What am I here for? What is my purpose? The Law of Attraction. Love thy neighbour as you would have them love you. For days I’ve ridden my motorcycle looking for deer, and bear, shooting grouse and rabbit. I’ve blocked negative thoughts by repeated affirmstions. All Shall Be Well. Lord Jesus Christ. The Lord’s Prayer.
The first day my mind was busy. By the third day I was focussed in the here and now. Motorcycling can get you killed if you’re not meditating on the present. I’m so easily distracted by the past. Resentments creep in and suddenly I’m reliving a negative time in my life. Here I am in paradise loving what I’m doing, exhilarated and then my mind plays tricks.
Lord God Almighty. God of Creation.
Why am I here?
What is this place really? Deeply?
Is there anything I should be doing differently?
Guide me. Show me the way. Thy will be done.
I’m reading a book about Aboriginal Dreamtime. With Scottish Irish heritage, clans and tribes and proximity to the reality of land and people, I’ve been called ‘fay’ and accepted the intuitive grace as another might accept strength.
I loved CS Lewis’s book, « Surprised by joy’ and riding my motorcycle I had so many moments of joy. The smells of the earth fragrances of plants, I so enjoyed one place because it smelt like a favoured bathroom scent. I thought how very clever someone was. They smelt this smell and re created it. Something like ‘forest scent’. I stopped my motorcycle and just inhaled the rich fragrance and smiled right down to my boots. How clever humans are. Like a sketch artist with chemistry.
The coffee is good this morning. I ground some more Kona and added it to the last of the Maxwell House. The Honda 2000 generator has served well. The new shut off switch got jiggled so that the battery got disconnected. When I turned off the generator yesterday Laura was left without electricity. I found her standing in the camper with Gilbert in the dark.
« I was beginning to get chilled so hoping you’d return. ».
« You could have plugged in the truck and used it. »
« I know. »
Man as problem solver. Man as tool maker. I am reading Sapiens and enjoying learning about the other hominids. I’d read years ago a book telling the tale of the great battle betweeen Cro mignon and us. We carry their genes. Some more than others.
Drinking coffee and looking out this window at the white water creek, great fir and spruce tree; the beginning of autum colours in the poplars, so very pleasant. Eye candy.
There are two men here with campers and trucks. One has a dog. Another told me he winters in Mexico where he has a girlfriend. They’re both retired. God’s waiting room folk. Brother Lawrence and Thoreau and probably too much beer. One at least makes a beer run each day. Sit by the fire. Maybe reminisce. Old men story telling. I must resist. The eyes of the young glaze over. Write a novel. Tell the fiction that is your belief.
In the Tibetan Book of the Dead the Bardot is described, a place between lives where a whole cast of characters get together and decide on parts to play. My ex wife, the drug addict, played the saint in her previous life. The violent girlfriend who broke into my place and punched me in my sleep leaving my face black and blue till I could throw her off, her screaming, « no man leaves me. If you hit me I’ll have you in jail.’ I left the city and no one knew why I left my job and work and escaped this stalker. I now know that’s what cocaine does to a girl. A high class girl from a good family, professional with a career, working nights as an escort to pay for her habit and saw me as her ‘solution’. So many saw me as their ‘solution’. Imperialist women who colonized men. I never hit a woman. I retreated. Now I listen to friend complain of the law against hitting women. Their modus operandi is lies and alliances and violence by proxy. Girlfriends and ex wives. And one day we get to laugh again in the green room between lives and talk of our performances. I did play the coward and escape artist well. She was always beautiful in her rage.
It was fun watching Dwight Yoakum and Cote and Kris Kristofferson here in a bette noir spaghetti western with an arty director, Last Rites of Ransom Pride. Running the generator I had power for the DVD and TV. What decadence! I believe it did justice to the insaneity of the day. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Sex and drugs, blasphemy and demonic. Death and guilt. Maybe it’s true only the good die young. Everything was in this Bonnie and Clyde gunslinger flick.
Later I walked the blind dog around the known path in this campsite letting him sniff all the places where other dogs had been. Once I lead him about an area he becomes more confident. The beach and rocks remain a challenge. I think it keeps him young learning these new ways of seeing.
God I would know you better. I call to you. I speak to you. I know you as a friend. I would know you as a friend. You are a lover and the zen warriors say that God is the one who teaches them the final lesson. The last mistake. I should have ducked and didn’t. In the next life time I carry the learning.
Waiting for the Messiah to come. In orthodoxy I am here one life but Christ reincarnates. I must read Revelations more. I miss more Bible study. I loved Bible studies. I loved Book studies. I loved sharing a common reading and discussing varying observations. I’ve read the Bible cover to cover several times but it’s the one book that never gets old. I need a new home church too. I like a good sermon and the community of friends.
The ‘core’ learning component is so often absent in the YouTube internet fake news, multiple feeds. It’s a regular Babylon. There’s the city folk and a common parking lot and stale air sensation. Traffic jams and construction. Offices and appointments. Man made. Easy for the weak intellectual constructivist opinion. Not out here. Not in the pristine and myriad creation of primal force and life incarnate.
I am packing up today and going back to the city. Another good vacation. Ostensibly I’m hunting for game but mostly I’m looking for God and myself. The hide and seek of the Hound of Heaven. Far from the Maddening Crowd, I gather my wits from the unholy front and pray that I’m done with the carpetbaggers and their long necked women and the boys of the petty bureaucracy, the long finger nail crowd of todays day. Such effete arrogance and ignorance. We will laugh in the Green Room. Their performances have been Dickensian
I lost a golden hook fishing with the spin caster yesterday. I lack patience fishing these days. I used to love and believe in little boats by reeds but here I’ve not had the same success so can’t see the fish under the water and attract them to my bait. I psych myself out. There are no fish. The hook is wrong. They’ve eaten. It’s the wrong time of day. I’ve an endless run of negativity fishing streams here in BC. I’ve caught trout but not so many as to have the confidence I had out east with pickerel and pike. I’m like a hockey team with a losing streak. I need a fish whisperer psychologist to force me to stay through the drought and reap the reward of patience. Instead I fish till I lose a hook which I may well do on purpose or unconsciously because rather than the tranquility of casting I enjoy the OM hum of the engine and the meditation in motion of the motorcycle.
I’m motivated by a Macdonald’s breakfast or burger on the road depending on how soon we get away. Road food. Gilbert loves the paddy. The cat and he are sleeping with Laura who has gone back to snooze.
I enjoyed talking to the ranchers on their combination of horses and 4x4’s beginning round up. The dogs were so excited running about the legs of the horses so ready to teach the cows a lesson. I must get back to riding horses. I miss them, I long to visit the home ranch and see what’s left of the cowboy clan in the north. My cousins who became loggers and horse wranglers. It’s been 5 or 10 years now since we spoke. When our mothers and dads were alive we stayed closer.
My sister in law has come back from Scotland having visited the professors but hadn’t seen Robert who is no longer with the BBC. He was covering wars at one time. I remember nights laughing around campfires talking about tobacco farming.
I do look forward to the Green Room in heaven. There are so many I’d like to see again, family and friends and yes, the enemies. Perhaps not the bores but the bright coloured originals. The pirates and desperate. But they became bores in time. The desperation makes them such. Grasping. Begging. I imagine we’ll laugh at their performances , like a high school reunion. I still laugh remembering my pregnant high school sweetheart teasing me and the guy who lived in the high school sports past because his life had become so mundane. I vaguely remember the ‘great game’ he raved on and on about. And one day we’ll remember it all in microscopic detail as our lives fly before us in a kaleidoscope of colour.
I like to think of this campsite as Captain Picard Creek. We’ll go where no man has gone before. Make it so number one.
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