and traditions the study of history and the ability to see the revenge best served cold, the smiling hate.  The kaleidoscope and holograms and fractals, calculus and algebra, the music theory and confusion.  The mists and dreams and dream theory and lucid dreaming in the multiverse. The diversity of possibilities and nodals.  Computers and hacking the internet and all the geniuses and schizophrenics.  Alone at sea.  Thousands of miles from other humans.  

Now it’s June again.  The end of may. Women rolling eyes and the parable of John the Baptist, the decapitaed head and the daughter of emperors whose sexual perversity demands the death of the prophet.  Argentina and the Haitians.  Druids and the sacrifice of children in the Mayan temples.  The tarot deck.  The fool and the hyropant.

Bernie died. Hank died. Mom and Dad died,  My aunt died. Then Scotty died and my brother died. This last couple of years George and Vivian and the ancients are no more. I’m standing in line. In God’s waiting room.  I was alone at sea

Now I’m outfitted for a moving land box. My friend in a plane and a homestead cabin stake in the north.  Buying land, working for a place big enough for an urn. She is proud of her bit of earth. I once owned land but it was a casino.  The house always wins.  She used me and I used her.  

Ivan Illich and Voltaire. Emerson and the French and Americans.  Philosophers and theologians.  The Stoics and this epicurean world. She read Nietze after we made love in candle light.  I was reading Zarathustra. The templates were naked and now they are libraries filled with wisdom and sayings. Proverbs and psalms.  Psychiatric degrees and degrees in psychology and philosophy and comparative religions. Theology and meditation. Ashrams and temples. The whirling gervishes. The exotic stones.  Delphi and holy places .Rome and the places where the lost and damned have wet the marble flows with tears of pain and suffering.

My God My God why hasn’t thou forsaken me cried the man on the cross. Suzanne takes you down.  There is a war. 

Ron Died.  

I prayed that I would die in his stead.  the Prodigal son.  Seeing the Remembrant in St. Petersburg.  

It’s over it was written.  Is it ever over. Nirvana, samadhi, heaven and hell.  This too shall pass. It is what is is.

The mother in law long dead. The grandmother’s and grand father’s dead. The book, denial of death, MAID and euthanasia and abortion and the one child family and the oncology wards and the dying patients.  The sense of failure. Powerlessness.

I’m powerless. Ego deflation. Selfishness. The attachments. The rich man asks if he can join and the God says you must give up everything for me.  The seven deadly sins. The lust and avarice and gluttony and anger.  Drop the rock.

I am tired and will go back to bed. The hairs on my neck are down. The horror of the night gone. It’s just a recurring nightmare. It’s all about leaving home and adolescent.  I am reading McCall SMith and the boy said he want to leave home to be with his two friends romantically and his mother turned away rolling her eyes at me and angry with me and I remember I left my home to live with two people and it was a woman and a man but her father refused her and there was the friend who lied and betrayed, the narcissist who was into drugs and alcohol and godless and I was the fool.  I entered the lair and left the home of love and care my family.  Black sheep. I am so sad thinking of my mother and how as an adolescent if turned my face from my father and mother . Years later my father in the cold of winter would dress in his 80’s take a bus to the hospital and push my mother’s wheel chair around the hospital to where she could feed the birds.  We always loved the birds and mom always kept the bird feeder full that dad had made her. 

Love was always right in my face, the most epic love story of all my father and my brother the greatest men I’d ever know and my mother and sister in law and all the men and wome who stood in the wings while strangers did pas de dieuxs.  It was always theatre. Of stage there were those who played the dirges.  I stood with band aids and gauze

The war carried on,  The Louisiana brass band played and the zombies danced in the street . And I was still afraid.

Anxiety is a measure of your distance from God.

Thank you Jesus. Hallelujah.  May all the saints rejoice.  Yea though I walk throug the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil for thou art with me.  

The shining light.

The Light.

Be still and know that I am God.  BE still. Be.

It’s always biting the hand who feeds. They bite the hand who feeds.  They steal the food and medicine meant for the ill. The bullies and thugs.  Steal a little and they put you in jail. Steal a lot and they make you king.

The nightmares are worst.  The future thinking fears are a horror.

Just for today. One day at a time.  The comfort is in the other.  The stranger is God. Love is unsettling. Martin Burber was right in I and Thou.  Cohen and Dylan and Donovan.  hurry Gordy man singing songs of love. Must be the season of th witch.  Sounds of silence.  Light foot died and Tina Turner. The lights are going out. And I’m still standing in the dark. Bowie dead.  George dead. The children and families all together. I’m in the last club on the block. I remember the Masons, Rosicrucian’s, the churches and the schools.    

Hopelessness

It’s been a while since I was in the abyss.  The trouble with trauma is a trigger can put you back there in a minute. A violet aggressive women who would portray herself as a ‘victim’ has attacked my friends and I seeking the support of legions who live to rescue criminals and terrorists and pay them all the while abusing the folk who show up for work.  Think of my colleague threatened and then all the dangers of the public emboldened by the Trudeau’s of the would that loathe ethics and morality celebrating drugs and disorder. It’s appalling.

I am taken back to the patient threatening to kill me because I wouldn’t see him on crystal meth threatening to kill me.  He complained about everyone and all of them were investigated and had their lives turned upside down by these above the law communist functionaries that purpost to protect and serve but instead pour fuel on fires and protect themselves. A year I had this fellow threatening me and nothing was done for my protection or care until the police called me saying the man was threatening the PM.  Now I’m threatened again, indirectly , witnessing the abuse of good women and men doing their duty.  

Now I’m not feeling like my head is in the game. I’m afraid. I had fleeting suicidal thoughts remembering the death threats and sexual abuse and physical abuse and the pain. I’m tired of the chronic pain though with good doctors I’ve moved from sharp pain too just soreness . It’s getting better after a fall a year ago. Everything is getting better. I’m blessed. But there was the weekend devoted to nightmares, intrussive thoughts, shaking and dissociation. Back in the cell back in the false accusations back facing the nest and feeling utterly alone. I know I’m not.  The beautiful women involved are brilliant and handle this systemic aggression so much better than me. I’m crying spontaneously again. Unable to sleep, thoughts racing. I’ve been nearly killing my self in several near miss encounters on the motorcycle.  Self pity is rearing it’s head along with fear. I’m surrounded in a dream with men with weapons and I’m naked and they’re armed and clothed.  Life does’t seem so good at 4 in the morning waking from a nightmare in a cold sweat and remembering the arrogance and grandiosity of the virtue signallers chosen for their Nuremberg features. They’re just doing their jobs and I’m wondering about how culpable I am too. I’m feeling less and less capable and feel less tolerance for the violent and entitled.  

The expectations of perfection that come constantly from on high remind me when Joan Byaz In Rolling Stone said we were all on the mountain and couldn’t see each other because the tiny few at the top had shit making machines and it was all the shit that stopped us from seeing all of us and how there were so very few of them.  Shit making machines.

I’ve tried meditating for an hour and it was wrestling with my conscious. Jacob and the Angel. I wasn’t very capable at all, mind like a mexican jumping bean.  Fear. 

I want to run away. Death has it’s appeal then . I just don’t want to do this sordid little scene that destroys the very thing it purports to help.

I’m afraid. I’m looking at escape. I’m not fully present. I’m vulnerable. I’m aware that the hurt people are hurt by my distraction but that’s what’s happened in the past. One psychopath backed by the war machine have beat me up endlessly for months and sometimes years and I’ve suited up and shown up and gone to work

I have this dream of camping in the south and in a camper with a motorcycle and it’s that ‘attachment’ that attracts the water boarding. I feel self pity and these people with all this power cause me to feel I’m pushing the wheelers shopping cart and homeless again.   I’m alone and afraid. More night mares.  Falling asleep in the afternoon. Utterly fatigued. Paranoid about strangers .

I have written gratitude lists. I’ve talked it out. I’ve been reassured. I ‘m not alone. I’m just the oldest one of the group under attack. I’m feeling I can’t go on and that aging is more humiliations and degradation, that the psychopaths with the Justin Trudeau’s and Xi Jin Pings now rule and I’m a fool. I’m ashamed of my naivity.  

I’m so tired. I’m just exhausted.  I fought tech and alone handled the lack of secretarial support and knew I was facing legions of administration and these pavement people in boardroom boxes making committee decisions while I was alone and unarmed and trying to defend myself with no time, overwhelmed by the unbelievable number of demands that are arising now as everyone is down and the lack of resources is increasing.  Supply chain failures.  And more people expecting me to solve the problem and extorting attention and demands and threatening with attitude and rolling eyes and powerful demands and I’m cowering and waiting to be hit like an ownerless dog in the rain in th street.

I walked me dog and exercise, hours and still I’m dead inside. I was okay for a couple of hours then look of disgust and I felt it. I’m not good enough .I’ve never been good enough d enough and I’ll never be good enough.  That’s all you do with your judgemental ness and criticism.  I gave. I gave blood. I gave in multiple injuries and I’ve been kicked repeatedly when I’m down. I’ve been betrayed and where are the Wilbury’s when we need them.  Forget Joe Di magio.  It’s like the matrix world of hero’s disappearing, Lightfoot and Tina Turner and the wall of reality is breaking down as I’m drawn closer to the death and this abysss.  I pray. And I’m protected.  I’m no longer outside grace as I fear I was when I read Phillips, Your God is too small.  I have an inferiority complex. I am a people pleaser. I’m poor.  I was ruined by divorce and all I tried to do was my best whic h was never good enough.

Now I’ve got to combat the negativity with gratitude. I’m actually hungry.  HALT .  I’m have ing drink less pout and temper tantrum, an indulgence in inferiority and what I need is to make a sandwich. F.E.A.R. - fuck everything and run or face everything and recover.  I’ll get through this day.  Thank you Jesus.

Gratitude Saturday

I’m pleased to be awake.  The day is good. Sunny warm. Madigan is a nutbar.  Jumped on my crotch when he figured I was waking.  Acted like he was innocent.  I did sit cross legged after and pray and meditate. I like peace of mind. The exercise quiets the fears and resentments.  Next I physically exercised.  

My morning crisis was the shortage of ground expresso. I have instant but I had just enough for a cup of coffee. I’m roasting Ethiopian green beans right now.  I attended my zoom meeting of IDAA cyberdocs on one coffee.  Listened and didn’t offer to share.  

I walked the dog. He was jumping up and down making it difficult to attach his leash as usual. Then he was piddling everywhere, A prolific pee mail contributor. I liked the birds though I believe a crow has moved into the tree where I saw the hummingbirds.  

There wasn’t much on social media.  Too often I let it skew my emotional self.  I like it for the models and campfires and dogs and cats.  The advertising is sneaky.  Minor concerns.

I’m really grateful to be alive.  I love the spring and summer.  A light breeze with flower blossoms making it look like pink snow.  I walked with Peter and Lucy and Bella and he commented on them earlier this week. Today we met with Dave and Emory.  

“I’ve got new saddlebag’s, “. I said.

“I just took my bags off to streamline my bike,” said Dave

“I miss the lean and mean look but love the convenience of saddlebags if only to carry bungee cords.”

“Do they come off easily.”  

“I expect so , “ I haven’t tried. I was thinking that I have to test the head set and see if I can interface my iPhone with the motorcycle.  Elon Musk announced a Neuro chip test recently.  I’m happy with computer enhancements.  Loved watching the French Sci Fi Valerian and the world of a thousand planets.  

Emory was glad to see his pal Madigan and they walked together .  Emory is old and can only make it to the office and back.  He has a funny lope gait as he bounces to stay with us.  He doesn’t seem older in intention.  

Terry shared he was 77 and Milton said he was dating a new girl at 78.  “My last partner was beautiful and I had money whereas this one is a PHD and we can’t get off the phone talking.”  He sounded like a teen ager.  Another woman shared she was 61 , that her mother lived to 90 so she was on her back 30.  Nathan had begun it all saying a friend told him he had another decade to go and as that was 2 years ago he figured he had 8 years left.

I find myself thinking of the finiteness of life.  I’m presently preparing for my winter project taking the camper and motorcycle and satellite dish to Arizona to avoid the month of cold and snow. I have dreamed of being a snow bird since I lived in Winnipeg despite spending a year in Mexico and a year in California and years in the Marianas Islands. Last year I had a month in Yuma and loved it but didn’t like returning to the snow and ice. So that’s the project.  I’m year to year I guess. I enjoy working and the virtual possibility makes it even better.  I was at the clinic yesterday and enjoyed the new people serving and contributing.  I was also glad to be earning money as it payed for my saddlebags. Now that they’re on the bike I can look at the rack for the front of the truck which will allow me to carry it with me.  

I booked a weekend in Harrisons for Laura and I. I wanted to be by a lake so I could swim. Garry recommended more of it for my back.  My back is just sore and stiff but doens’t have the sharp pains and the severe weakness as much now, since I’ve been exercising more. Camping and quadding and doing these things on the weekend are really active and I hurt but it’s good hurt when I come back. Too much time on the couch watching tv and snacking.  Good to be getting healthy.  

Thank you God for this life. Thank you for this creation and for my being in this creation. Thank you for friends and Madigan. Thank you for work and colleagues. Thank you Jesus!

Riverhaven RV Park, going home

This Victoria Day long weekend has been wonderful.  Laura and I and Madigan have slept a lot. I’ve barbecued so we have had steaks each night with storebough salad kits , potato salads and only one night boiled eggs with butter and sour cream.  Laura has made cold cut sandwiches.  Each evening we’ve each had a ice cream bar thanks to the freezer compartment in the camper fridge.  

I’ve walked Madigan about the camp several times a day, stopping to study the fast flowing high river that is above the beach line.  We’ve read. I’ve read several books . 44 Scotland by McCall Smith has had me thoroughly entertained by Bertie and Irene, second gap year Pat, lost Mathew, wise Dominica and countless antics the folk in this Edinburgh building get up too along with Big Lou’s cafe and Dr. Fairbairn’s psychotherapy office.  I definitely did the full range of laughter from bell laughing guffaws, to chuckles to snickers to chortles reading it. So thanks to Amazon I’ve ordered the second one in the series. I’d already read severeal of his Number One Lady‘s Detective Agency so feel thankful he is most prolific and I’ve some dozen more to read.  

I did get out in on the Honda 420 Tracker riding high up into the mountains on the logging trails to where I sighted in my Ruger 223 bolt action and my Ruger 30:06 bolt action. I was chillier in the high country so not so pleasant the one day it rained.  Madigan rode behind me in his box with a leash attached.  He really does like these rides and each day on his own would jump on the quad and sit up wanting to be put in the box for another expedition.

I did take pictures of marmots.  

Bear season was still open but I had my Nikon and imagined if it was right in front of me on the road I’d take a picture rather than a shot. The idea of all the work of hauling the bear back to the road and getting it down off the mountain seemed too much work for my back which has been kind to me these last few weeks so I’ve not had any desire to undue the process, to say nothing for the bear who I’m sure would like to live.  Fortunately I didn’t have to make a decision as none appeared and I was happy to shoot targets and drive about in the country with my dog.

We had eggs and bacon for breakfasts and toast and jam.  Eating is becoming a looked forward to event.  Followed by coffee and reading.  Neighbours had dogs and our dogs visitted a bit while we smiled and nodded and discussed the weather.  Half the days were rain and the other half were sunny.  We had the most extraordinary thunder and lightning one day.  Quite the scarey sort.  

I had a couple of showers always enjoying in indulging in my little’s homes on site amenities.  We had shore electricity and water as well as sewage hose.  Glamping is what my friends call it.  I rather enjoy it.  Laura takes time with make up and generally is a the most beautiful companion and a delight to share time with.  

I actually wrote some of western story. It’;s like playing guitar. I have to be relaxed to enjoy these past times.  Sketching is the one that I only do when I’m really relaxed and off the clock. It’s a while since I’ve felt so childlike.  Mostly I’m busy and affected by the news still though at a distance in the woods.  There are calls but and texts but none needed to be addressed on the weekend so I was thankful for that. I could ‘play’ instead letting my imagination make a story. I do look forward to doing more of that.  Telling tales.  It’s like writing poetry but more childlike and fun.  A bit of see one do one too.  I read so much it’s a pleasure to add to the written story word.

Now it’s time to gather up things and load up before heading home .  Check out is 11 and it’s only 9 so coffee first.

It’s been a marvellous time off from work.  A gentle time.  I’m so very thankful .  God is good all of the time. Thank you Jesus.  

The Cafe

She’d seen men killed before. She didn’t like it.  The waste.  She couldn’t believe God went to all the effort of creation to have it knocked off so suddenly like that. It happened in Nature though. All manner of things lived and died. So why should man be different.  The Bible said thou shalt not murder.  It wasn’t murder if the men involved were just too stupid to take warning.  Some did that. Pride and stupidity.  She had thought that of the Hodgkin  Brothers.  Not too bright but thinking themselves so clever.  The young man was different.

He’d stepped away from the horses not wanting them to be involved. He’d then finished the business almost casually.  She watched him.  So fast but sure and his face had not shown anything but necessity. He’d clearly not wanted to be involved either but his first thought was for the horses.

Then he was tying his own horse outside the cafe and she felt her cheeks grow red.  

“The sheriff told me this was the best place to get a meal.” He said.  

“I’m glad he did,” she replied.  He sat at a table with his back to the wall watching the door way as she stood next to him taking his order.

“I’d like coffee and steak and eggs easy over, if that’s available. Maybe some buns too. I like milk in the coffee if you have that.”

“I do. It will just be a few minutes to make up. “. 

He watched her return to the kitchen, her yellow dress complimenting her blond hair.  She had white shoes.  He couldn’t remember if he’d seen white shoes like that. Most of the shoes ladies wore to church were dark. Otherwise they wore laced boots or cowboy boots like the men.  It’s was whiteness of the shoes that caught his attention or her attractive calves that became visible as she walked.  He had thought her very attractive when he walked in and she’d smiled.  Her voice had been lyrical as well and he liked how her blue eyes engaged his.  It had all happened so quickly like a gun fight but this was the opposite. This was something he definitely wanted.  

He mused about normal life and what it would be like when he finished this business about his brother.  He only knew the name of his brother’s killer and wondered if these men he’d fought might be part of the gang who’d killed his brother.  It had taken his brother 2 whole days to die in pain and anguish. During that time he’d said, “It was Pan. That’s what the other men called him.  He was short, bow legged wth black hair and beard.  He had a scar on his forehead.  Maybe a knife.”  The doctor had given him morphine for the pain so he was in and out of consciousness, wanting to be present and to talk but all to quickly experiencing so much pain he cried for the morphine.  It was a terrible death. His brother was a good man. The best.  This Pan fellow was just a murderer.  

She brought the coffee first and a while later the plate of steak and eggs with buns.  He prayed his thanks before he ate.  It was wholesome and delicious.  

She came back to freshen his coffee and enjoyed watching him eat with such joy.

“This is delicious, ma’am, I’ve been on the ride for days but even if I not been  I’d say this is one of the best meals I’ve had . The buns are perfect. Everything is .”  

She beamed at his praise and he enjoyed her shy smile.  She left him to finish eating returning only to refill his coffee.

“I saw you shoot those men,’ she said, awkwardly

“They gave me little choice.” He said.

“I saw, but I also saw how you protected the horses by moving away from them.” 

“I guess I did,’ he smiled, “it wasn’t any fight of theirs. ‘

“May I ask what brings you here. To Hedley?”

“I’m on the trail of the man who killed my brother.  I heard he was with a gang in these parts.  Have you heard of the name Pan.”

“I’ve not but those men you shot, I believe I over heard them mentioned that name. They might know more at the logging camp a few miles north.  It’s an unusual name, that’s why I remember.”  

‘That sounds then like I’m on the right track.  Thank you ma’am?”  He said standing.

She watched him pick up his hat , leaving twice what the meal had cost.   She watched him go out the door.  Tall. Certain.   He untied his horse mounting and headed out of town. 

Jake and Rob

“Were Jake and Tom here?” The burly looking man wearing brown trill pants and jacket asked. He was bearded too, wearing a gun belt and tied down holster with a dark wood handled pistol. He didn’t look too clean. 

“Not that I seen,” answered the bar tender, his brogue still distinctive.

“Well, their horses are  tied outside. They must be around somewhere or coming back here.”

The young man had  been watching and listening from the table wth his back to the wall. 

“The three horses tied outside are my horses. “ he said standing,”  Were these Jake and Tom your friends?” He asked the man who turned now to face him.

“Who are you to be asking?” The burley fellow asked, his hand close to the low riding gun.

‘The man who shot the wonder of two of those horses before me they came to mine ,” he answered , matter of factly.

The burl man didn’t answer that  in words but drew his gun in hope of answering in action. The trouble was his action was quickly superseded by a much faster reaction.  He was left  holding his chest and falling forward onto his face. The last look he had before he face planted was one of surprise and shock.  The men sitting further back in the saloon didn’t even get up from their chairs but now having looked , turned back to their card game.

“Can you tell me who that was and who these Jake and Tom were?’ The young man asked the bar tender.  “I don’t know any of them but Jake and Rob, if they owned the horses,  tried to bushwhack me coming through the canyon.  I took them horses but left their bodies for the wolves. 

‘Can’t say I know them.” Said the bar tend, “  They came in here together for drinks , that’s all.”  

“Is there a sheriff here?’ Asked the young man. 

“Yes, he’ll be here once word gets to him that there’s been a shooting.  Don’t worry I saw it was self defence and will say so.    I don’t think the sheriff cared for any of them. You should know they have friends, not many but a few.” 

“ Nick who does does the carpentry here about takes care of the  undertaking., too. I expect him to be along soon as he hears.”

At that moment, the sheriff, came through the swinging doors, a barrel shaped man with black leather vest and not so shiny star. Looked be close to or more than 50  with grizzled salt and pepper beard.  He carried  a shot gun under his arm as well as a colt revolver on his low hung hip holster.    He stopped at  the body looking down at it and then looking up at  the young man and bar tender. 

‘Did you shoot Manuel?” The sheriff bluntly asked the young man. 

“If that’s the dead man’s name, I did,” he answered 

“It was self defence. Manual drew on him first , “ said the bar tender. “He  a bit slow as you can tell.” 

“Well, he probably had it coming to him too.” Said the sheriff,”   Mean and humourless son of a gun. You’d best beware of his buds Jake and Tom. He ran with them and they really were a bad lot. “

“I don’t think I’ll have to worry about them,” said the younng man. “. I shot a couple of bushwackers in the canyon this morning.  Manual recognised their horses outside. “

“Where are the bodies?” Asked the Sheriff.   

“I left them there. I don’t know these parts so I didn’t know when or where I’d be able to be relieved of them. “

“Then that still leaves leaves the Hodgkin brothers.  They might not be happy about your killing their pals. There was rumour they were all working together robbing and killing  folks but no one alive to accuse them formally until you.’

At that moment Nick came in.  “I heard you had some work for me Sherriff”. 

“Looks like Manual is going to need burying.” Said the Sheriff, “ Apparently his two pals are being eaten by scavengers in the canyon but if you want the work you could probably get what’s left of the bodies and collect their fees from what the boys have in their place.”.

Turning to the young man, the sheriff asked, ‘Did those two have anything substantial on them when they tried to shoot you? “ 

“Just a few dollars I figured they owed me for the trouble. I took their horses and guns figuring to sell them first chance.” 

“Martin over at the store would probably take the guns for a good price since they’re in demand here about. The hostler would take the horses. Jake and Tom had pretty good taste in horse flesh. “

Leaving the Sheriff and Nick to their business the young man left  to sell the guns and  horses , thankful for the advise and directions.   

He got a good price for the guns and was just walking to the stable when two fat men wearing calf skin and cowboy boots stopped him in the street. 

“Those are Jake and Tom’s horses. “ the shorter man said accusingly, “ You must be the one who shot our friends.”

‘The young man had left Sadie tied at the Saloon but now turning to the angry men before him he dropped the leads of the two horses moving clear of them so they’d not become casualties in the altercations of me. All the while he watch the two fat boys ready for them to make a move. 

“I shot the two men who tried to bushwhack me, if that’s what you’re asking.”he said 

The brothers went for their guns but the young man was just that much faster as he put a bullet each in their individual puffed up chests.  Only one had cleared leather with his pistol before the red blossomed on his white cotton shirt,  His brother collapses seconds after him red blossoming where his neck met his chest.  They both felt in the dirt with thuds. The Sherriff watched out all from from the Saloon porch.  

“More work for you Nick,” he called  as the young man picked up the reigns of the horses and continued on to the stable.  

The pretty young blond woman who’d inherited the cafe after her parents were killled, stood out front on the boardwalk and watched as the young man  continued on to the stable. 

 

 

Beyond the canyon

The canyon angled upwards  opening into a trail through ponderosa pine  and Douglas fir.  Hemlock was there too.  He stopped by a fast running creek dismounting Sadie and letting the horses drink then munch the green grass that grew there.  He emptied his canteen and filled it with the fresh near freezing water that tasted so refreshing. He sat on a log and considered his course of direction from here.

Following this path he’d arrive at either a logging camp or mining town he’d been told were up this way.  Maybe in one of these he’d find the outlaw he was looking for.  The man who’d gut shot his brother.  He didn’t like the idea of revenge. Decidedly Un Christian but he’d learned his brother had turned his cheek 70 times 70 for all of them and now he was dead.  He didn’t think more cheek turning would stop the outlaw’s  rampage.  He’d keep killing people as long as it suited him unless someone stopped him. 

The law, whatever there was here, was unlikely to do that.  Judgement is the Lord’s was what he believed but also that the Lord used people to do his will.  At this moment he felt the Lord had chosen him.  An eye for an eye was Old Testament and he thought of himself as more New Testament.  Jesus taught love and faith but he didn’t think that Jesus would object to him casting out this particular demon with a slug from a colt 45. He’d aim for the heart despite it being an obviously tiny target.  His brother had suffered and if he wasn’t a Christian he might too plan to shoot him there or below the belt.  A heart shot would do though.  But in the heat of a gun battle one couldn’t be sure.

Topping up his canteen , he gathered his horses and mounting headed up the trail watching Sadie for any change.  He kept his head on a swivel but trusted her to smell anything or anyone. He wondered if the outlaws knew him but figured them more likely bandits, robbers hoping to kill for profit, having no conscience or trade but killing for a livelihood, lazy low down men..  

The pistols and rifles were well cared for, certainly better than the two men’s clothing. Their horses were also good mounts, the saddles well worn, but good.  He’d sell off the horses and guns when he could. He had all he needed with Sadie, his rifle, the colt and the derringer he’d taken off a man he’d shot who had thought to kill him with it.  

He passed a field of yellow flowers and watched a couple of black and white magpies flying there. .  A marmot looked out from the rocks to see who was passing, standing stright up before scurrying back into it’s hidey hole.

Up ahead he saw smoke rising from several houses. Closer he decided this must be the mining town.  He could see that this was more sizeable than a logging camp would be. It was big enough there might even be law of some sort.  

He tied his horses up at the hitching post in front of the lone saloon. In side the cool log building there were a few tables and chairs, a couple with customers and a bar with large bearded man standing cleaning a glass.  

He walked up to the bar and was asked by the  bar tender ,  “would you be wanting a drink?’ He had a brogue accent. 

“I would, a beer if you please,’ he answered.

Sipping the beer he wandered over to a table where he could  sit with his back to the wall  watch the door. He knew in time someone would approach him. Waiting now he’d learn more of what he needed to know than by initiating conversation.  

Death Canyon

The glint in the dawn light  had tipped him off to a rifle barrel poking out from behind the boulder. He was grateful to have noticed it. Better alive than dead, he thought as he slipped off his Appaloosa pony slapping her butt to return the way they’d come.  Bent nearly in two he ran zig zagging into the shadow of the boulders.  Kneeling in the relative protection he looked about for more signs of what he could only assume was an enemy.  Friends didn’t wait with rifles on lonely canyon trails. This must surely be an ambush. By who he couldn’t tell but someone with malice in their heart was surely out there. 

Leaving the refuge of the boulder he ran another little distance to another boulder further along before taking a look at where he’d seen the rifle glint.  Sure enough there it was and he could just see a hat above a head that appeared to be watching his horse which had run a short distance before stopping and curiously waiting.  

The boulders here were such that he could run a bit further without risk of being seen and perhaps get beyond where this fellow was waiting.  He did that and looking saw that another fellow was similarly waiting with a rifle pointed along where he’d come.

He could have shot thes fellows if he was sure they’d been waiting for him but he couldn’t imagine he was of interest to anyone.  Maybe they were waiting for someone else?

He edged further around the last boulder so he could have an eye on both the strangers before he shouted, “Hey you there. What are doing?’

Well, that got a response.    The first one hardly taking a sight with his rifle fired off a shot at the sound of his voice.  The bullet hit the rocks somewhere near.  The other stranger was just as quickly lifting his rifle to do the same.

There didn’t seem much else to do at that point.  His rifle was up when he’d called and they were both plainly visible so he shot the second one first before levering a second shot into the 30:30 rifle and plugging the first one.  That man had taken a second shot which merely chipped off more rock near him.

Standing over them he saw his shots had been lethal.  He might have shot to wound and have one alive to help solve the mystery of what they were doing, but his daddy had taught him long ago, shoot for the mass and shoot to kill.  “Wounded animals are a lot more dangerous than dead ones.”  

With a whistle his horse,  Sadie, appeared beside him nudging him affectionately.  Taking the lead he followed him walking to where two more horses were loosely tied further back in the big boulders.  He took their leads and walked them back to their previous owners.  He’d checked the bodies for identification taking their wallets, two rifles, and pistols as well as some cash  He’d laid this all on the ground beside them.  There was value to their horses and guns but he thought the crows and coyotes had more value to them than he had at this point.  So he left them lying there  Putting their rifles in their horses scabbards and their pistols in his saddle bad, he tied their horses to follow. He mounted Sadie and headed further into the canyon.    

Not an auspicious beginning of the day but he was alive and they were dead.  He thanked God for this. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, thou art with me came to mind.  Grace and mystery were on his mind and heart as he continued on keeping to the shadow in the canyon as the sun slowly rose in the day. 

Thunder and Rain

The thunder woke me at 5 am.  Loud crashes, bangs, explosions, grumbles and rolling noises of heaven.  I wasn’t surprised Madigan was whimpering. I came off down and let him outside to see that Armageddon hadn’t begun. After I peed and sat with him. He wanted up on the bed to bother Laura. She’d woken too, climbing down to pee, saying hello to Madigan but not helping him up on the bed.  

 I climbed back in bed. The warmth. The coziness. She always smells nice. Flowery perfume.  Tossed blond hair.  What a glorious morning.!

The rain came then, a veritable downpour. Heavy steady drumming on the roof. We had to close the skylight to stop the ricochet getting in.  

Now I’m up. I’ve made us coffee.  I boiled eggs and they’re waiting.  

I’ve glanced at Facebook.  Facebook Friends travelling all over the world.  Everest, Malaysia, Thailand, Mexico, Alaska, Maine.   It’s fun to see others camping in BC like us.  The city folk are enjoying pavement pleasures. I prefer the forest and great escape.  I finally saw a boy up.  All around the other RV’s and Motorhomes are contained. The rain hasn’t let up.

“Doesn’t this remind you of the day we were motorcycling camping on the sunshine coast. We phone dad from the inside of the pup tent where we stayed till the rain let up in the after noon.  “. 

“Yes, it was near Lund.” She answered.

Now there’s a man walking by with two little  dogs . He ‘s quite contorted bending down and scooping up.  Makes me wonder if I look like that

I’m reading the historical fiction, Last Citadel, a novel of the battle of Kursk.  It followed Stalingrad, the battle I’d seen memorized in the Moscow War Museum.  Kursk by contrast was the greatest tank battle, Russian T-34 facing the German Mark IV’s and Tigers.  It’s an amazing story of Germans and Russians. Dimitri is the father, a Cossack from a long line of village elder Cossacks.  He’s the tank driver. His son Vatya is the tank commander and gunner.  Katy’s his daughter is a Night Witch.  “A Cossack family fights together.”  It’s the perspective that’s so interesting, not British, not American and this eastern war where Asian and Europe clash.  I’d just read a history of the Black Sea so was astonished at the steppes and distances.  It reminded me of the long train ride I took overnight from Moscow to St. Petersburg, the endless forest.  The distances.

I’m used to distance in Canada.  I don’t imagine city folk are .  I’m mean calling them the pavement people believing much of our problem with media and politics these days is city folk living in a magical world of water, heat, electricity, sewage disposal can cause them to believe in their own significance.  Being out in the country is humbling. Camping is humbling. Reading history is humbling.  I’m bothered by the egomania of the politicians today and the acceptance of the people of their idiocy and ignorance of science and nature.  

Last nights storm was a reminder of how powerful nature is and how enduring the earth.  

The river is high and raging this morning. I can see and hear it from here.  I’m thankful now for rays of sunlight breaking through the cloud cover.  I imagine I’ll get out on the ATV like I did yesterday. Madigan loved the ride up into the mountains. It was good to shoot the Ruger 30:06, just a couple of shots an inch apart at 50 yards. It’s an amazing rifle , the one I’ve shot most of my big game with, moose, deer, elk, bear, these last 30 years since I bought it, one of the first stainless steel rifles. I was living on the SV Giri at the time so loved a rifle that could handle the ocean environment.  Everything else rusted and till the stainless steel rifles came I was forever oiling the old ones. I have a 223 rifle along and would like to target practice.  I could take some targets along.  Right now though I’m just thinking of reading some more and maybe coffee. 

thank you Jesus.

Riverhaven RV Park, Hadley

What a joy to be here!  We left at 10 am and arrived at 3 stopping at Chilliwack RV storage to pick up my trailer with the Honda 420 Rancher.

“Glad to see you, John! “ I said when I drove onto his lot. “We’re back camping.”

“It’s been so long.”

“A year and a half. Frazerway just wasted our time and gaslighted us insisting on me writing them a blank cheque, did nothing but run around and waste of time.  That’s the past. Once Kevin got involved everything was sane, and smooth and competent.  Such a good man and great character.  We really enjoyed the people at AdventurerRVCentre, not just Kevin but the whole team.  The receptionist was delightful.  We were so thankful for Kevin.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said John, who’d recommended Kevin to me in the first place. 

“ Laura and I have  been camping a couple of weekends already. We love outdoors therapy. With what we both do in our work dealing with really sick people, getting away camping for the weekend is what it takes to recharge.  How are you your self doing taking Sunday off?” John had told me on the phone he was taking a little time off. 

“My wife thinks I’m a workaholic.” He’d told me. I’m loving not working Sunday though.   No more horns at the gate with people losing their key or coming to my door and wanting something.  I may have lost a few people but the relief is worth it.’

“Well done. I tell people I’m past retirement age, past my shelf life but I don’t smell yet. Still I have to have some self care to keep on going. I ‘m glad you’re doing that too.”  

John and his family are some of the most admirable people Laura and I know.  

His son was there, what folk would call a ‘tall strapping lad’,  a real gentleman.

Laura said, “His father’s a great role model but you can see how much love the mother gives.”

“I just feel blessed to know such fine people. Gives me hope.  When the media is portraying the future as dark I look at people like John and family and see plain goodness.”

John’s son came by to see if I needed help getting my trailer hitched.

“Thanks but I’m okay going forward with the trailer if I can find the keys and get it all hooked up. My problem is backing up with trailers. I may need your help when we come back Tuesday.”  He laughed.  

It actually wasn’t that hard.  Laura sorted out the keys and locks and I actually seated the trailer hitch on the tow ball on the third try.  When it clunks into place it’s such a satisfying sound.  

We headed out with the camper and trailer and ATV feeling great.  

We stopped at Buy Low in Hope for more groceries.  ‘The steak was perfect, mottled, thick, I couldn’t resist getting a couple more.”  I like barbecuing. Had pork chops already.  Laura had wanted more fruit and with the freezer doing well in the camper I was able to top up the ice cream bar stash.

We stopped at Macdonalds on the  way out for 1/4.pournder’s with cheese.  I’d bought at western audio book at the Esso.  “A movie in your mind”.  Madigan loved his burger patty. Laura and I love MacDonalds on the road. I like their coffee.  Driving through winding number 3 thorugh Manning Park, the great forest and high snow capped mountains we listened to tale of cowboy revenge porn.  The twist on this tale was a daughter who dressed as a man to hunt down her father’s killers.  

“I really am feeling I’m on vacation now.” I said

“Me too,” said Laura.

We’d done the old routines.  A little rusty. But this was the same as we’d done so many times.    Princeton is a favourite destination for us. It’s a half day to a day travelling and outfitting but then we have several days of downtime and bliss.   

Glamping.  That’s what everyone calls what we do.   

Riverhaven RV campground is just beyond Princeton.  The sign for Stemwinder trail then Pickard wilderness camp site we’ve often stayed at.  Then Gold campgrounds and Riverhaven.  We love Riverhaven and have come many times. We liked the old owners but the new owners are even more committed to making the place a first rate Good Same Accomodation. Mom and Dad had a Slumber Queen Motorhome they took all over Canada and the US always choosing Good Sam accommodations when they could.

“Your mom loves how clean and friendly they are.” Dad had told me.  Now here I am following them. 

Of course I had a trial backing up the trailer with the ATV so rode my Honda 420 Rancher off the trailer, unhitched the trailer and pushed it into the site.  Laura kept an eye on things while I backed the truck camper in between the trees. I really appreciate her help. With my first camper I hit overhead branches and clipped trees.  I’m a nightmare back ing up.  Embarrassing. Laura reduces the anxiety .  

With the camper in place I put out the happy jacks, hooked up the power line, water and sewer hose.  All connected.  Glamping.  I took Madigan for a walk and saw the Silmikameen river was raging. Madigan didn’t like it.  The sand beach was definitely underwater.  No swimming this weekend.  

I barbecued steaks.  They were delicious.  It’s a little community. Others coming in Friday evening.  Kids and young families and some old folk like us.  Riverhaven is well organized and quiet.  I loved the day the whole herd of deer walked through one morning.  I like that the ATV trails can be accessed across the road.  Madigan was so excited when I rode on the ATV. He’d accompanied many times hunting. . It’s obvious he remembers the good times, me shooting grouse and him finding and fetching them. His bark was more a shreak of excitement.   

“You’ll be okay here while Madigan and I go off in the morning on the ATV.”

“Of course . I’ve got my cross words and books. I’ll be okay.”   

Kelvin is putting in air conditioning the next few weeks.  Laura had found it too hot up at Whistler , unable to sleep in the heat so I aslked Kelvin of Travco as he was upgrading the Happy Jack fuse panel, if he could.  He’d done them before so said, “sure.”  I’m glad to give him more pleasant jobs after he fixed the frozen sewer pipe last winter.  I think too Madigan’s going to need air conditioning if I leave him in the camper when I’m down south. Everything is always a work in progress. That’s the joy. Being like Adam and tending the garden.  

I sure like having the camper back and am going to really enjoy being back on the ATV. I’ll take a rifle for target practice. It’s bear season but I only took a photo the last great shot I had.  Mostly I just enjoy riding about in the back country in wonder at God’s creation.  I love the peace I find.  Shutting off the ATV engine and having a picnic with Madigan, taking a nap out in the woods by the little machine then going off again exploring.

That’s tomorrow. Now I’m ready for bed. Laura’s already there. Madigan sleeping under the table.  I’m beginning to yawn. I love the wood smoke scentn the air.  Other campers had fires in their fire pits.  I’m going to sleep well today.  Lots of physical activity and country air.  

Thank you Jesus!. 

  

 

Black Tusk

After a glorious hot day reading and walking the dog, bacon and egg’s mother’s day breakfast and barbecued bison steaks and Caesar salad we were together in bed with all the windows with bug screens on open and longing for more evening breeze. Laura was hot and moaning a bit, saying ‘it’s so hot . I think there’s a mosquito about too.”  She’s convinced she attracts them but while one might have got in there was no tear in the mosquito netting .  I read a bit then fell asleep to pleasant dreams of friends and gatherings

This morning the mountain air was touched with the scent of mountain flowers, a gentle fragrance in the midst of pine and spruce. I walked Madigan about the camp enjoying the bright sun rising above the ring of snow capped mountains.  Black Tusk was resplendent.  A memorable landmark indeed.  

I saw a stellar jay and a Jack rabbit.

A lot of the RV’s have quad’s , mostly Polaris, and ski doo’s so we guess this place must be all year round for some. There’s a ski doo trail leaving off the end of the park Madigan and I walked on for a bit.  I was uncomfortable in flip flop sandals  without a rifle, bear banger or even a knife in grizzly country.  The little dog was a bit spooked too so we didn’t walk  far.  I remember when I graduated medical school and went hiking in the Rockies, two couples, wineskins and maybe a knife. We were intrepid then.  I knew black bears but didn’t know grizzlies and I ‘d only start being chased by polar bears in the years to come. What wonderful memories of daily hikes up and down the mountains around Banff.  

It was 630 am and others were already up today .  A couple of camper vans were loading up to leave even . Early start. I imagined them travelling.  We were only heading home where I was keeping the camper in the city till we headed out for the May long weekend this Friday.  

I’m having coffee now. Laura is up.  Madigan is napping under the table. 

This weekend I read McCall Smith’s , the No 1 Lady Detective Agency .  What a delightful read!  I’m sure I’ve read others in the series.  He is such a prolific writer and uplifting story teller.  I ordered a couple of more of his books off Kindle, from his Scottish series, “74 Street Edinburgh’.  I started Glenn’s War on the Kokoda Trail.  It’s the tale of the Australian defense against the Japanese at  Port Moresby in New Guinea.  Great reads.  

I got a bit red reading on the lawn chair.  Loving the vitamin d and sun tan happening.  Thinking about an air conditioning unit in this camper for when I go south.  I remember living in Mexico the summer was unbearable.  I’ll have to talk to the guys about the possible project.  

My life has been an endless series of improvements to whatever I have.  Hardwood floors in houses, added decks, new roofs,  off shore boat, RV accessories.  Right now I’m booked to have saddle bags and engine guard put on the new Harley Nightster Special. I’m looking at hitch carriers so I can take it with me.  This weekend I’d have gladly had the Honda 420 Rancher quad but that’s next week’s plan.  Good life right now. Feel it’s the reward and blessing for all the work and continued service during covid and lockdowns.  

Laura’s enjoying the rest and breaks from her medical office job too. Madigan is a dog so this is just perfect for him.

Thank you Jesus for all these blessings.  Thank you for the mountain air, the peace and quiet, the beautiful views, the lovely company and great coffee.  

Mother’s Day

At the moment I don’t remember being in my mother’s womb.  I cared for women who were pregnant and later delivered babies and watched them care for their children.  It’s a miracle really.  All spiritual and emotional.  Like Michelanagelo’s Pieta in Rome. Perhaps too moving for words.  The mystery of God creating life with in.  

When Freud said Women had penis envy, Karen Horney, the early female analyst countered, ‘no Signmond, men have womb envy.”

My first real memory of my mother is at my grandmother’s a baby child being brought into the kitchen warmth. Next it’s being held. I remember that faced with strangers I’d cower between my mothers legs under her long skirt. I remember trusting my mom. She was my safety.  I’d crawl into bed as a child and cuddle against my mom for safety. She’d check me and tuck me in before I fell asleep.  I was blessed as a child to know my mother’s bountiful love. I loved the grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup at lunch. I loved the tenting and camping. I loved her coming out to my games and wanting to know how school was. My childhood was blessed by mom.  She had her garden and taught me to grow marigolds.  Countless memories of her awesome love are there to regale me.  

Often when we are so depended on someone we need to make so much effort to pull away. I turned my back on my mom when I as an adolescent , the rebellious teen who didn’t need ‘ adult’s.  Later when that phase was done she’d proudly be there as I accepted diplomas and awards.  When I’d be sick she’d come too bringing pasta and tomato sauce. Comfort food.  I could always count on her to be happy to hear from me, concerned and caring.  I was always welcome home and blessed to have such a loving Christian mother.

Laura has three children and grandchildren. I’m made her camping toast bacon and scrambled eggs like my dad used to make camping. Laura said it was delicious. I liked the elegant paper plates.

Douglas Fir, Scotch Pine, Hemlock, Glacier scented breeze

The sun has risen over the ice capped peaks that ring the forest wilderness below Whistler RV Park.  I had mixed dreams. Belonging and comforting as well as conflict and trouble. Laura’s warm body lay beside me. Madigan slept beneath the camper table. I awoke at 6 am, checking my Iwatch know the time. Madigan today hadn’t woken us with whines and whimpers to be let up on the bed. I woke him. 

I drank a lot of tea yesterday.  I liked the morning ritual.  Relief. Then brushing teeth and shaving.

Yesterday was summer hot. The forecast today was for even hotter. The morning breeze though was still cool. 

I donned khaki shorts , Workwear brown shirt and took Madigan for a morning walk.  A man with two while dogs, not poodles. was doing the same. Robins and nuthatches were flitting about.  A group of three people were also up quietly walking along the road..  I hoped the exercise would reduce the energy the little dog has all day.  At the truck camper I sat in the lawn chair facing the still rising sun and meditated.

I do not know for certain anything before today.  Before this moment is a true unknown. I only have circumstantial evidence.  Memory. There’s billions of computing brain cells and equal numbers of stars.  Tomorrow is uncertain. There is now.  I exist. This exists.  I am a co creator with the creator.  I imagine a divine plan.  There is angst. So many fill the ‘waiting for Godot’ moments with endless nonsense. There is this.  Here .  Now.  Matter is slow energy.  I’m humbled by the very arbitrariness of existence and the limits of knowledge.  

Yesterday I spoke with a lovely man comforted by his agreement with authorities.There are those who cling to rhetoric while I am like Buddha asking what do we really know. All suffering is desire.  I am here on a mountain top enjoying the sun rising, while indeed science tells me the earth is setting. We are confused about the fundamental motion of our experience.  Here I’m feeling I am going forward when indeed the earth is going backward.  

I don’t know why my mind produces the thoughts it does. I thought of genital mutilation of male and female children and wondered how that trauma contributed to the wars of the tribes that perpetrated such barbarism.  It is taboo to even consider such a thought. So many thoughts are taboo.  Steal a little and they put you in jail, steal alot and they make you king. Some ‘ruler’, a ‘big man’, “his supportive woman’, the ‘boy’ and the followers demand ‘tradition’.  They only woke today yet still they will be planning on surgically risking the future potential of a child.  The fallacy of the consensus.  Meanwhile other tribes are sticking needles in their bodies and painting their faces with dye.  They are all offended if we don’t respect their customs and play along with their games and our games of who is first. 

My friend was fascinated by the intellectualism that allowed him to believe he was right and someone else is wrong.  

I’m here alone with God in an RV park utterly grateful for the civilization of this experience with the freedom and means to come and go, all the amenities and engineering wonders I could hope for. Even this chair is genius.  I am now sitting at a table that drops into a bed.  The chair I sat on outside folded up small and light and carried on the back of my camper. Just because I don’t know who created lawn chairs doesn’t mean that I believe they didn’t evolve or that I somehow manufacturered them out of my mind.

Today is all about pride, individually and collectively.  The selfie is the metaphor and medium of modern existence.  Space men landing on a distant planet trade mirrors with the inhabitants who have telepathy but lack this capacity to freeze memories.  We live in the past. Moments fly by.

It’s all play. Even the soldiers and generals who strut and take themselves so seriously along with the gangster and the con men and politicians who orchestrate chaos and war must deny death because if we all woke again knowingly in another day and another line of development we’d be free from the grandiosity and arrogance of the hierarchal sorts. Those that gives themselves medals and ribbons and titles. 

I like the symphony but I don’t like the shit thrown at a wall and called art so that money can be laundered and rich men and women can have more children to sexually pleasure them.  Why must we think that those who are at the top of the society are not disease ridden and bothered by hemorrhoids.  I am indoctrinated to look up to them because they have the power to kill me and my family and friends.   Yet if I am immortal not in this comic strip but across the potentiality of the infinite universe, why fear bullies and boogeymen.

I carry in the code of my memory the ability to start this truck. I’ve just made coffee . My unconscious is attached to the Cray computer of God. Each day I awake and don’t even know what dimension my dream world is.  I am ridiculed by ignorant who insist that as they can’t see the ‘ICloud” it doesn’t exist. I am then told what are the ‘social media’  ‘ideas’ each day, the marketting of social reality, the dominance of competing tribes and the corporations and the old and new money. 

 I’m old.  I don’t feel old. I’m as new as the day.  I only feel old when I really consider it and look at the weather worn skin.  I then realize that I’m among stupid people or bright people or mirro kaleidoscopes of my own self.  

Today I choose to believe in God. I choose to be humble. I choose to give thanks to the Sun and the movement of the earth and the perfect construction of this world which is so similiar to the one I knew yesterday yet different.  I am thankful for a higher power, a sense of a creator and the interconnected ness of creation. The alphabet of DNA. The joy I had learning the basis of chemistry and the complexity and simplicity of the material world, a sentence and a paragraph and a story.  

I look back on my life and it’s a story I’ve written with ink and feathered pen. It’s amazing.  God is good. Life is wonder.  This is sacred.  Thank you Jesus.  

Laura has climbed out of bed, relieved herself in the truck camper washroom, fuzzed over Madigan whose love for her is overwhelming. I held her warm voluptuous body next to mine and felt home.  She is so pretty now doing cross word puzzles.  I made us stove top expresso coffee and she is content as I am .  Madigan the cockapoo is even napping under the table dreaming of climbing on Laura’s lap again and being pampered.   I’m thinking another coffee.   Has Elon Musk brought us a little closer to inhabiting Mars? Thank you Jesus.  

Glorious morning

Well, it wasn’t quite glorious at first. It’s glorious now.  To begin the dog began whining when the sun came up at 5 am .  He wants a quickie hump of Laura’s leg but I won’t allow him up on the bed. I was rather pleased myself with an erection. Physiologically that means I’m capable but it’s also called a ‘pee hard on’ and I really was enjoying the warmth beneath the Hudson Bay blanket.  Laura smelt lovely beside me, touselled blond hair on the pillow  and warm inviting body.  The gymnastics involved in either getting up to pee or rousting Laura from sleep for a loving morning of lust didn’t do it.  Thankfully I was able to roll over and return to dreaming after hissing at the mutt to be quiet.  

I dreamed pleasant dreams last night and after wakening.  I was in a futuristic place of learning, studying.  White walls and technology and virtual reality goggles.  I’ve been watching the Netflix Foundation, a recreation of the Asimov classic trilogy.  Like the original Dune movie it is okay.  Like Moses and Jesus.  These movies point back to the book but they just don’t capture the ‘experience’ of discovery and eureka found in reading. Better than the Kardasians or the News, mind you.  In my dream there was that reverence associated with higher learning and churches and holy places. I woke again from sleep with my dog whining. This time his lust was concealed in a layer of « I just want to kiss my mommy’.  The incestuous little runt has been at her ears. So it starts with love and kisses then he’s humping her leg.

Quite the sight really.  Embarrassing.  Too reminiscent of myself when I was in my early teens.  Girls all rainbows and unicorns and us boys pithed frog brains with residual reflexes jerking the hips.  Meanwhile the girls are rather pleased with themselves for causing the reaction. However they would no doubt like a pause button or a speed control like they have on their hair driers.  I consider castrating the mutt but remember Gilbert, the cockapoo before Madigan, called ‘the humper’ by our Thai friend Aim.  It’s a phase.  

I crawled out of bed and did not let him up as he obviously hoped.I love the camper wash room.  It’s like a train or plane or boat..  Totally functional with sink and toilet and shower all in one. The whole little room is moulded plastic like material.  White, with a fan built into the wall that can be pushed out or pulled in.  Wonderful engineering.  I relieved myself.

The dog was still there, ardent as ever. Standing on the bench looking into the bedroom. A cartoonist would surround his head with hearts.  I’m sure I had a similar look on my face when I stayed at a hippy commune and looked into the bed room of one of the girls, her perfect shoulder uncovered and her lustrous hair falling over the pillow.  The pheromal scent of her slowed my step and left an unforgettable image. I’d not ‘stared’ but merely glanced.  My mind is full of snapshots of such beauty.  My dogs however gets the whole video camera and crew going.  There’s no glances on gentlemanly turning away.    I pull on shorts, donned my shirt and  slipped into my sandals.

When I take his leash he’s actually disappointed. His insaniety is such that he really thought we were getting ready to climb into bed with Laura. Instead I’m dragging him outside.  Outside. 

Oh well, he likes the outdoors and deals with peeing immediately.  The plant is happy. The sun is shining  We’re high up in the mountains surrounded by a ring of white capped peaks. There’s a cool breeze and I’m invigorated.  He’s now in sniff and pee mode.  It’s like a dog with social media. He’s scrolling. His little legs carrying him forward.  A perfect distraction. He’s scrolling through the morning while I’m lifted heavenward atthe top of the world . The scent of pine has infused the air. It’s glorious.

Then he shits and I’m pleased because dog owners feel rewarded by these moments. Even the scooping up the poo and carrying it in the little plastic bag is rewarding. But not today. His fur has matted and he can’t get the poop to drop so he looks dolesfully at me. I have to bend down and pull the poop out and off his butt so he can get on with dog world day.. Without me he’d be rubbing his butt in sand.

Back at the truck camper I collapse in the out door lawn chair. I hear she’s up so give her time .  He’s whining again but stern looks have him sitting silently awaiting. I’m facing the morning sun and meditate.  Our father who art in heaven. . Jesus.  Holy Spirit.  Breathe.  Peace. Bliss. Om. Amen . Holy words. It’s glorious.

After a while I take him inside.  He’s ecstatic to see her up running around her legs and jumping up and down.  She is radiant. I understand how he feels for her.   I kiss her briefly on her soft lips drinking a sip of her potent weet scent.  

Then I drag him by the leash into the perfect washroom and wipe  his butt ‘wet ones’. All the while he’s giving me attitude like I’m ruining his suave. 

When we come out she says « He smells of poo », 

« He had an accident.  I cleaned it off but don’t let him up on the table. I’ll shower with him later. »

He climbs squirming into her lap smelling of poo. I think of all the families with kids and baby puke and diarhrea and dogs and cats with shit and such.  Life is Glorious.  

I set about making coffee.  We both like coffee in the morning.  The aroma of stove top expresso soon fills the camper. Life is glorious 

Parables

Jesus called the children to him and said,” Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.  Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God likea  little child will never enter it."

 

Early head said “For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled and those who humble themselves will be exaulted."

 

Maybe it’s not so bad being demented.  Becoming child like again to gain acceptance to heaven.  I remember when I drank and hung out with those who drank it seemed as if it was commonly a brag fest.  A little boring.  Not particularly intellectual or educated or discerning. Just tales you might hear from Hollywood Vikings  but more board room background.  

 

I still do this I suppose.  Sharing a success but not dwelling on the defeat of another.  Recognising that it’s all God’s grace. I remembered sailing solo in a storm I considered all the men and women who contributed to my boat staying afloat.  Rivetters, sailmakers, diesel engine mechanics, chart makers.  There’s a myriad of folk involved in all my successess. I realize that but in my failures I mostly still hold myself accountable.  

 

There’s free will and fate or determinism.  Free will seems to influence fate. I was born a time and place and that meant all but I can’ alter the trajectory of my life incrementally  I can even be the exception.  I’m thankful to day that I’m seeking God and God’s will for me. I’m thankful today that I experience the world as spiritual.  Matter is just slow energy and it’s all part of an infinitty of possibilitieis.  

 

Thank you Jesus. I approach you with trust, childlike, and respect.  Forgive me. You are my saviour and I seek eternal life ain heaven and in you.  Thank you Jesus.

A minor miracle

Naturally, being human,  we take for granted all the miracles of daily life.  Wakening. Air. Water. Friends and family.  I’m here and not in an abyss of pain and sorrow. I’m alive and the day is an adventure.

Last night I had a ‘minor miracle”. Miracles and the sacred are always happening but it takes these remarkable episodes to cause the hair to rise on the back of our necks and for us to step our of the reductionism brought on by theoverwhelming angst of existence.

I was at a meeting.  I love my meetings.  A group of guys who get together to share their ‘experience, strength and hope” helping each other to find and know a higher power.  It’s uplifting. I’m truly inspired by George, Marty, Dean, Nick, Hugh, Stan, Patrick, Sharma, Neil, Jack and the others I know but feel guilty as at this moment I see their faces and forget their names. I fear by naming any I will disappoint others who are just as precious but my mind is trained to forget names normally. I know the stories and the faces and the laughter most.

I was there last night. I left feeling like a wet dog let in from outside to sit for an hour by the fire. I went out.  There was my Harley Davidson Nightster Special.  How stupid of me! I’d left my pack sack on the back of the sissy bar.  No one had stolen it though it was unattended for an hour. That was something to register and appreciate. Everyday the media bemoans the stranger. Yet for an hour countless had walked by leaving the bag untouched.

Mounting this miracle of history, engineering and technology  I felt like a ride on the highway. I decided to head out on Highway number #1 going east to pick up some locks at Canadian Tire a few miles of throttle therapy away.

Wind in my hair, 120 km/hr in the special lane, feeling good, I signaled and began to cross the four lanes to the Brunette road.  I was just on the exit as cars honked and I looked to see that the wind had lifted my packsack off my sissy bar.  I pulled over and parked as a couple of girls slowed and said that my pack was just back a bit.

I walked thinking this is good. I need the exercise. I was 40 yards back when I spotted the pack sack on the road in the outer lane.I thought, great I’ll be able to snatch it in a lull in traffic.  Just as suddenly as that though, a sedan crossing hit the bag and picked it up under the carriage of their car. I saw it pointed and waved as they went by.  Unbelievable. 

I got back to my bike and got off the highway.  Stopping and putting the transmission in neutral I took out my Apple I phone which said my Apple Mini Pad had ‘disconnected’ ‘near highway number #1 east”.   I knew that.  But thanks to the Find My app I was able to see that the mini ipad was now across the bridge and in Surrey. It showed it there coming to a stop miles away.  I don’t like to drive motorcycles at night but it was now a mission.

I took off after the nap sack imagining it being dragged along screaming under the belly of the black sedan.  The night air breeze on the bridge going at 100 km/hr was invigorating. This was turning out to be a great ride if only I found my knapsack. It had my registration in it.  Further I realized that my mini ipad had transferred patient files on it and though it had passworded  locks and I worried that confidential information could be hacked . I watch too much NCIS.  

It’s really difficult following a map and gps on a motorcycle . I had to pull over and stop and look at the app and got lost but came around realizing that I was now on 104 where Kevin and Anna and their 5 kids and dog lived.  I’m the god father to some.  Wha a good excuse to drop in and see the new dog.  Nearly 10 pm. But the app said it was within a few km.

I knocked on the door and the new dog barked, Good dog. Anna was up visiting with a female friend. As usual she was looking good,  the proud momma with the healthy brood,  Kendra the fast growing little girl peeked her head out to see me. Vader the new dog sniffed my crotch in greeting . Kevin, looking like he woke from a nap then  appeared. I told the story of the hitchhiking knap sack and showed them my app indicating  the pack was near by.

“Why don’t we take my work truck and it will be easier to find.”  Said Kevin. He’s always helpful. A great family man. Hard worker. He lives to hunt too so I thought his expertise would be an addition. Also as we are both Christians.  I said ,”Where two or more are gathered in my name, there too am I , Jesus.”  A prayer and a companion.  It really was easier to follow the app not driving a motorcycle. It was just blocks away on King George by the white spot parking lot . 

“This is it.”  I said.  We got out and with the pen light I looked under the black cars in the parking lot behind White Spot.  A group of latino youngsters were hanging around their black sedan looking suspicious as youngster do to the old especially in a group and especially in jeans and hoodies and not being ivory white.  Kevin spoke to them.  No they’d not seen anything. It could have been the car though.

“The police were just here. Why not ask them . “. Sure enough. There was a Surrey police car and a really bright looking white friendly smart young guy.  I told him my unlikely tale and he offered to look at the phone and app agreeing  it was saying it was right here but seemed to move with us.  I asked him how I should report the loss and he told me how to leave a report on their on line website . “If you have the serial number and we get it we’ll be able to get it back to you.” Very helpful considerate guy. 

I was thinking I’d done my best and getting in the truck was set to call it a night but  Kevin said ‘lets just check over there.” The app seemed to say it was a bit closer towards the Walmart so we drove a few car lengths over and it seemed we were closer though the app was a still a bit  confusing.  I got out of the truck on my side about to look under the car when Kevin got out of his side of the truck and eureka! he lifted up my pack sack in the air!

Halleluja!.

 “It was just sitting on the road,  It must have come lose from what ever it had caught on .  ‘ He said,mThere was the mini ipad and my bike registration. I really was laughing, ecstatic with the most improbable find, What a treasure hunt and find.  

“Do you know the odds of a bag lying on the ground in Surrey for more than 5 minutes with all the drug addicts and homeless people about? Impossible.” Said Kevin,

The police car was there and the officer beamed at us holding up the bag like a couple of kids at a candy store.

“I’d call it a miracle! For sure. “. Kevin said, “Not like Moses parting the sea miracle. But a miracle all the same.”

 

I agreed.  “It’s got Gods finger prints all over it.  Given the chances of finding it in a parking lot full of black cars and an app that only put  us in the ball park ”

We drove back to Anna laughing and talking about miracles and Jesus’s and synchronicity and the hidden forces that we take for granted . 

Anna immediately asked “did you find it”.  Vader their shepherd dog was doing circles in the living room.  Dogs are on for any excuse to party.  

“We did “ I said.  “Your husband is an angel.”  

“He’s not called that often.” She laughed.

“Well I wasn’t the angel that found the bag. He found it in the parking lot so he’s my angel tonight.  He’s a great hunter and a Christian brother. I’d not have found the ipad without his help and of course  clearly Jesus had a hand in this too.  The odds alone speak to that.” I said.

“Think of how incredible it was a to find a pack sack sat in a Surrey mall parking lot with no one claiming it there own so we could find it. After it got picked up miles away on the other side of the river” Kevin added,”  

We were all laughing. I had a fine folding hunting knife in the bag too so gave that to Kevin.  

.  “Really thank you.”   I said. 

‘ This is great, you know I love knives.   I’m not going to let Anna touch it because she’ll want  it.” He said . Anna laughed.

Leaving Annna and Kendra in the house,  Kevin came out now carrying  littlest Billy on his shoulder.

 “Hi Billy I said , that’s my name.”  The shy little boy turned his head into his father’s neck . We were preparing to be godparents except Covid intervened and postponed the baptism and our presence. , 

 His eyes came alive t when I got on my motorcycle and started  1000 cc   engine. What a grand sound a Harley makes.  

‘That’s a great bike,’ Kevin said. 

‘Another minor miracle,” I replied,

I went on to say over the engine roar, ‘ Thanks really. And thanks for tonight. What an adventure! “

 We smiled at each other as I backed the bike onto the street. Turning I took off on the Nightster enjoying the sound, enjoying the night, enjoying the wind, enjoying having hé Napsack on my back.  Enjoying the friends and family. Enjoying another” peek a boo” moment with God.  That was a miracle. A moment of grace where we saw behind the veil and knew that are was well and we need not be afraid.

 There is a higher power and its not me.

The ride at night back over the bridge at 120 km hr was even more invigorating and joyful.  Thank you Jesus. It really is great to be snapped out of the mundane into the sacred and serene.