Daylight Saving

I didn’t make it to church today.  I had thought I night wear a suit then I thought a jean skirt would be an idea.  I thought a tartan tie and leather overcoat or blue leggings with the mauve wool coat.  I was going in and out of a dream in my favourite place.  A peninsula with hunting in the woods above and sailboats in the harbour. I was in this Greek condo with beautiful people coming and going, I was looking for something. A treasure hunt in my own room,

I didn’t have anything planned today.  I’d hoped to go to church.  I wanted to meditate.  Be still and know that I am God.  Listening.  I thought of sex toys and bibles.  I miss the library days. Now I often get the same feeling outdoors typing up a journal.

I don’t think of mansions in the sky but more often brothels.  I’ve not been but I think of it.  My ascetism of younger years seems past glory, Today I wonder if this sojourn on life is just a planetary vacation from an energy existence.  It will all pass and I will be asked to write an essay on ‘what I did on my earth vacation,’

The people of the book talk about the ‘relationship with Jesus’.  I’m in touch. Speed dial communication. Hide and seek. I’m praying constantly or listening to the wee small voice. I love God.  

The idea of addiction and idolatry is thinking that this world is God.  Worldliness or asceticism. I’ve served for decades and devoted my life to others.  I’ve a very small window of debauchery and selfishness.  There’s no much time for  ‘partying’ when all you do is study, work and do call. Now I’m faced with a great vacation. I did a year bicycling a cross Europe, learning the limits of my education and Canadian propaganda. I studied geography, culture, literature and dance and love that year.  I came back to be a doctor.  A scholar and succeeded.  I had a ‘calling’.  A truly bright light spiritual awakening in a university chapel and that led to become a doctor. It started in a room in Oxford with a Quaker medical student and a daughter of a doctor.  I’d wanted to be a play wright. I was a dancer and an actor at the time. I became a monk. I meditated and prayed and chanted and studied.  I married again.  I didn’t want to be celibate and when marriage became such I moved on. That was the months of smoking dope. There’d been weeks of hashish in Morocco and drinking Guinness in London.

Then years of coffee and study and call and occasional weekends of drunken parties Christmas and Summer canoeing and work hard and play hard and a kind of adolescent dating between marriages.  More years of hard work and wine and pot. It’s legal now.  We thought we were bad for our tokes back then,  

“You’ve never drunk more wine than normal people do,’ the psychiatrists I spoke to told me.  

‘Your wife’s love of cocaine is a concern but smoking pot and drinking wine isn’t as big a concern as you make it. It must be difficult dealing with her depression and mood swings and violence, suicidal homicidal rages,  How long do you go without sex? “

Many months. 

And I worked and meditated and prayed and then I was free.  The drunken psychotics pedophiles objected to being pointed out. The white man hated the white man who served defended the natives. The drunken drug doing colleagues objected to your leaving.  The privileged and wealthy joined the lying ex who had gone to treatment  but detoured back to drugs and alcohol.  The authorities backed the lying psychopaths yet again.  

No wonder you turned back to Jesus.  He too was killed by government and church,.  He was perfect.  A son of god. You were adopted.  Imperfect but good hearted. You’d never hurt any one except you refused to lie for the authorities or wife and you stood up to evil over and over again.  Now again you became a monk.  Prayer and meditation,  Congregation.  Forgiveness. Acceptance.  You have to quit smoking. It didn’t matter what you smoked tobacco or pot but you’d quit for 4 months only to start again on a binge drinking session. A bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes.  Leave them behind.  A year of sacrifice and abstinence.  The ex wife preferred drugs and alcohol and lies. You couldn’t go back. 

You sailed away.

Solo sailing the winter pacific through hurricanes.  

Tropical islands and Jesus.  Theology classes for a decade.  Masters of Theology on line.  More papers and books and the Hound of Heaven,  Seeking Jesus.  God within God will come again. Learning Hebrew. Israel. Pilgrimages.  Rome, Ethiopia.  Ireland,

Now to my surprise I’m older and the Black Like Me adventure of transgender seems a direction to go. I’d planned to sail the Atlantic but solo my boat is dauntingly large.  I’d consider 30 fooot but not 40 foot though I love it.  I have trouble moving along accepting that my back hurts and could I bring the sails down in a storm. Do I want to?

All the women I’ve known complained of how tough their lives were. Always complaining. Always depressed.  I understood the mothers. Such a burden it is for me to have a dog I know men and women who don’t even keep a plant so their lives revolve around their bodies, Narcisists who insist they are spiritual and all their money goes to them and their epicurean lives. I’d rather have a bubble bath than fix an engine in the high seas. I’d rather call a tow truck than fix my truck beside the road. I’m tired of all the heavy lifting and hard work,

I no longer seek the most difficult cases. I worked with those who no one else wanted to see. I served in the areas of greatest need. I worked in the most dangerous and surreal surrounding. I’ve so often managed without any resources.I remember her only wanting to be in the middle of the university safe zone surrounded by the best of the best. I was a scout way beyond the wire and she never understood the ‘need’. 

“It’s just a job’, the fat cat woman resistrar said having spent a life in medicine doing the ‘easry’ ‘light lifting’ jobs and now functiong in all arrogance and stupidity as an apparatchik.  I’ve never received the ‘back pay’ I’d be entitled to if it was just a job. It was a profession, a calling, an act of service.  I got paid enough too little but never more,  My now dead friend and I figured we’d never been paid minimum wage by the hours we devoted.

But now I’m questioning what to do to keep on going,

Hunting, fishing, sailing no longer are the avocational pursuits that balanced work. The travel, always pilgrimages, the study of theology, the practice of the spirituality of imperfection no longer move me,

I”ve paid my dues and then some,

What do I do now? 

I could have a new identity, Take hormones, get breasts, a face lift. I don’t need my penis or testicles.  I’m rejected as a DNA donor . The baby I could have had aborted, The women who had children preferred to have babies with the bad boys but want the safe and caring guys to take care of them and be their ‘friend’ in old age.  The world is increasingly populated by ‘bad boys’ children.  The girls of my feminist era had abortions and gave up the land and heritage to the Son of the Great Abortionsist Trudeau could invite the Muslim hoards with countless children and wives to take over the country while excluding the Catholics from South America who like bikinis and don’t want to kill homosexuals.

I’m bisexual. I love and loved girls but they became angry and blamed men for the acts of politicians and judges.  They told lies and I was among the ‘falsely accused’ , and the authorities angry at Christians or those who weren’t ‘unethical as they’ used the lies to attack.  I’ve been castrated by my government. I’m Klinger.  I’d rather wear a dress, identification with the aggressor or imitation, the sincerest form of flattery.

All over old men are attacked.  The old women fair better..  Better to be a Molly in a dictatorship.  If rape is inevitable better to lie back and enjoy it. I was sodomized by the government and the government protected the false accusers and sodomite rapists.  

I don’t want to struggle.  

I’m older and I’ve done my 40 days alone with God.  So many people think they know God but they don’t fast from this world like that. I’ve fasted from food for weeks and alcohol, cigarettes , marijuana , for decades. I went without sex for years and some of that in marriage.

What if this sojourn on earth is just an adventure,

Buddha went on about ‘reincarnaton’ and wanting to escape Maya. Why?  All life is suffering. Kierkegard,  Life is suffering unto death,  Namaste Badaste. We all die.  I do believe in reincarnation.  I continue my consciousness here or in heaven. Jews believed in reincarnation. Christians did to till Emperor Constantine at the Nicene Creed rejected the idea.

So I continue. I woke up today. This life goes on,  Life is better when I’m hopeful and positive.  The law of attraction does apply.

But if I fuck a stranger or a man will I attacked negativity.  Fucking spreads disease We’ve been collectively isolated from others. No touch, Covid. Avoid intimacy. APA says depression is all time high 3 x the rate of before the lockdowns, The Overdose and relapse death appalling,

Yet we persist in the 1950’s ‘Bad Bug, Magic Bullet” model of disease, the one I left for the multi factorial psychosomatic reality of psychiatry and immunology in the day. Where did we go wrong?

I can’t question anything or the authorities will hurt me. They have hurt me again and again for doing right and telling the truth,. They hurt me and shamed me and humiliated me and wasted my precious time with their mediocrity, a collection of drones who failed to study Nuremberg, the banality of evil. I would rather treat the stinking sick street person than listen to the inanity of hypocrites who are chosen for the fear and shallow loyalty.

I have no children ,They may take the jobs for fear. There is one who is scab labour and using the position to promote a divisive agenda.  

It’s all politics.

If this is a prison, it’s a pretty nice prison. I made great chilli yesterday. I have this dog friend. Like the cult classics a boy and his dog I’m well dressed, Netflix and prime. So many good movies. Great books though I’m tired of the similarities.  It’s all transparent. I grow weary of the narratives like the stupidity of politics and the illusion of change.

I was pinned by him as his cock tore open my anus. I was crying with pain. The shame came later. I bled from my anus for days.  The sperm must have been there too. This ‘hard man’ bred me.  I would only ask for a little time to day.  Maybe some lubricant. I’m no longer an anal virgin,  He took great pleasure in my pain and his hard cock ripping me apart as he slammed me down, holding me down, his weight and his strength controlling and dominating me till he released his seed in me and I was left damaged and bleeding, 

Years later I’d work in jails with psychopaths and sit in board rooms with men who ordered the knee capping of others, I have known enforcers and security who ‘were just doing their jobs’ and others who said “ I had to have him removed.  He was hurting my business.  I need money to put my children through university.’  So many people I’ve known say’ everyone lies’, “everyone cheats’.  “Everyone “.  ,No they don’t . Psychopaths and sociopaths do and we all have a bit of that,  But most people don’t know the real ones, They think their ‘ex’ was one because they don’t like their ex.  But you change your perspective on relavitive reality when the barrel of the gun is behind your ear or in your face.  

I just muddle on, I like walking the dog.  I like working, I know the pharmacy and diagnosis, I can be a cog in the machine,  I’m a team player on a good team offering help and solace. I’m like the parts guy at the service department.  I used to feel I needed to do everything in my power to get you well. I prayed all night, I read literature from around the world. I treated everyone as special, I gave the care to anyone only the prime minister gets here. Now I do as I’m told. I’ts ‘good enough’ and ‘better than so many’.  I’m okay. I’m no longer the best.  I’m past my shelf life.,  I wonder how long I can do this,  It’s not sustaining,  It pays the mortgage.  It’s ‘right livelihood’.  I’m still doing good in the world.  

I believe I’m still doing God’s will Thy will be done not my will.

It’s not much fun for me.  I miss the intimacy of sex. I miss the adventure of travel. I miss the challenge of the impossible dream. I’m grateful.  I’m okay. Tm blessed and looking back on my life it’s a miracle.  I’m still alive after the many deaths I faced and those who threatened me are no more.  I thanked Archangel Michael for his protection.  I feel I’ve been repeatedly avenged and I still do God’s work.

I imagined old age a pipe and wood jacket writing in a library, maybe teaching but not in a politically correct dictatorship with feminists waiting to hear a word that they can take to the thought police and play out their ‘save the world from men’ designs denying that all the greatest killers were supported and celebrated by a woman and they all had mothers. So suddenly Eva Brawn is a victim too, I’m so weary of the maggots crawling off the dead body of Marx.  

I almost thought to teach medicine in Ethiopia but I don’t know the language so I thought of anywhere they speak English and imagined I know a lot compared to most an how I’d like to share what I know of clinical psychiatry. I’d be that old man in Oxford but now it’s young women who demand those places and they don’t want old white men who are the enemy.

Like King Lear I’d talk of courts things

I fluctuate between hope and indifference. I imagine the Quebec judge who works wearing a gown and robed and eye shadow I like the General who fat like me enjoys wearing a bikini and doesn’t seen to care she doesn’t look anything but a rather plain old lady.  The transexuals who are old don’t look so different from the old ladies and we do about the same.  

I could talk to a psychiatrist again. The specialist in gender I saw said that my cross dressing wasn’t sexual but rather a way of dealing with anxiety. He ddin’t think I’d benefit fro a sex change and it’s obvious I prefer women when they don’t want to use me , abuse me or are insane or self serving.  They say in AA the Al Anon’s who don’t practice a program are crazier than the craziest ‘sober’ drunk who doesn’t practice a program.  ‘Be ware of them the psychiatrists always tell me,’ “You are their drug and they’re bring you down to their level.’

Isolation is addiction Participation is recovery. So many people surround themselves with their “mirrors’.  I’m alone and together.  

They cannot play when they are afraid There’s always manipulation and control and they lie to themselves.

I’m glad the ultrasound device has scared off the mouse who came in from the cold.  I’d thought to get a cat but the little blue light works so much better. I miss a cat. They inhabited this world and the other.  I love when the other touches.  

I didn’t go to church today. I walked the dog and he’s due for another round of his sniffing spots.  Probably should walk him again in the rain, breathing deep, thanking God for life.  Even the confusion.  

Tues, Covid, Summer, Gilbert

Yesterday was rudely hot. I wilted inside working. Gilbert with his heart disease found breathing toughest.  At the end of the day I hopped on the Harley to get the mail. I picked up a fan for my office.  London Drugs only had USB desk fans.  Canadian Tire had a wall of fans.  I have air conditioning but if I have it on high it flips the breakers.  Low it helps.

I love the heat.  Outside it was glorious to stand soaking in the sun. The problem is working. Sunshine is good for improving the immune response to Covid.  Vitamin D3. Love it. I could lie on my lawn chair all day and looking. I am forward to the weekend to do just that.  I did a little last weekend. With the fan I hope to survive another day of work. I Remember working in the tropics, stifling. All one needed was a breeze. Then it was heaven.

There are moments when I just feel good for no reason. It’s warm. I’ve food and water and shelter. I’ve vehicles. It’s summer in the city. I’ve a long list of positive memories which flow through me. Outside with friends as kids, playing in the sun, baseball, hide and seek, tag. All those good time memories in the sunshine. Later it’s swimming in lakes,then fishing, and later sailing in the tropics.  

Now I’m here in the middle of this glorious season of warmth and cheer. I’m sitting during the day in a rather dark room in front of video screens and talking on cell phones questioning if this is wise.  I work.  I get paid. The evil government takes the money and abuses my trust and faith.  Criminals have coopted Canada. Billions of dollars have gone missing. Terrorists and money laundering are all the rage.  

Meanwhile I’m working.  Quieting the fear.  Each day at least once ,sometimes more, I feel what I’m doing is really important. Mostly I’m keeping the system rolling, greasing the wheels, oiling the cogs. So many bits of paper needed in the paper mill. I have to sign my name to it.  It seems frivolous at times but then there’s that one when it’s critical.

 I go through the motions.  Then a secret is disclosed. The knots unravel, the abscess is broken. The healing comes in.  It’s occasionally a deluge of pus, like yesterday.  I said the right thing. The knife made the cross incision in abscess so long hidden protected. The truth was out. The healing began.  So many years of pain and shame.  I was glad to be there and thought I’d not have said what I said thirty years ago. Yet somehow what I said was necessary. Truth and timing. Itworked perfectly. Mostly it’s baby steps.  Cleaning away debris.  Weeding.  I putter and muddle along , mostly taking for granted what is now second nature.

I remembered when all I wanted was to be a good doctor. I remembered when medicine was my first love. I remembered my youth. I’m often reflecting on that time now when I know and there’s not the daily eureka and the mystery and the uncertainty.  Now I’d like a SPECT scan and Functional MRI.  I’m tired of third world medicine in a first world country seeing all the parasites and lies.  But it has its feeling good days.  I”m an odd bit.  Near the end rather than the beginning of a career. Wondering if this is what I should still be doing.  I dream of driving a camper across the country for three months.  Like the sailing escape. Or the travelling.  What is it I would learn then.  Do I need to go back to university and study something new. I’ve achieved most of my major goals. 

I’m accomplished. Doing what I do now is second nature.  I’m more than good enough. I’m a thousands times better than the bureaucrats by any measure. They don’t even know it.  Their arrogance and ignorance are still mind boggling.  Herding cats. Now I’m just doing as they say.  I’m not going to fight the stupidity any more.  I’m worn out from that.  It’s what sucks my own energy, living in fear of government thugs with suits and fake smiles.  And lies. Low brow barbarians.  I’m tired of the lies and more lies. The threat of communist invasion wears on me. More stupid Herods, Marx and Nero’s.

I have amazing dreams these days.  I dreamed of being at Oxford with a friend from Cambridge and we’d developed a new glue that held universities together. It was just a bit of the roofing we were saving, a place where we’d brought the roof together and the experiment had worked. It remained now to heal all the holes where the rain had gone through.  We were smiling, shaking hands, thankful for our success.  

Gilbert woke me through the night, his heart worsening. He’s resting now. In the heat he had such a hard time yesterday getting his breath. I rubbed his chest asking God as I do to heal him, thy will be done. I don’t know if he would best die faster or revive. There was a time when laying on hands I’d heal. But today I don’t know. Would it be better. What am I to learn from his illness. I held him this morning till he calmed and his breathing restored.  He’s sleeping now. 

I know I’ve been blessed with healing. A Gift. My mother was that way with plants. I’ve almost willed people back to life in youth when I had faith to move mountains. Now I’m struggling with the gargantuan stupidity of politicians and money men and greed.  The bullies are so stifling.  Now it’s the communists.  Always the shallow and superficial , hardened criminals , the image ever of the Buddhists in prayer and the Communist Chinese killing them en mass with their machine guns. 

 The Quakers and Mennonites with their pacifiscism escaped to Canada. Kindly musical intelligent people. I loved their outlook on life. Acceptance.  Now I don’t know. I don’t know where to escape. I do the next right thing. I don’t drink. I don’t drug. I don’t take many unnecessary risks. Riding a motorcycle is insane but eating can cause death. My friend looks at the shelf dates. 

I see everything as rituals and what we do to meet the fear.  Existential fear.  Fear of not breathing. Fear of death.  Denial and humor.  I call on God always, everywhere. I pray. I ask for protection. I asked that God help Gilbert. I know he healed the fear but I don’t know that Gilbert will live much longer.  Thy will, not my will, be done.

Covid continues.  More and more people are taking it in stride. At the Post Office I remember the early days, the fear, the empty mall.  Now there are masked folk going about their day. On Facebook there’s anger and fear.  I see the Communist Chinese hand in the BLM.  It was the same in the 60’s and 70’s. Putin talked of his work in the peace movement , encouraging it for the sake of USSR war machine. George Soros is a traitor, destroyer.  Trudeau’s friend. You know a man by his associates. He was on Epstein’s island with Clinton.

It’s all about my pay grade. Freedom.  I am blessed with relative freedom.  I’ve had a wonderful life but asked about relationships on the weekend thought first about God. We play hide and seek always. At least I do.  I see God in the eyes of family and friends.  Now God is in my dog . I’m asking about Jesus and Lazarus. But  he’s an old dog. I’m an old dog.

 Life is very good but death holds no fear. I believe so much in the other side that I believe I’m there in my dreams. I see this other world so clearly, my boat, my mother, the sea and peninsula, the friends. It’s Greek like, Mediterranean.  I loved Robin Williams in what dreams may come.. My idea of heaven.  

There is no hell except for those who don’t want heaven.  The law of attraction.  The godless who know only lust and believe it love. 

Now I’m waiting. I really do feel I’m sort of on the bench. There’s probably another 30 good years to go for me. Maybe one or two for Gilbert.  We’re in this together.  Covid. It’s got a year maybe. But the war with China, that’s something different. I don’t want communism.  The bureaucrats I’ve know with their petty vendettas and stupidity have been a view of such a world where the loyal swagger and greed is all that matters. I remember the utter wastes of time and resources and humans I experienced working in government services.   The lowest common denominator.  

Now I don’t know.  I really don’t know. I just live day to day in this sitting in the box watching the game waiting to be called in for a part. I have these moments when I’m on the ice then I’m not.  I’m certainly no star. Just a player in a game. The Kazoo in the symphony of life. But it’s good.

I’d like to be on a beach today. I’d like to be swimming. But as I’ve done for 50 years I’ll go to work and do my part and feel self pity about all the slackards starting with our PM.

Oh well, one day I’ll ask St. Peter what that was all about. Then I’ll know the answer. I’d like that.  Heaven is a place where I learn the answers to all the questions I’ve had that I never knew the answer to.  In the meantime I’ll hoe a new roe, chop wood and carry water and be of service.  I hope. I pray.

Last Supper

Luke 22
The Last Supper was the last passover meal that Jesus had with his disciples. It was thought to occur in the Upper Room but later archeological findings have questioned the location where this supper occurred.  Da Vinci's painting was made much of in Brown's novel made into the movie, Da Vinci code.  The placement of the disciples around the table remains a matter of speculation.
it was where Jesus said "I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer."
The Passover supper of Judaism was the rite initiated by Moses from the time when Israelites were told to paint their doors with blood and hyssop to protect them.  On that occasion the first born of the Egyptians were killed while the Israelites were spared.  It was then that the Pharaoh let the Israelites go.
Hence the significance of the Passover Supper with Jesus being the first born sacrifice by which individuals might escape from the bondage of this world.
It is here that the rite of mass, of communion and of eucharist is stated.
"After taking the cup, he gave thanks and said, "Take this and divide it among you. For I tell you I will not drink again from the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes."
"And he took break, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them saying, "This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me."
"In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you."
Jesus has been called the "Servant King".  It is in Luke 22 that the reason for this is found.  At  the Last Supper Jesus said, "The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those who exercise authority over them call themselves Benefactors. But you are not to be like that. Instead the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves. For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who is at the table? But I am among you as one who serves."

The Last Supper at Westminster Abby England