Explanation

It’s decades ago now. You did the right thing, You told the truth.  You faced evil and you were noticed. You knew you’d touched something only because your life was threatened seriously , not just the calls at night though there were those. What was more significant were the false accusations and character assasiantions. Then the threats to family and friends.  I knew I was right by the reaction I caused.  It’s an involuted world, politics and power.  I was scared.  I was suitably impressed.

I decided then to be vulnerable. I had learned that money and power allowed you to write and rewrite history.  Leaders like Trudeau only get their position because of their pedophilic tendencies.  The leadership that is the ‘face’ of power only allow men and women with secrets and vulnerabilities to hold positions so that should they need to they will expose them with a picture of them have sex with little girls or animals or killing someone’s brother or wife.  It’s leverage.  I learned that back then.  I was still naive.  I didn’t realize I was a coward then.  

They threatened to abolish my mind. Really.  I could be disappeared.  That was clear but the discussion hinged on my losing my self if I continued.  

After I knew I had no defence but truth.  I opted for stream of consciousness.  I realized there were no secrets from “them’.  ‘They’ were the E.E. Cummings ‘them’.  They were the rulers of this world.  

I told the truth in the world of ‘relative’ truth, in the post rational , godless , uncultured world where language obcured meaning rather than clarifying.  I kept a record. It was a journal. I laughed quite recently when a very angry insane person told me that I was more insane than them as if they had a measure of more or less.  The dipstick had gone long ago. We were all on empty.  Spiritual bankruptcy.  Incomprehensible demoralization.  I chose God and Good and kept a record of the search amidst chaos and confusion.  It was an effort. It was a trail of bread crumbs. It was canaries in a tunnel.

I have books to write and these wanderings are exercises and scales.  I could do better.  I intermittently write something in meaningful prose. I once was only a poet.  I was even a journalist when it wasn’t a dirty word.  Before we learned that the Pulitzer Prize like other awards were messages from ‘them’.  E.E.Cummings was right like the author of civil disobedieance and Walden Pond. I would have liked to have stayed on my homestead. I miss the geese and chickens.

Tomorrow is a total eclipse of the sun day.  I’m thinking Carly Simon and love.  What message is this for me.  I met James Taylor and don’t know if he was on heroin or not.  A lot of writing now seems affected by the drug of the writer.  Parts of the bible. Prophets for sure.  I was just looking at Chumash Native cave paintings and reading of hallucinogens.  Veils and desire. Buddha and the Celts.  Influences of family and mitochondrial DNA.  What next shall we learn of ourselves from looking outside and past. The future is the desired effect.  Yet we all die. There’s comedy and tragedy in that. Denial of Death truly one of the greatest books of psychiatry.  

I spent days struggling to breathe.  A ‘cold’.  Friends of died of Covid and Age.  I have chinks in my armor of invulnerability.  Again the delirium scared me.  I couldn’t pray. I’d start a prayer and become distracted unable to remember the rest, memory and concentration stolen by fever and chills. Humility setting in big time.  

I am the bubble make me the sea.  The terror of the ego. The scream on the bridge.  I trust God and fear being alone in that moment.  

Now the sun rises in the morning.  I had my dog beside me. My neighbour Nicolina gave me chicken noodle soup.  Laura walked Madigan and laughed.  Dr. Ready adjusted my back too long in bed.  

It’s all self indulgences.  Mental wanking as the Aussie’s would say.

I like to squeeze the pus out of my brain.  It clears the cobwebs from the attic and lets the bats fly free.  

I’m still very tired.  But I’m tasting coffee and that’s a blessing like all the blessings. Thank you Jesus.  

Saturday March 14, 2020

I began this blog with several aims:
1. It was to be a journal. I’ve kept journals since I was a teen. I have cardboard boxes of years of life, all the woes and Suffering of Poor Werther, the jobs and work and enlightenment, the friends and wives and family  Even I find it boring and repetitive.  Yet I didn’t like it when my ex wife at a moment of evil spite stole these very personal accounts.  She by contrast didn’t care for history and destroyed history of various kinds.  She didn’t like the truth and preferred a marketed image reality.  I never knew how deeply disturbed some folk were until I saw how she could twist the truth and thoroughly believe her lies and reject the evidence directly in front of her. She was called a borderline personality disorder what was once called a female sociopath.  I was gaslighted.  Her narcissism learned in the drama and trauma of her childhood long before I encountered the fall out was a defence terribly constructed.  I actually had the arrogance to believe I could ‘rescue’ her from her self loathing and conniving and her perspective of rank paranoia.  I truly believed and still do that I am a child of God and a channel of that love when I am not myself afraid or twisted.  The experiment failed and I was quite thankful to get out alive .  The women in the family had a history of attempted murder and mayhem.  I am thankful that I come from similar stock and we both found ourselves channelling our ancestors who lived by tooth and nail.  I left when her physical violence and drug addiction became too much.  She was right , I didn’t love her enough. I was afraid. I fell back to my first life saving course where I learned that to be of any use I must not die in the process of rescuing another.  I’ve probably never forgiven myself that weakness.  What kind of male praying mantis am I not to offer my head Saint John like to the queen’s whim. So the journal is a personal account of skewed reality seen through the eyes of subjectivity and self pity.
2. I wanted to keep a record of my writing of my profession and the ideas and observations I had in psychiatry and addiction. I’m a specialist in medicine and I have always planned to write some books about the good in my fields of endeavour, hopefully sharing insights and experiences.  I put together a books based on these writing and musings using a cut and paste and edit method which was partly successful.  When I published my first book of poetry I was interested in learning the ‘art form publishing’ but wasn’t that interested in it.  I live everything to do with writing and once had a total fascination with fountain pens,  inks and paper. .  Now I love my word processor and keyboard.  I’m presently working on a cut and paste book about the life of my dog taking the pictures and writing of our journeys together from my blog.  I have the outline for a book on psychiatry and a book on recovery and will incorporate cut and paste items from the blog when I get down to actually producing this greater work, the book
3.  I wanted to share my thoughts and experiences of God and spirituality. I’ve been on about God since I was a child and praying by my bedside with my mother, going to church, becoming the president of the amalgamated baptist youth groups, teaching sunday school, studying theological at University of Winnipeg, becoming a yogi disciple in the 70’s, studying comparative religions, doing courses in Christian Spirituality at St. Mark’s Catholic College, Regent College, Vancouver School of Theology, and taking on line courses in Hebrew as well as attending Bible Study with the Baptist, United Church of Canada, Anglicans and Pentecostal all the while learning more about Buddhism and Taoism and Suffism, meditating for decades formally, with monks and religious leaders, attending ashram and eventually getting a master degree in theological studies of spiritulaity on line from the University of California. I thought it marvellous that the original school I’d done ‘experience diploma’ with got bought by Pakistan and was eventually shamed by the mainstream. What irony.  Shocking.  I continue to play hide and seek with God, am a Christian and pray all the time, meditating daily and enjoy best talking about God in the presence of others, considering that Jesus said, where two or more are gathered in my name there too am I.  So at least Gilbert and I are gathering in Jesus’s name daily.  Jesus means ‘god within’ and Christ means ‘god will come again’.
4. I was once a ‘yuppie’ very upper middle class, in the midst of the leaders and shakers of the world and hob nabbed with the greats.  I loved the phrase ‘lives of quiet desperation’.  I had trained as a psychiatric psychotherapist and loved Jung’s terms “persona and shadow’.  I was interested in the ‘self’ and the finding of the ‘core self’ and the freeing of patients ‘creativity’.  I was trained to confront and challenge and very much enjoyed releasing people from their demons. My first interest was personality disorder especially borderlines.  I came to see how borderline personality disorder was untreated post traumatic stress disorder until proven otherwise. I was able to watch patient after patient in therapy with me become free and move along on their developmental course.  Mental health is the ability to love, work and play.  So I used the external qualifiers as evidence of successful therapy.  Men and women alone went on to marry.  Women had children.  Workers were promoted. Students went from failing to getting A’s.  Loners connected with their communities.  Suicidals stopped trying to kill themselveds.  Paranoids learned to trust again.  Phobics overcame their phobias.  It was clearly ‘evident’ subjectively and objectively that I was doing excellent work. At one point I had a 2 years waitlist and mostly had word of mouth referral for therapy from successful patients.   I was always praying and felt touched by grace.
Psychotherapy was a process very akin to the surgery I’d begun doing.  It wasn’t ‘counselling’.  It wasn’t massage. If you didn’t encounter or address the negative transference you were merely flashing your tit and feeding the infant and keeping the infant dependent. The difficulty was in the developmental adolescent phrase and leaving home phrase of therapy.  If the patient continued to ‘need’ you then you were like a surgical patient who never was discharged from hospital.  Meanwhile I have seen people off and on over decades much like any other medical condition where the persons’ condition waxes and wanes and further brief therapy is needed. My work with trauma got me into emergency departments  and jails and asylums and working with military, police and refugees.
During this time I was still associated with the university and the hospitals and institutions and the dominant authoritative structures. I was increasingly aware that Owen Barfield was right about ‘saving the appearances’ and that Scott Peck was right on with his book “People of the Lie’.  I became increasingly aware of what is best called evil but has a variety of politically correct equivilants like sociopaths and toxic work places and psychopaths and takers and soul suckers. The list goes on.
 I began to see that patients who did not get better were often limited by others who were invested in their misery and poverty.  I found myself increasingly in the realm of the social aspects of patient care fighting the good fight and seeing that husbands wives parents, bosses and elected officials and judges and beurocrats were often corrupt greedy and dangerous emotionally physically and morally.  I began to see that they lived for the darkness. I met the shadow people and in my personal journal, a little bout with alcohol and marijuania and the illegal industries associated with the production, I was surprised that I became addicted to tobacco and that I couldn’t quit smoking until I quit marijuana and alcohol and a year later I didn’t start them up again but concluded that the alcohol was the personal gateway drug. Certainly trauma was the gateway drug and I was diagnosed with PTSD after repeated betrayal,  sexual abuse,  and countless near death experiences.
 It’s hard to say because I really was addicted to smoke.  It was only much later that I regularly drank but I saw how I was impaired though not ‘that impaired’ and that my ‘culture’ was commonly people just like me though most further along the rabbit hole. They all ‘looked good on the outside.’  I remember offending a  leading government power broker who subsequently tried to ‘ruin’ me in every way possible for ‘my sake’.  I’d told her that the acronym for FINE was ‘fucked in side and nice exterior’.  This was the street version of Jung’s Persona and Shadow.  I didn’t know at the time that people who were most upset at the word ‘fucked’ were themselves usually perverted. I was seeing these very insane personality disorders in suits in my office their sexual proclivities were bizarre but they presented as ‘good people’ by ‘the lady protests too much’.
I saw that transparency and openess were positives but dangerous. I wanted to share in recovery which began 20 plus years ago that the ‘inner experience’ was diverse.  The critical matter was the behaviour.  I was seeing more and more invasion of the individual on behalf of the State just like the Catholic church and Islam invaded the ‘thoughts’ and ‘feelings’ of their servants. It was one thing to ‘confess’ and ‘share’ in private but it was another to be interrogated and threatened such that people lived lives of quiet desperation behind self inflicted walls. We have two forms of coercion which are clearly good and bad depending.  They’re called asylums and jails. I worked on both.
I wanted to share my thoughts and feelings, as crazy as they are as evidence that ‘courage ‘ is not ‘absence of fear’ but rather doing good despite fear. I had seen so many people, especially in the halls of recovery,, who were ashamed of their thoughts and feelings and literally frozen. I wanted to show that I as a leader and a relative success by so many societal standards wasn’t ‘particularly sane in my thinking.’  I wanted people to consider their thoughts as we do the free for all in the meeting before we edit the group and go on to decide behaviour .  This is indeed the creative process.  In my office I’d seen leaders of the country, world champions, multi millionaires and leading military brass, priests, chiefs, scientists, bishops, and whatever world acclaimed individual one could think of.  Their inner lives were mostly more mixed up and confused and troubled but they did what I did, they sought help and shared.  Their behaviour was mostly admirable and superior to those who isolated. I’d spent years in ;psychotherapy training to be a psychoanalytic psychotherapist only to said to be insane based on the ‘proof that I’d seen a psychiatrist’ by one of the local sociopaths psyhiatrists who had never seen anyone since he graduated psychiatry and saw his success in dollar signs. He was so poor that all he had was money. All he sought was power. An inferiority complex with egomania.  So common in addiction.
I saw that the personality disorders I was treating which didn’t get better principally  had drug and alcohol problems. The course in therapy then was as dramatic as it is today.  Drugs and alcohol really interfered with learning and coping.  As I moved through my own recovery seeing that it was as much a matter of association and what the bible calls ‘principalities’ I really did have to consider tribal association and effect of tribe.  This is a better word than ‘culture’ which has been skewed from it’s origins to describe ‘cultures of addiction’ and ‘cultures of pedophiles’.  I prefer to say ’tribes of addicts’.  The tribe is our history  Culture once referred to the highest and we spoke of ‘cultured people’ but today we are faced with ‘reductionism’ and various forces which affect individuals mightily.

So I wanted to share my journal, something that for years sat in brown card board boxes .  I have as a result had wonderful discussions and made great friends and found like minded people through this process. It was an experiment. A stream of consciousness experiment which was useful in a time when the world was safer.

The attack on freedom of speech in Canada and the outright war on the west and especially the war on Christianity which held truth and love highest is making this idea of Canadianism a bit more treacherous.  I consider this trend to openess a peculiar Canadian trait and all the friends I know from other countries are astonished at my openness because in their ‘country , culture and religion’ they could not do what I do.  They sometimes call me demonic because it is so alien for them to encounter a psychiatrist who speaks openly.  This is just what Canada was a bout.

Most people live lives of fear and die of internalized tension and stress. My interest in ’psychosomatic illness’ began with a wish to see the effects of psychotherapy in the physical world. Over the years I’ve ‘cured’ but mostly prolonged the lives of individuals by addressing their shame, anger, and fear, and helping them  work through this ‘anger turned inward’ which presents as pain, physical disability, fatigue.  I am limitted in what I can do because of the industry which exists to perpetuate this but it’s tied to my work with addiction.  I don’t take credit for anything I do When I did surgery I had  pride but only because of the illusions of action.  Philosophically and spiritually I’ve known that I’m just part of a vast process but I have done the right thing. I’ve been a member of a team and directed the team.  The team humility is to give credit to a pill or what I’ve called the ‘jelly bean’ but the pill is the magic of years of silence and countless doctors and caregivers .

I’m just the kazoo in that symphony and yet I know the kazoo is critical. The kettle drums are out of control these days and often the string section is whining on and on when the brass are constantly contained.  I’ve never had a solo kazoo performance in my life except in my mind , that place of mental masturation and folly.  In the world we are as the natives say ‘all my relations’ .  We’re all interconnected.

I was taught by Dr. Carl Ridd that we were made in the image of God and that’s god’s imagination and I’ve always been part of God.  I am star stuff.  As my sponsor Scotty used to say “God doesn’t make junk’.

So those are reasons for this blog.

I”ve also loved photography combined with words, those coffee table books. The blog lets me do that.  A combined platform.
So far God is happy with me.  Not that I am but I know that God is.  I worry I’m not ready for death and am more addicted to life the older I get.  I am struggling with concepts of ‘letting go’ and ’surrender’.  Thy will be done not my will.

Thank you Jesus.

Gratitude Saturday

Thank you Lord for the rain that cleanses. Thank you for the heat and propane. Thank you for the healing of my dog Gilbert and his friendship with the cat George. Thank you for my bed and for the lights and for coffee. Thank you for in door plumbing, toilets and showers. Thank you for modern science and technology. Thank you for sound and sight and smell and sensation. Thank you for my fingers. Thank you for my mind. Thank you for that sense of spiritual connection with the deep. Thank you for synchronicity. Thank you for mystics and fellow god seekers. Thank you for the WAY. Thank you for prayer. Thank you for the Word. Thank you for Love. Thank you for this electric fire that is so pretty and reassuring.  Thank you nature. Thank you for wind and the sun.
Thank you for this saturday. I would go to a meeting but I must stay with Gilbert as he’s so afraid blind and vulnerable suddenly.  I feel such sorrow at times. Thank you for the feelings of empathy. Thank you for connectedness. Thank you for family and friends. Thank you Lord for the Bible, the Holy Book, for the Torah and the New Testament, the Gospel, the Good News. Thank you for prayer and meditation.  Today I tried to meditate but both the dog and cat simultaneously began rubbing against me so I was distracted and fed them.
Thank you for writing. Thank you for this Blog. I wanted to challenge the myth that the sane were always sane. I wanted to overturn the ‘marketing’ and ‘lawyer’ lie of the ‘edited’ person. I wanted the Authenticity of Maslow. I wanted to share that the creative process was messy. I wanted write for the rich and the poor. I wasn’t seeking sales and a specific audience, like those judges who make a fortune off rulings of ‘like me’.  I wanted a ‘speaker’s corner’ experience. I wanted to show that despite genius, stupidity still reigned. I wanted to show that it was okay to just be and that today the media was lifting everything out of context and the lies were piled deeper and deeper.
In totalitarian countries there is ‘mind control’.  It’s alive and well in Canada.  Increasingly we are monitored for words and phrases. The expansion of state police is everywhere evidence. It’s disguised in pretty language like ‘banning hate speech’ or banning ‘islamaphobia’.  The people with power think the worst things and do the worst things.  They are no different except that they are often out of control.  The Saudi leadership is out of control. Old wealth tends to let the children play within boundaries. They say it’s okay to fuck the poor man's goat but draw the line with killing the goats so the man and his family starve. They are like anyone else but they usually have a lot more time and money. They crash the helicopter rather than the bicycle.
I’ve been able to walk and talk with people from all religions and countless countries and had patients who were infamous, famous, and multi millionaires. I’ve been to the parties on the street and the parties in mansions that boggled the mind.  I’ve known an amazing breadth and so often people have expressed the fear they are going insane.  I suppose I’m here to say insane is not so bad. Saniety is much over rated. The message of the 20th century is that the age of reason lead to the greatest killing machine of all time, atheist socialism/communism.  The most depraved empire of all time in the modern world was the Ottoman Empire and it’s on the rise again too. Mecca is the centre of sex slaver and slavery and violence and lies. Yet American blacks have ironically fallen for these sophisticated brown masters as have the Canadian feminists who have embraced the most depraved religion of female abuse of all time.
Meanwhile I have felt that it’s important to share thoughts that are contrary to the propaganda of mainstream CBC while the light of freedom in Canada remains.  I’ve also shared my Christian faith because everywhere the Jews and Muslims and Atheists and Pagans and even Sikhs and Buddhists and Hindus are in your face. I’m told I can’t wear a cross in Canada but Sikhs were turbans. I’m questioned for carrying a knife but Sikhs are all armed with knives. A Scottish bread knife gets a man in jail but it’s okay for Muslims to cover their faces to avoid cameras. As a Christian I’m persecuted. But I can’t say this.
I’m born white and now that’s racism.  The colour of my skin makes me a racist.
I’m a man and that makes me sexist.
I’ve had sex with men and women so I’m excluded from both groups as a pervert.
I’m divorced so I’m a failure.
Everything that I am or represent or have done has been publicly criticized by my government and by the media. When I smoked marijuana I was breaking the law and a danger to the state. I paid more than a hundred thousand dollars in penalties for smoking marijuana and now I don’t smoke marijuana and I’m condemned by the dope smokers who get all the grants as dope smokers. And the Prime Minister broke the law and the ex mayor and ex chief of police are lining up to get rich on smoking dope.
 I am disillusioned.
When I worked to save my patients lives I was called a workaholic and administrative doctors long known for their sloth and cowardice flung platitudes at the burning Rome while Trudeau played a tune.
I am grateful because CBT tells me that people who take offence at everything like our Huffington Post girls, (K.D. Laing wrote a great song Miss Chatelaine and needs to write a Huffington Post song today) , those who compete with comparison of hurt.
“I was gang raped and my bowels torn out of me and a stake stuck in my heart but a passing paramedic rescued me after six months in hospital I’ll live but I won’t run or have children and I hurt all the time when I walk."
“Well, you think that’s bad, a man looked at me. Yeah.  He looked at me. And I was emotionally abused."
“I was sexually harassed."

So all the funding that once went to help the woman left in a wheel chair goes to the rich privileged huffington post girls who have better lawyers and better marketing people and buy government beurocrats with pocket change, the bane of Nuremberg.

I’m grateful for the training in logic and fallacy and evidence based medicine and scientific method so that I can see the lies and hypocrisy that rules the courts and politics these days.
I’m grateful that history tells me that that even the Hitlers and Lenins and Castros of the world come to an end.

I’m thankful for my life and being older and the education and wisdom of my teachers and elders.
I’m thankful for the travel and the closeness I’ve had to my Aboriginal friends, my Muslim friends, my Christian friends, my atheist friends, especially my Hindu and Sikh and Buddhist friends.  I purposely don’t associated with Nazi’s or Communists and don’t hang out with drunks or drug addicts in my home. I don’t like being around the impaired. I’ve done my time in youth with unpredictable and violent people. I’ve known too many psychotics in my work and personal life. I’ve been raped and attacked and I know it’s not right for the narrative. I’m a white man and a doctor and the main stream media says that I’m the enemy.  I’ve been told by a nurse even that all doctors should die. I’ve been told by coloured people that white people should just kill themselves. I’ve been called ‘rich’ by the likes of Justin Trudeau whose wealth and privilege are beyond anything I’ve ever known.
I have been blessed. I’ve been poor and wealthy. I’ve been free and locked up. I loved sailing alone at sea as far as humanly possible from the maddening crowd.
I like being in the wilderness with my dog. I like that I can say I’ve been in a plane crash and punched a bear in the nose. These are funny tales that made for much laughter at my friends wedding in India. I love that I was able to  share what it was like living in an igloo with my Chamoran friends. I once loved the word ‘multi cultural’ before Justin Trudeau made that mean’ uncultured’ and I loved the word ‘diversity’ before Justin Trudeau and Obama and Hillary and Merkel turned that word into a weapon of slavery.
I still like bikinis and don’t want burqas and hate that men are collectively abused in Canada for liking nude women. I hate that boys are systematically being drugged all over Canada en mass to satisfy the Canadian woman’s idea of men as defective women. I often think, I can’t beat them, so I’ll join them and get castrated and take hormones and have breast.  Anything to be anonymous and get away from the constant female hate in Canada that masquerades as anything but.
I’m grateful for the options. I’m thankful for the buddhist sense of suicide as release. I’m thankful for the muslim sense of murder as jihad. I’m thankful that I know the atheist ‘it’s all relative’ and Crawleys’ “man is god.”  I’m thankful I know these things.  i”m thankful that I have seen the 180 degree lies of text books and leaders and media. I’m sorry that it took me so long.

I’ve shared this journey. My life is just a kazoo in the symphony. All day I hear more exciting lives, more sordid lives, more abuse, more joy.  I was by years of work blessed to be able to be with people and learn their true stories. I was blessed to be trained as a psychoanalytic psychotherapist and an eclectic psychotherapist all before psychotherapy was outlawed by the government licensing bodies in Canada. They won’t say that. But only counselling is allowed today. Psychopharmacology and counselling but Freud, Kernberg, Kohut, and Jung and Lang are all topped by like the southern statue of General Lee. 90% of graduated psychiatrists were women.  Women psychiatrists and other women doctors have openly said men should not be allowed to enter psychiatry or obstetrics.  Sharia medicine is the law of BC.
I am thankful I was here before the fall of Canada. I am thankful I could see the wonders of hypnotherapy and the amazing ‘cure’s’ of people who literally got up and walked after years of disability. But now euthanasia and disability and marijuana are the medicine.
Thank you Lord for this life.  Thank you for another day. Thank you for the learning and the books. Thank you for the experience. Thank you for family and friends. Thank you.