Dreams

I believe dreams are a special reality. Dr. Carl Jung called them the "collective unconscious".  I believe they are this and more, as sometimes my dreams show me what I believe is heaven.  The best of dreams include my former dogs returning to visit and visits from deceased family members.  Those are most comforting. I've always loved Robin Williams movie, "What dreams may come." Our sense of linear time is illusion like so many of our other subjective perceptions.  Working as I have so long with mental processes and the so called mentally ill I've gaine a fine appreciation for the diversity of possibilities or potential of experience.
This morning I woke from the deepest of dreams.  I didn't know what the sound of the alarm clock was.  It took me time to find it and turn it off. I was only slowly coming to my awareness in this present state. it's like that sometimes, like I've cross over into another life or a different dimension.
I was so engaged in my dream.  I remember flying with explorer Anthony in his white experimental plan. He aimed it first for what looked like a round rifle sight. We were literally skimming flat over the surface of this peninsula with me fearing we'd crash only to lifted upwards when we passed this little peak the height of a house and then we were aerobatic.  We shot straight up at incredible speed and the ride was a sensational rush.  I remember trusting Anthony and thinking I'm glad that I do.  There were a couple of others in this incredible machine with me but I don't remember who.
Then in another fragment I was at a conference in Turkey with an old gay friend, all of us researchers and doctors.  I was interested in a pamphlet which disappeared.  I was thankful to be with this old school friend but feeling he'd changed little and glad to meet two friends I suspected were gay though frankly I never knew, only I felt safe in their company and appreciative of their wisdom and life experience. One was Dave. I had that sense of being in a socially awkward moment in a foreign country feeling lll at ease and there was Dave smiling and so trustworthy. I remember relaxing but then going into the scientific conference and seeing that the pamphlets were now no longer in the lobby but under view in the main room.  A rather suspicious little man suddenly thrust a red and black poster in my hand saying this was the one you wanted.
The poster was like those I'd seen from the old Soviet era in Ulyanovsk in the Lenin museum.  Black and red and loud. I'd just been telling someone how Lenin's house was the ultimate in beurgeosie and his family socialized with the czar.  I remember rolling this poster up and fearing that if I were caught with it I'd potentially go to jail. It was some 'radical' , an intellectual I didn't know. But there was so much intrigue and espionage in the air and people about were so thrilled. I was somehow caught up in this fervour.
I remember a girl too, pretty and warm.  We were walking and talking near the water.  I felt safe in her company too.
Then I was in a drawing room and the men were discussing Donald Trump in lowered voices not quite whispers. The gay men were welcoming him as the only force which would still the jihadist forces that would kill them.  We had to remember this was in Turkey where the leadership longed for return of the Ottoman Empire. All over Europe there were these individuals from the upper classes who wanted the 'old days', the French their Napoleonic era, the German's the days of Bismarck, the English , their days of Victorian Empire.  It was a heady place with all the competing elements and these extremely worldly narcissistic fiercely nationalistic voices all threatened and overwhelmed by Trump. America was number one in the world and no one wanted diversity or democracy or any such public consumption idea, they all just wanted to be number one.  They wanted to have their old glory and to take back the position of leadership from Trump. Quite in contrast to the views of opposition forces at home he was considered in this discussion a genius and greatest of leaders, a regular Washington, de Gaulle , or Churchill or Bismarck.  The views were those of leaders who merely admired greatest, like a collection of Martial artists standing about after the world champion has been declared, discussing his attributes.  There was an element of the Hessian Glass Bead Game in that room, something of a library, where men through the ages had discussed kings and queens like one might football or hockey or soccer coaches.  There wasn't any of the partisan stupidity but simply admiration and a lack of speculation about where he was going. The future was unknown just as it had been when Stalin and Monty and Patton had been walking on the face of the earth.
Because this was Turkey and so many old communists were among the jihadists I felt they kept their voices low and I was a listener but just by being there caught up in the intrigue and knowing that outside of America and indeed in fewer places even in the west this conversation that was so original and pragmatic could not go on without risk to the lives of the individuals. I loved these men talking openly among themselves knowing that they so wanted freedom and yet here we were all potentially facing jail for just participating in discussion.
Politics and religion are topics that are taboo in most of the world.
I thought fondly of my friends and found myself walking down corridors in this grand old hotel where the conference was occurring.  I was carrying this poster and didn't even know the man and had been involved in a political discussion and I had openly gay friends and had myself such history and now was in a country where I could be arrested and tortured for my sexuality, my political belief and my Christian faith.
I awoke from this exciting heady dream and felt youthful again, like I had when I'd left home and gone to Europe and encountered so many ideas and later studied at the university.  I laught when I think of the abuse of the word 'diversity' by those who fear anything but their own echo chambers.  White is black and black is white in the midst of change. The adage 'confusion is the harbinger of change' goes right along with 'cloud of unknowing' and 'fog of war'.  The present media favourites speak with a certainty that shows the limits of their exploration. Always there is uncertainty and fear with such uncertainty. The ancients spoke of 'awe' with talk of God and change.  The silly think they want change but mostly they just want dominance and escape.  The Chinese blessing and curse is , "may you live in interesting times'.
I'm in an unsettling move.  Kim Jong sun is shooting nuclear missiles over Japan.  China and Russia seem still allies despite one being Christian and the other aetheist.  The Middle East is ever uncertain with Israel the only sanity in the region and increasingly Canada joining with blood thirsty monarchs over the friendship of Jews increasingly persecuted as Christians are in this new 'progressive' and 'tolerant' society of increasing hate and violence within.
I was comforted by my dream.  I thought of my friend Anthony flying that plane and Dave being at the conference and the sweet girl by the sea. It was all reassuring but fascinating and full of intrigue. I felt was an observer in a James Bond movie though more likely I'd be in a Flashman novel somehow.
Now I'm coming into this world and have to face those in the downtown epidemic, helping and cajoling and begging and selling sobriety and abstinence. I'm invested and present. I want my patients to live. I know it's the de rigor to be detached and cold , just giving out the medication. But I've been through watching my brother sick and dying with his doctors and those I most admired and those he most was enliverned by were terribly human as I am.  I am dominated and ruled by cold Confuscian beurocrats who make rules and stay as far from reality as their desks can place them but they are ego driven and demand we all mirror them.  Some colleagues dress like government beurocrats and lawyers.  Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I fear I should cut my hair and forego my sandals but take comfort in my colleague who comes to work in shorts and my other colleague who has such a sense of humor having escaped from a country which was like ours is sadly becoming. Her charm and wisdom comfort me.
This world is as exciting as my dream. Yesterday the ride to work on the Harley was exhilarating. Today I've got to drop off the laundry so much take the sports car. Gilbert my dog will enjoy coming along.  Soon he'll have George as company and I'm looking forward to the weekend with Laura.  Both our homes are in dishevelled disarray as we're both moving.  I'm making major headway on the clutter and now just must discard more and more to make my place simpler.

Wreck Beach -Vancouver's Nudist Beach

It was my annual, every 10 year, day at Wreck Beach.
I drove the Harley over to West Marine. I bought the last two zinc straps that fit my sailboat.  It was a very hot day.  I drove on to Jericho and Spanish Banks. The ocean looked lovely. The beaches were full of beautiful people sunbathing, swimming, playing beach volleyball. Vancouver sky line idyllic.
 I didn’t bring my bathing suit.  Wreck Beach was just a short ways on. UBC is a terrific campus.  I  parked the motorcycle leaving my leathers and boots in the locking saddlebags. Thankfully, I had my sandals along from boat painting.
It’s a long hike down to the beach.  I was impressed with the new installed state of the art washroom facilities.  I think I peed in the ocean or the bushes the first time I came to Wreck beach some quarter century past.  It was less a carnival then and more people were naked.  There was a clandestine outlaw atmosphere with people selling drugs on the beach.  Lots of sex in the bushes.  Hippies and such.
Now it’s uptown with party boats in the bay.  I walked down to the far end.  Along the way I noticed that the ugly women were mostly clothed.  They should have put bags over their heads.  I think clothed people at a nude beach are like the people who don’t wear costumes to costume parties.  They’re the same ones who don’t bring toilet rolls to Rocky Horror Picture Shows.  Immature voyeurs.  Sick puppies. The adults were sunbathing nude.
Maybe half the beach was naked. Lots of topless women young and old.  Lots of guys dangling.  Some really dangling. One fellow in particular dancing with iPhone and ear plugs.  Bouncing. Naked he had no pocket, for his iPhone.  He was holding that.   Bouncing. Odd sight without the music accompaniment.   I wasn’t looking anyone in the face. Mostly looking straight ahead.  Certainly didn't stare.
I’ve been on Wreck Beach only about a half dozen times over the years, mostly it’s a tourist thing.  Something  I do sometime when I’m in Vancouver to remember we have this place.  Like doing the Grouse Grind. I’ve done that about as many times too.
Last year I took my little motor boat over to Wreck Beach and swam ashore leaving Gilbert onboard at anchor.  Stepped ashore and turned right around and swam back to Gilbert. I was mostly testing out the engine and gas range.  It was an event. I still remember  the old brown leathery guy and gal who looked like forever sun lovers.
This year it seemed less like the Wreck Beach of bygone years, where people went to smoke dope and drink, but more like the European nude beach. Maybe it was because so many girls had their bottoms on. Also there wasn’t the men’s part at the end.  I remember decades back when I’d been down this far and it was all guys, a very gay beach scene. Not any more.  Not today. I was looking for “privacy” and walked all the way to the end. There were women and men all the way out where the guys had once been.  I found my secluded bit and undressed. For a bit I burned.  I’m celtic.  I got red and hot then went for a swim with a seal.  I slipped going in.  Noticed my wrist bleeding when I got out.
A fully clothed chinese girl stopped to talk to me. I was staunching the blood with my towel, naked. She kept taking peaks. I wasn’t offended.  I couldn’t help but think of all the women who’d shown off cleavage and then had hissy fits.  I noticed on the way back the women were all peaking.  Not at me. But at the other blokes.  I’d just been swimming so had an excuse like George Castanzas.  A sea gull was staring at me.  I got in my jeans and climbed a million stairs up to the road. I think I’m ready for the Grouse Grind again.
I could go back now. it’s just a nude beach. Like Europe.  Probably with everyone into medicinal marijuana they don't have the energy to climb down to and up from Wreck Beach.  They’re all wasted on their couches in the city.  Wreck Beach is where the traditional healthy nudists are hanging out along with the beautiful topless university girls.  The gays are no longer a city there either because they have so many other places to be.  Men and women are mixing. The whole gay straight thing is breaking down.
I was impressed that I got to swim in the ocean naked. That's something I usually do from my sailboat.  It was heavenly.  A perfect day. The way it started I didn't think I was going to get off the deck chair.
I loved riding the motorcycle back from Kits to Burnaby.  Gilbert was glad to have me back so I could throw him the ball all the while I barbecued.  Summer in the city.


  

Stonewall Inn, Greenwich Village

When poor weather caused a layover in Newark, I made the best of it by taking a train to Greenwhich Village.  There I came upon Stonewall Inn, the famed site of the start of the 1969 Stonewall Riots.  The Stonewall Riots are associated mostly with the Gay Activism of the 60's that paralleled the Civil Rights movements of the day. What I found interesting about Stonewall when I first read of this confrontation between the New York City Police and the patrons of Stonewall Inn was that in fact the altercation was between 'men in frocks' , "drag queens', "transvestites', "cross dressers' and police. This spectacle of the armed  "men in blue" losing the fight to the "boys in pink tootoos" must have been something to behold.

At the time as today all women are 'cross dressing' and 'tranvestic' in America whereas men in 'skirts' even 'kilt wearing' Scots are still subject to discrimination and abuse. Jesus with his long hair and robes would no doubt face discrimination by the New York Police Department then for 'appearances'. as he previously ran afowl of the police of his day for "substance" , insisting that the true God was 'loving' not "punishing".

The police discrimination and abuse of the 60's was not about 'sexual orientation' but rather about 'conformity', especially to dress code.  The vast majority of 'cross dressing' men are indeed heterosexual.  The book "Pink Swastika" records the Nazi acceptance in the SS of homosexual men and pedophiles but condemnation and persecution of the effeminate gay males.  The book "Transgender Warriors" records the history of cross dressing in social activism as portrayed best by the "Molly Maquires" of agrarian reform group who commonly disquised themselves as women.

At Stonewall Inn a Dolly Parton look alike was doing a splendid job of entertaining.  The audience was mixed and joined in on the chorus lines.  As bars go it was rather upscale and conservative, not at all like the mafia owned speakeasy of an earlier era.  I'd just been to Disney World in Orlando where I'd bought a Harley Davidson t shirt and now bought a Stonewall Inn tshirt in keeping with being a tourist.  I'd spoken in Orlando with another aging psychiatrist, one who I'd met first as 'he' before 'she' became 'she' with a sex change.  Our conversations invariably seem most about RV's and favourite trailer courts, as this is our latest shared interest.  I have no idea about her sex life any more than she has any idea about mine.  We are friends.  The fact is I don't know much about my friends sex lives and don't particularly care to.  I think it's a terribly perverse and sick society that had such an inordinate amount of interest in whatever went on between consenting adults in the 'bedrooms of the nations' , to borrow a phrase from former Canadian PM Troudeau. 

I am thankful today that there is no more tacky street wrestling between the 'men in blue' and the 'boys in pink tootoos' no matter how titillating this might have been for some on both sides.  That must have been a truly obscene spectacle.  Having that night in Times Square met, Brandon Stanton, the photographer for "Humans of New York" I realize today's 'spectacles' are a whole different kind than the days of frock wearing Benny Hill and Monty Python.  Cross dressing Scottish comedian Eddie Izzard is truly mainstream. One imagines that with the Mars probe "Curiosity" doing its thing, it's a good thing judges, once very fond of their pretty wigs,  can today admit a world in which male fashion might one day catch up to the Olympic  front running cross dressing females in a beyond "uni sex" celebration of the diversity of appearance.  Developmentally, adolescence is the time of greatest 'conformity'.  The 'global' world today has more matters of 'substance' to address.

Today I was very impressed by  the New York Police Department's presence in the streets of New York.    I, for one, am thankful for them making New York safe for tourists like me.  Times Square was amazing with the hoards of people and the sense of a perpetual party in the city 'that never sleeps'.   The New York Police Department Command Centre there was a welcome sight today.