42 yo: Cape Mendocino, Shelter Cove, Mutiny, Psychosis, Hawaii, Pra

We succeeded in sailing south to Cape Mendocino. This is a famous cape where we’d learned that the seas could build up and winds could be difficult. That had begun in the night.  I’d been up all night and in the morning we had 6 foot following seas and 30 to 40 knot winds.  The autopilot would not hold the boat in these conditions and required hand steering.

My crew were good at this and I had us switching on and off every few hours.  I’d become scared because the crew had gone on deck without wearing a lifeline. I had to repeat that we needed life line’s on in addition to our off shore life jackets and floater suits.  I had the terrifying realization that if either of them went overboard I didn’t believe I could turn the boat about in these conditions and rescue them. We were beyond my capability as a skipper to go back in a boat against that wind and sea and find them.  

Yet,  they were being ‘cavailier’ about personal safety, a sure fire sign that they were afraid and reacting to fear with aberrant behaviour.  My wife was equally scared and forgetful yet good at the helm.  She was always good at managing the boat in the wind and sea. She had a feel for holding the boat on course. When we let the boat off course a little huge waves would break over the back of the boat and smash down into the cockpit.  With attention these could be avoided keeping the boat on the right course which was taking us now westerly no longer southerly which would have put the seas on our beam. We were slowly making our way round the Cape .

Shelter Cove was our destination, a protected harbour a few hours to the west of us.  The forecast was for increasing gale.  I’d gone below and checked out the charts finding an electronic chart of the bay which showed an easy entrance and anchorage.   Murphy’s  law had the computer fail at that point.    I wasn’t able to pull the chart up again though had the larger scale paper chart showing location and entrance.

While I’d been up all night and the crew and my wife had slept I’d not. Since dawn I”d still been awake and managing the boat.  I felt I needed sleep before entering the harbour. We had rounded the corner and were running with the sea behind us no longer being ‘pooped’ by wind and current. It was a few hours straight sailing. We had no sail up and were managing on diesel power.

“I have to sleep. I’ve not slept in 24 hours. I need all my wits about me for going into Shelter Cove.  We’ve never been in so rough conditions so I need you both to stay on watch.  Two on watch and one below till we get to Shelter Cove. Wake me in one hour. ” 

In the night I’d been on watch and let them both sleep. We’d been doing solo watches until this day, 6 hours each, .

The crew had said he’d been a pilot.  We’d never seen his pilots license or seen him fly and his experience with flying had been years in the past. As doctors we were well aware that people claim to have skills but that their skill set may not be ‘current’ .  The plane he said was his was a piece of junk that had been left on an airstrip to essentially rot.  He had never to our “actual” knowledge been in the air, Neither of us had seen him fly. We believed him but I didn’t know. It’s hard to explain this to folk who aren’t psychiatrists or whatever it is about me that lives in this ‘careful reality’ and is suspect of everyone.   His boat he had never been maintained it  His cabin or his vehicles did not give me confidence about his overall functioning.   On his own he was hardly functional but in a group he managed.  I trusted him as crew but I’d never trust him as a captain. I’d been a leader all my life and neither my wife or he had. It was an important detail on the boat that day. 

He said he’d sailed twenty years before at university as crew on a university sailing team on the lake. He’d never captained a sailing ship.  He’d had a sail boat which he never sailed. To our actual knowledge of him he’d never sailed  in heavy weather  or difficult maneuvering. My wife and I had but not this degree of challenge.    He was capable of ‘fixing things’, a “good wrench” as we’d say, though he’d obsess about decisions, which explained the disorder in his vehicles, lots of unfinished tasks. We’d worked together on projects on boats, his having an engineering degree and frankly knowing mechanical and electronic systems better than me. I deferred to his skill in this regard but he had difficulty with taking direction and major control issues.  We’d considered it taking him as crew. I thought my wife understood clearly the perceived limitations.  I appreciated his skill  should we get into difficulties with equipment failures.  I was also thankful for the manpower.   I did not trust his ‘leadership’ and knew he had major ego issues, being what we would describe as a legend in his mind. I had however been wholly unprepared for mutiny.  

I know now that when people are afraid that they attempt to take control. I’d learned that first life saving.  Lifeguarding when people were out of control ,we don’t get close to them until their psychosis is manageable by talking from a distance.   When are calm enough they will follow our orders  take them back with us to shore.

My wife and he were depressives. Their performances were emotionally based. When they were well they functioned but their life histories were of long periods of dysfunction.  They both had a  tendency to go to bed for days and avoid difficult situations.  

I truly thought I could manage this crew.  I was wrong. 

I believed that my wife who had sailed with me would know that we together had managed all the challenges we’d faced to date on the boat. We’d had crew previously and we’d had crew in difficult sailing situations. We’d all come to shore working together.  My crew was a loner and disruptive and most unfortunately misogynist. My wife was a highly competent doctor, helmswoman and boater but he did not see her as such. He saw her as a woman and did not trust women.  He’d actually say later he didn’t think women should be on ships or planes.  I didn’t know the depths of his anger at the time. I knew he was jealous of me and desired my wife as she was to his mind “high society”. I did that think much of this at the time focused on so many aspects of expedition I thought I could manage the crew. 

While I was asleep, having asked to be woken in one hour ,to prepare to enter Shelter Cove, my crew convinced my wife to go to sleep against my strict orders that two remain at the helm.  She had not woken me to review my order but rather conspired with him to let him take command of my ship.  He was psychiatric and had told her that I was suffering from ‘go to ground itis’, a condition he said people got in planes and that it go them killed. I don’t know what he was talking about. We were in sailboat anot a plane. He altered course and took us away from the coust and out to sea. No one woke me. It was three hours later when we had passed Shelter Cove that I woke and terrified saw him alone on deck. I didn’t know where my wife was but she’d gone to the front and was.in.bed.  

I looked at the navigation position and charted our position on the map, and looked at our course.

“Why have we gone off course!. Why have we gone out to sea! Why is my wife not on watch with you! The gale was blowin g worse in the background.

“I decided you had ‘go to ground itis’ he said with the gleam of insaniety in his eyes. “I decide it was wrong to go into harbour that we had to go out to sea.”

Now we faced a night at sea in a gale off a lee shore  with rising winds and an exhausted crew. My wife looked terrible. She’d woken and come above. 

‘Why did you not wake me?  Why did you leave your post? Why did you let the crew take us off course and back out to sea? “ I asked belligerently and in sheer astonishment. I felt deeply betrayed. I have fear of going to sleep around her for years and nightmares about this night. 

“He convinced me you had ‘go to ground itis’”. He said we couldn’t go to shore.” She was appalling. My friend was a snake. 

‘But why did you leave the watch.” I asked 

“He told me to.”  At that I took her back into the cabin out of his earshot and berated her. I was really scared now he’d kill us. They were both insane. I was betrayed and this was a mutiny. No other name and my wife had put the put the knife in my back and out of sheer stupidity might get us all killed. 

“You chose him as captain over our boat without consulting me. We have entered many harbours in rough weather. Have you ever seen him sail before this?”

“He’s a pilot.”

Have you ever seen him fly? Have you even seen his pilots license. What the fuck is this “ go to gounditis? He’s some kind of amateur psychiatrist. He’s crazy and yo gave him control of our boat we’ve spent years trading and working on and you didn’t consult me. You and he went behind my back to take us south along a le shore at night in a rising gale crew exhausted. “

.lI’ve been sailing with you for years and we’ve managed every situation but now you’ve let our crew take over the boat while I was asleep.”

I was talking to her in the bow below so he couldn’t hear us because frankly I knew I had a mad man on board  who was totally psychotic and a crazy wife who’d lost all her faculties. 

I was a psychiatrist. I had not expected to be using all my skills as a psychiatrist to live throug the night but that’s what it had come to.  This was actually my friend but I knew that fear caused people to err and that he had a serious difficulty with authority and following orders.  

It’s just that I never expected my wife to be so fickle and put all our lives at risk with her willingness to accept what people ‘say’ without ‘evidence and proof’.  I simply don’t care a lot about what people ‘say’. I need proof and evidence of my own eyes.  I’d never gone flying with him because I wasn’t sure he was capable as a pilot and I’d not checked his credentials. I take everything about a person on good faith but if I ‘m going to give them a job I want to see their credentials.

 I have my credentials on the wall so people can check them. I always check the taxi license when I get in a cab.  It’s just ‘basic’ adult behaviour. I don’t ‘believe’ people on ‘face value’ but this had been a recurrent problem with my wife. She’d accepted that this man we hired was a University of Toronto graduate who worked as a carpenter. He did good carpentry but his ‘social standing’ in her eyes gave him some validiity.  He turned out to be a cocaine addict who stole from our neighbours using his position working on our boat to gain access to a locked marina compound. 

My wife was naive and susceptible to con artists. We’d discussed this extensively because I was thoroughly fed up by the people she had around us. In retrospect I’m now aware that her willingness  to accept them ‘uncondtionally’ was because they were drug addicts with drugs.  Our crew wasn’t.  I was there asleep and my ‘order’ clearly stated fully agreed on was 

1. 2 people on watch

2. This is the course we are on

3. Wake me in 1 hour.

They had mutinied.  I’d never sleep again well on boat with her or crew on boat. All my life after years of call I’ve been able to manage exhaustion by an hour nap.  Now I’d be on deck for the next 24 hours in the worst gale I’d encountered with my crew managing the helm as that comforts people, being in control, at the wheel.  I made coffee and watched. My wife slept.  I was a psychiatrist and appeasing. There was nothing more to do but hope we got through the night and got into the next port we’d reach next day. I’d hope that the weather moderated.  

“If you were so concerned about going into Shelter Cove why didn’t you say so. I could have called the Coast Guard and discussed it with them”

“We’re not calling the coast guard for advice. I’m not going to be ashamed while I’m on this boat.we’re alone here and we are going to handle everything alone. That’s what I say.”

Next day we’d reach port and anchor.  We’d come through an incredible storm. As I’d see in future, all this ‘unnecessary’. My wife and I would go through far worse storms together in just a few months. A couple of years later I’d sail solo through a hurricane. 

 My crew had a gift for creating problems which he’d then solve. He’d even admit he liked to break things to see if he could fix them and that way he’d know the ‘tolerances’.  I’d remain friends with him for years to come. I’d never ‘trust’ him to learn.  He’d continue on his own to do the most absurd and dangerous things. I would indeed have to rescue us repeatedly. I’d ‘fix’ the damage his thoughtlessness with people and equipment his damage would cause. His was a friend. He was just stupid and immature. My wife was a different matter. She was even more dangerous and would almost get us killed and me killed with her anger and moods. 

One of his penchants sailing was to be alone on watch at night off an unknown coast and suddenly begin sailing ‘wing on wing’ in gales. I’d wake to feel the boat careeening and pull down all the unnecessary sail and stop the foolishness.  He said he ‘liked to race’.  I said we are not a ‘ racing boat’.  We are a ‘cruising boat’.  We needed to ‘conserve our energy’ and ‘avoid unnecessary strain and stress’ because this was a ‘marathon’ not a ‘sprint.  Like half the men  I’ve known he was completely different with his own equipment than he was with mine.  I’ve actually watched people baby their vehicles while taking unnecessary risks with mine. When I’ve confronted them their basic communist or ‘child’ mentality has been exposed. “I can’t afford to damage me truck but you’re a doctor so I know if your truck is damaged you can afford to fix it.”  

That Canadian mentality has been a trial all my life with people abusing my ‘stuff’ and ‘me’ because there’s a kind of ‘reverse predjucie.’  I just want people to be as loving or caring towards ‘my stuff’ as they’d be towards theirs. . My crew meanwhile wasn’t good at ‘maintenance’ with ‘stuff’ or with ‘relationships.  My father was an engineer and they were fundamentally different on this feature.

I’ll never forget the surgeon  Dr. Ross saying ‘it’s how you handle the tissue’. The little things counted.  Bot my crew and wife did well at times but they lacked this other quality of ‘reliability’.

For a system to work we need the ‘steady eddies’.  All the glory hounding that my ex and crew could manage wasn’t as critical as these ‘mediocre’ people who are the ‘sustaining’ force in the whole system.  Whitaker the great child psychiatrist addressed this in parenting describing the need for ‘good enough mothering’ rather than ‘perfect mothering’.  Both my crew and my wife had obsessional qualities and wanted to be ‘perfect’.  The idea of ‘good enough’ was outside their ken. Yet it’s better sometimes to have almost anybody manning the job than nobody.  As much as I have maligned bureaucrats I’ve known they are essential for these times

With watch keeping a person whose nodding is sometimes better than a person who is simply not there. There’s this grey area which large systems and great managers know. The whizz kids are great but in the 12 step programs ‘spiritual progress’ is preferred to ‘spiritual perfection’.  The whole story of the ‘rabbit and the tortoise’ speaks to this. 

Both my crew and my ex demanded perfection of themselves and when they weren’t feared failure and shut off.  Neither was the team player or captain that learned to use the collective or the skills over individuals to manage the group. I can do this but I’d seen the likes of my own leaders and known that they were highly skilled in this way. My brother and father both fathers and husbands and family men developed these amazing traits as part of their roles as parents. My grandfather was a notorious much admired leader who became a Northern Rieve.

They didn’t learn on the job so easily. Both my crew and my ex were less ‘cooperative’ and liked the ‘glory’ functioning  individually but having difficulty working together and following basic orders. I wasn’t a Captain Bligh. I’m a permissive tolerant leader whose more into giving suggestion but on a boat ‘order‘ were as necessary as they were in surgery. I had no difficulty in either situation. 

My work had been focused on ‘non compliance’ and ‘non adherence to medical regimen’ .  This was the extension of St. Paul’s ‘why do I do what I don’t want to do and why don’t I do what I want to do.’  There’s a concept of ‘cooperative behaviour’.  There’s also the challenge of ‘prisoner’s dilemna’.  People who play prisoner’s dilemna simply can’t succeed because the ‘we win’ situation requires fundamental ‘trust’.  “I win, you lose’ is almost always preferred to ‘we win’ though people love to talk about ‘we win’.  In the actual scenarios they refer to the paranoid position of I win you lose with the common follow up of ‘we lose’.  It’s a wonderful ‘utopian’ fantasy for adolescents thinking but in the difficult situations reality checks in.

I’d remain friends with my friend and crew because I could ‘handle’ his egomania. Guys can function together in groups using each other’s strengths and weaknesses.  He’d actually try to get my ex after I left her . He was interested in older women for their miney but only turned on by young girls who found him creepy. She had  never been interested in him, something he didn’t understand.  That  night she more likely furious at me for getting her into such a dangerous situations, angry at herself for her incapacity and more than willing to hide in bed, her go to place..  She escaped into sleep, her go to place. We were both at this time in withdrawal from marijuana and her cocaine. 

I just never got over her unwillingness to accept her experience, we had surmounted all adversity together, and she chose to mutiny with a crew who’d not demonstrated his capacity.  

The next day my wife and dog and crew would go ashore. He’d be manning the motor and direct them through the surf. 

“Have you ever landed a dinghy in surf?” I asked

“No.” 

“I have. “ I said,” It’s difficult and deceiving.  See that place over there. That’s the best place to land. If you go over here the surf will flip you. People actually break their necks landing dinghies in surf so be careful. You’ve got my wife and dog with you. No mistakes.”

The egomaniac was still in gear. That cocky insaniety that I’m  paid to deal with. Was still riding high.  It’s like ‘possession’ . It comes and then it persists and the person insists on ‘doing it my way’. In addiction work and co dependency this ‘hypomanic’ single mindedness and refusal to take direction is well documented.Whether its chemical and involuntary or psychological and voluntary is the great debate in the literature with psychotherapists taking one side and the psychopharamocologists taking the other side. 

Having mutinied and taken control of my big boat putting all of us at risk and yet getting us through the storm he now refused to take direction in a situation where he had no experience , no skills and insisted psychologically on doing it ‘his way’.  It was an effrontery to go against my clear direction but I figure testosterone and insaniety still held sway. 

The consequence was he took the dinghy into the very place where I said he should not. Consequentlyhe  flipped the dinghy with my wife and dog in it. My wife’s head was hit and she was dazed. The dog came up swimming. 

It was all in his mind a minor thing. He took great offence at any slight but his own behaviour was always explained as others overreaction.   I’d not trust my wife with him again or my dog. I’d remain friends but I saw that he had this adolescent issue with authority and the need to ‘prove himself’.  It was a dangerous combination.

When they got back I not only chewed him out about almost killing my wife and dog in the surf but also abut his mutiny the night before, night sailing, exhausted crew, Lee shore, all bad decisions and mutiny too. “ Do you know why mutiny carries death penalty?”

“ I do,” I said. “I’m the captain of this boat, my wife and I are owners. This is not your boat. You don’t get to mutiny. If you don’t want to do as you are told and don’t want to take my orders I can put you ashore here and give you money to fin your way home.” 

I think the word “mutiny” sobered them up and they’d seen how dangerous they were being,  Dinghies in surf are dangerous. A good dunking and straight facts got us back on an even keel. I’d stay captain and we’d continue but my marriage wasn’t so easily repaired. In retrospect I think a lot it was her coming off coke and pot. 

My wife seemed also to trust words over deeds. For years I’d had her back worked with her and yet again and again she’d believe the next self proclaimed authority.  I wanted this ‘love’ and ‘trust’ and belief that my partner ‘trusted’ me for what I ‘showed’ and that I could ‘trust’ her.  But when I was asleep she couldn’t even be trusted to wake me to ‘consult’me but rather ‘behind my back’ she’d made a unilateral decision, a mutiny as it were, that not only put her life at risk by mine as well. 

The whole history of ‘feminism’ is a divide and conquer of the family by the state which is always the demonic adolescent who destroys the parents rather than working with them for the whole of the trinity.  The whole religion of ‘trinity’ and ‘triangles’ and ‘holographs’ is a central ideological drama that is played out by mathematicians and is basic to ‘systems theory’.  

Here we were three. My wife and I parents. My crew the child. She’d chosen the child over me. They’d both regressed to their own childhood issues. They both had their issues with authority.  I continued to demonstrate competence not afraid of the sea and wind as much as I was now of the people I shared the boat with. 

In months to come I’d sit in Broken Surfboard Bar in Cabo San Lucas and drink beer and laugh as everyone of the Blue Water Crusing Association skippers there described their ‘crew’s mutiny’ when they got into a blow. The marriage problems were rife as well but it was the universality of the crew’s need  to take the helm in bad conditions,  which only we as captains would appreciate , ,that made the hilarity of the situation. 

One fellow told us in the middle of the storm he was ruffling through papers down below for receipts on his yacht which he’d paid for monthly for a decade to make this trip and there he was on deck in a storm screaming. “This is my boat. These are a decade of receipts. This is my dream. I am the skipper. I’m the captain. You will only be captain when it’s your boat and you are the captains. Now we’re going to go on this course.”.

Another captain said how he’d had to threaten to kill his crew to get him to let go of the helm. “He’d never sailed before.”

The stories of Mendocino are equally harrowing. It’s there on the trip down that crews win or lose. We’d survive but from that point forward I’d no longer be able to trust my wife or my crew.  She’d make repeated dangerous decisions alone and they would not follow my orders. I managed but barely. 

Coming into San Francisco harbour she’d altered the radar without telling us. We went off the bow wave of a tanker . I could have touched the side of the ship. Our mast almost hit the water.  It was the most harrowing moment in my sailing career to date. In San Francisco we saw the rigging a a yacht on the cow catcher of a tanker. The Coast Guard went back along the back trail to search for survivors. That could have been us. 

Like the lying about the dope she’d not tell us she’d adjusted the radar or SSB or whatever and then deny until I’d say “you’re lying. You almost got us killed,” Oh alright, I adjusted it. Now both the crew and I for the third time and two other collisions thought thee tanker in the fog in the main shipping lane was by far the worst. “ We can only calibrate the radar in the day when we can see the object we’re focusing on. It simply can’t be done randomly at night.”

“Whatever!”

It was like being on board with a 13 year old at such times.

I’d said then I was calling the San Francisco coast guard to discuss entering the harbour at night and ask them for advice.

“I’m not going to let you. I’m a pilot . A pilot would never ask ground control for advice. I’m not going to be shamed by you. We must do this by ourselves.”

“You’re fucking crazy. I’m called the coast guard myself. I’m captain of this ship and I want more information.”

“You are not.”

“Yes I am. Now go fuck yourself or I’ll kill you right here.” Really that was a conversation I had to have with this guy about calling the coast guard. He had some romantic idea that we were alone in space. I was just wanted to get to the south seas alive. I didn’t have any of this attitude. 

I literally had to threaten him to get to the radio. I phoned the coast guard. “I’m SV Giri, a 40 foot sloop entering your channel at position such . There are three of us aboard. I’m planning on using this channel marked on the map and maintaining this course in this fog. . Would that be acceptable.’

“That would be fine but as you’re a smaller ship we’d prefer you hug the coast. There’s all deep water there but the main channel is pretty busy with tankers so stay as close to shore as you can.”

‘Thank you. SV Giri out.” 

I’ve repeatedly come across people who have this weird notion of ‘shame’ and refuse to ‘seek help’ or ‘seek advice’ and insist that they must ‘maintain face’ even if asking for help can save a life. This ‘egomania’ kills. I don’t have it. I’m always glad to get input and then make the decision. 

The problem that arises now is that lawyers and bureaucrats are doing  what my friend and crew were concerned about. They are tying the captains hands behind his back and blaming him if he chooses a different course than the one advised. I ask for a second ‘opinion’ but then make a decions based on multiple factors but if I go against the second opinion I’m punished more in the silly courts which are a ‘game’ compared with ‘reality’. In reality I want as much information as possible.  I want other’s opinions. But then I make a decision and that decision is mine as a captain. The courts are just Monday Morning quarterbacks, critics who are parasites on reality. They are simply not there in life and death situations so never know for sure. They still are necessary but they are not reality in the real sense.

 The coast guard has over the years been a wealth of information just as police have. I’ve called them and discussed my situation and plan getting their input. I’ve asked police advice and got their input. I’m the one making the final decision. The courts should not punish me for seeking assistance but there’s a tremendous amount of egomania and attitude in that process. But frankly looking back I see pros and cons of different approaches. I don’t have to worry about being ‘ashamed’. I’m not ‘proving’ myself in these situations .I’m just doing the next best thing and mostly just trying to stay alive..  

In San Francisco the crew left and I asked my wife for a divorce. I said this is not working. She begged me to give   her one more chance.  I agreed.  We’d sail together the easy stretch to San Diego. 

I wasn’t willing to sail with her beyond that  because she was increasingly unpredittahble. Every day was a different mood. We discussed divorce again in San Diego.I  agreed to try it one more time with our crew who was willing to do the next leg to Cabot San Lucas.  It was another  ‘easy’ sail.  

That’s when he’d start doing wing on wing at night and I’d be screaming ‘stop it’. She’d begin messing with the electronics breaking things more too and I’d feel like I was in a floating asylum. Only the dog was sane. 

She’s was scared and tired and accidents occur predwhen you’re scared and tired but this was beyond that more willful and adolescent, pouting and angry.   I’d literally now ream everyone out as ‘captain bligh’ and demand that everyone pay attention before someon got hurt. 

“ I’d told her I never again wanted to not be woken in an emergency .such as a course change 

I told him , “you almost killed my dog and my wife in your wilfully wrong decision to countermand my orders as to where to go ashore. You mutinied at Shelter Cove because you’ve never gone into a harbour in a blow but my wife and I have entered harbours in blows a dozen times. I had given you a direct order and no chilvary or ‘go to ground itis’. Bullshit has any place in your taking command from me. I appreciate you were scared but that’s mutiny. That’s why the Royal Navy and the Navy’s all over the world have emphasized discipline so that in tough situations crew don’t do exactly what you did, mutinied.  You both mutinied. That’s the word for it and I don’t want any more of that shit on this boat! “

A few years later I’d solo sail down the coast in winter. Much worse conditions. Higher winds wilder seas coming down. Id already faced 40 foot seas and been knocked down three times in high winds. I’d come round Cape Mendocino in a blow. I’d ride the ship with following seas and identical conditions , maintain the course and take my ship solo into the magnificent port called ‘Shelter Cove’.  I’d anchor . Id go ashore and send them each post cards. 

They’d said it couldn’t be done. They’d said that I was psychotic to want to go to Shelter Cove. They said that they needed to mutiny to save the shop from my desire to take us ashore. That handed explained why they’d not kept to on deck. That hadn’t explained why they hadn’t called the coast guard to say the captain was insane, “Go to ground itis was a novel idea in his mind. He’d never actually encountered it himself. It was however common for scared crew to mutiny. They said It was too dangerous. It was an easier harbour to enter than many my wife and I had entered ourselves. He might not have had such experience but we’d certainly had experience of just this kind Sailing the Charlotte. The clue too was the name of the cove ‘Shelter Cove’. It was a wonderful sheltered cove that had been used for thousands of years by people coming around Cape Mendocino in a blow. Mendacious Mendocino.

I sent them both post cards from Shelter Cove. They never got back to me.  I suppose we agree to disagree. Mutiny is a court martial offence.  It’s a capital offence.  Neither apologized. Neither were the sort to apologize. Never been a problem of mine. I’m quick to admit fault but then I’d have gladly called the Coast Guard before Shelter Cove even,  if I’d been give a chance. 

It’s was a terrible time and my wife and I would divorce after I stopped doing drugs and alcohol and she persisted. I think that were we not going through some withdrawal from marijuana we’d have handled the situation better.  I also believe my wife and I would have done better without crew as we had done so much more before him. Our crew had major  problems of his own and serious issues with taking direction and  with accepting  command. The triangle is the most difficult scenario with great instability but immense potential to change and grow.  I learned a lot about myself that night. Not all of it good. I also promised God in prayer that night I’d do anything he wanted if he get us safely through. I believe that was the prayer that began my journey to recovery. 

It was all just sad.  They thought.I was crazy and I thought they were crazy.  I was the captain and the most experienced sailor.  I’ve discussed this ad infinitum with other sea captains , navy officers and psychiatrists and everyone supports me and my analysis. Still I’m divorced today and believe that my marriage ended that night.  I maintained my friendship with my crew though as with all friends I knew his limitations. I don’t know why I couldn’t accept that with my wife. But I lost faith in her grasp on reality that night and feared she’d forever be fooled by appearance and deny facts and evidence. I didn’t want to be slave to her emotions. She showed poor judgement yet we survived. Maybe we’d have died going into Shelter Cove. Certainly Iago convinced her of that ,his fear being psychotic proportions despite his denial.  I could stay at sea or go into Shelter Cove. I became terrried only when I woke and found that behind my back in my sleep my crew had mutinied. I didn’t trust either of them and knew they had no experience and that they were both psychotic with fear.

I confirmed my own analysis sailing solo to Shelter Cove. I’d go onto sail across the Pacific through a hurricane later that year. But I was clean and sober a few years by then and much more capable of trusting my own decisions and better able to assess others.  I was gentler too and less harsh and more kind.  I was’t a kind man when I was drinking and smoking dope. I was unkind to my ex wife.  I with I had been a better man. 

Life moved on. 

Years later sailing back from Hawaii with my crew and express instructions to reduce sail at night, I always reduced sail at night,  I’d again wake to the boat careening our of control ,arrive on deck and find him with full sails racing in the moon light. I’d scream at him and begin pulling down the sails when the mast broke.  He didn’t learn and I’ve concluded with much discussion with pastors I need to show more discernment.

Of course it could have broken anywhere but it broke 2000 miles from shore ‘unnecessarily’. It had been weakened by an installment flaw when the water bladder interfered with the drainage around the base of the mast which was complicated by the volcanic acid rain while stored in Kona, water leaking down through the mast hole. 

His solution was to call for help and be taken ashore by navy or coast guard. I explained that this would ensure his life and mine but that my boat with all my life’s possessions and would have to be left at sea. I’ve always found people ware less respectful of other’s ‘stuff’ and think first of themselves and their ‘stuff’.  He was seriously cavalier about the terrible situation he caused by continued adolescent disobedience and now with his lack of concern for my loss. I’d seen him have caniptions when he faced a minor loss.

The irony that followed was almost with the damage he caused wing on wing late night sailing against my repeatedly expressed rules. The eventual repair would cost me tens of thousands of dollars. I’d pay him to repair the damage he did to my boat. However, 

My friend is rigidly religious and homo phobic. He had no solution. He was an engineer and he simply had no solution than to abandon ship when the time came. Our fuel would only get us another thousand miles.

I phoned Eric,  my gay sailing friend on the satellite phone. I believe in communication and saw humans as a collection of  computers that could link to greater genius. Eric had sailed back with his partner from Hawaii. I’d seen then presentation at the Blue Water Sailing Association.  I told him my situation and asked for help. He said he knew who would know what to do and moments later marine surveyor friend got back to me.I described the damage and he recommended a Spanish turnbuckle, explaining how to do this on our boat. We did this. It saved the boat. Hundreds of thousands of dollars saved by a phone call after juvenile insensitive behaviour almost cost us that and more. I lost a week more  of work, the income and patients were had Major  inconvenience. 

I’d sailed solo to Hawaii in winter storms, surged hurricanes, now sailed home with a broken mast. My friend would careless cut his finger and I’d suture it up such that he didn’t lose it. He thanked me for that. He plays violin and it brings us all so much joy. If he’d lost that finger he not have been Abe to share his tremendous gift. 

We caught and barbecued some mighty fine tuna, H mead some magnificent bread. 

I was glad to bring th SV Giri into Coal Harbour.

Alive on a Saturday

It’s a miracle really. I’m alive on this Saturday.  Years ago I went to a meeting, Alive on the Drive.  It was alive. I was a live. It was a miracle. We were all miracles.  Spiritual beings living in a material world.  All week long I am bombarded by the fear based media materialism.  Everything is money. We’re all reduced to the numbers of the gas camps.  It’s not a tattoo  that new totalitarian fascist communist entity puts on our arms but rather it’s a number they keep in a bank account somewhere.  Everything is fixed then,  finite.  Convenient for the bean counters.  They never could get trigonometry.    They’re stuck in algebraic.  Personally I’ve never transcended geometric. I’m happy with the Trinity.
They say though I am this number. I am shamed by  this new apartheid.  Leonard Cohen would call it the old snake in the new skin, fashions being what they are.
Even the Pope has become a lunatic with his pseudoscience climate change didactics.  We had Old Testament Droughts and the prophets said they were the acts of God.  Repent did mean we should all buy solar power panels then.  What has become of the spiritual for this supposed St. Francis reincarnate. He sounds more and more each day like a worn out marxist.  Jesus and his merry crew were small ‘c’ communist not big “C”, Marx Lenninist perpetual class war die hards.  He speaks of the poor in proletariat dichotomies.  Marx was an atheist and big C communism was the religion of atheism.  So what is this Pope speaking in the words of Marx when we would hope these tired days for at very least Isaiah.   Repent.  Turn inwards. Seek God.  Forgive Promissory Materialism.    St. Francis transcended the economics of his day, coopted by the church when he worked to feed the poor rather than join the latest materialist political fashion.
With local fires and water restrictions I was remembering Steinbeck and the 30’s. That brought to mind David and the droughts of ancient Egypt. Then I thought of the recurrent feared prairies fires of Saskatchewan throughout the hundreds of years before man’s genetically modified farming efforts as a side effect  slowed the wild fires.   But no one reads history any more.  The sweat of men in ancient days caused ‘climate change’?! It must have been the horse drawn buggies of the prairies and the first model T ford cars that caused the later droughts.
I am a heretic to even think these thoughts.  I am Galileo before the Pope today. That most corrupt of all deadly entities, the United Nations, home of arms dealers, with their appalling necrophiliacs Agenda 21, their kangaroo courts, and bully consensus are as terrifying as Herod and Caesar, Napoleon and Hitler. Layers and layers of make work bureaucracy are more wasteful than all the plastic containers in the world today.  Why can’t we have a recycle bin for the United Nations?   Despot leaders and terrorist nations call Israel the great Satan and some would even promote Sharia Law to put women back in the gilded cage.
They just make this shit  up as they go. No one confronts the idiocy. There’s no truth just groupspeak.  George Orwell and 1984 are gagging in their graves.  The media is a propaganda organ for mass stupidity while our own nations pushes marijunia as the solution to all that ails you.  Meanwhile we invade Afghanistan to destroy their poppy fields.  And the soldiers can’t help but see the irony of Flander’s Fields.
I am alive today.  I am alive.  This is a sacred moment for me. A miracle.  I am enjoying the summer warmth and the morning breeze.  I am grateful for the inexplicable reality of life, my life and this moment’s chance to focus not on the outward insanity but inwardly on God. This great and loving Mystery.  How come I to be here and a part of this wondrous celebration of life.  Here among trees and birds and animals.  I thank you Creator. Thank you dear Grace. Please grant me love, wisdom and wealth that I might serve you better if it be Thy will. Give health and wellness to my loved ones and guide me in your purpose.  May I serve you better.  Thank you this day.

Early Morning Wakening

At least it wasn’t a nightmare. I don’t think I needed even to pee. I just woke from a dream of Kubrick’s puzzles and IQ tests, swirling swirling shapes. And I thought the computer in my mind had failed somehow.  Pixelations on the screen of thought.  Perhaps I had insight into early dementia.  A glimpse of the destruction and healing.  Wondering now what memory was lost or what future capability is gone. Not that it matters. There are billions of cray available. I could piggy back a thought on another yet it’s 3 30 am and I can’t fall back to sleep.  In my self pity I worry.  I’ve been worrying about backing up RV’s. The crash and subsequent cost and time consuming disruption of a minor rainy cold tired night’s event wakes me now a year later. Like the face of a baby that did not live to be born came back over and over again till today I hardly recall the image. It no longer frightens me. I’m still recovering from the man who proudly talked of multiple murders but wanted his day in the sun too.  Entitlement is what it is.  I smoke a joint and forget the rules or past but want the ice cream as much if not more than the next guy. And it’s hard to kill.
I feel so far from suburbia.
I feel so far from the comfort of ignorance and security.
Each day I meet the face of reptilian rage and the anger of wolves in packs.  I remember the coyote female who tried to lure my little dog back to the pack for the ritual of canine cannibalism. I saw her face in passing today.
Eyes are haunting me.  So much to read.  So much horror.
People have even stopped shaking hands. Bumping knuckles.
I’m overwhelmed.  Finances, health, family, friends, work, demands. Each day, the alarm rings, I drink coffee, wash, do a day in the life, feel the tunnel of work like a garbage shute.  I slide down it and pop out the end in some dumpster.  Pick myself up and drive home to enter the aloneness of books and tv, Netflix, wifi, Facebook and comments. Bit pieces.  I love my fridge. I love the running water. I sometimes sit outside and love the air.  The dog is happy for our walk by the river.  It cleared some of the garbage smell away.  Unclean bodies.  Streets washed by water but needing soap. Too many needles.  Old tents. Bits of cardboard.  I could have sworn I saw a van dump an old sofa and garbage in a lane for someone else to clean away.  So many people don’t know to use the toilet.
Yet it’s all getting better. It’s all moving forward. Only in my mind is their revolution and death.  The big bang was yesterday. Today is actually pleasant. If I slip into the present, wear the day a little, then it’s not so heavy.  Winter clothing changing to spring and summer. A frock here.  Colours there. Buds and flowers.  I carry too many parcels on my shoulders. My hands are weighted down with things. I’ve a storage locker I’ve not dug through in a year or two. What are mementos when they hold us back.  I’m on the verge of purging.
Dreaming of the freedom and fear of the Pacific.  Prayer in the daily uncertainty of ship and sea.  I said I’d only come ashore to outfit. That was years ago. I’ve more than enough to escape. Yet I stay knowing I can cut a line but never could trust in bricks and mortar again.  Abortions take place where there are such wall. She kills babies and blames it on him.  He’s always at fault. It was ever thus.  Despite stories of apples they can’t come together to get to Mars. NASA is already asking for colonists and we can’t even making babies anymore. The courts are insane with suicide solutions and a few rich men.
I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.
I have helped as best I can.  Been a healer.  Saved so many lives. Held so many hands in nightmares. Calmed so many hearts.  Even today I cured a body part threatening to leave an unkind human.  There’s need for maintenance.  And I was looking for the oil. My bicycle sits un used. I’ve got to find the tarp.  In the meantime I have WD40 in another place. It’s not here. There’s a guitar too and I planned to sing. But the Bible in the other room.  I miss the cockpit. I miss the easy reachability of critical things.  Like the dog on the bed when I wake in the night. Where is he now.  I reach out to him for comfort and he’s lying on the floor. We snuggled before bed. He came to me for assurance.  The end of the day belly scratch.
I sometimes miss the cat. Her uncanny appearances.  She moved between dimensions.
And did I meditate as I promised myself.  Sitting cross legged chanting for hours as I did in an earlier day when there seemed more time in the day and less phone calls and less demands.  So many people want a piece of me.  And yet I’d feel worse unwanted.  Popularity has it’s merits.  I’m blessed beyond belief and yet I am never satisfied.
I call to God and he or she or it, the god program, sends me people, and I want a holy space man rocket ship pilot with wizard powers and magical capabilities.  I want the devil really with his promises of earthly experience yet believe I want what Jesus wanted, solitude and silence.  He shouted away the devil. Materialism and life are so much more immediate and sensual than the spiritual.
I would have sex and chocolate and my heaven would be a place where I could smoke and drink like in youth when forgetfulness was desired not now when its inevitable.
I want to know what I want to do. I want to have a purpose beyond myself.  I am more than a consumer and yet I am just that.  A consumer.  To the consumer everything is consumption even God.
I ate God this weekend and drank his blood.  The sacrifice is ever there before me.  So when does one suicide.  Physician assisted suicide is to be legalized and encouraged and yet I resisted suicide after the abortion when she wanted me dead and would not believe in life. She hid so deep in her fear and hatred of her parents and her own life that she would not give birth to tomorrow.  Now there is Kate and the royal new born.  Somewhere my future is dead in a drain and I am celebrating the children of those who believed when all I ever meet are those who wish to die and I am somehow entrusted in keeping them alive.
I’ve had my thumb in the  hole in the damn for decades now and instead of a replacement they’re saying we all should do it.  Like Justin Troudeau and his mother smoking pot. I can’t tell anyone how wrong I felt it was to smoke pot and break the law and as a boy scout and a Christian I believed in the law before I learned that the Judge was a drunken intellectual who couldn’t stand up to read what he’d written.  And now I know that what I wrote stoned and drunk was somehow off, like meditations on LSD.
I figured out one day that drugs and alcohol were like sneaking over the walls of heaven as thieves, like the fools in Pilgrims Progress.  Heaven is invitational only. It’s not to be taken by force. I am a beggar at the gate. I am a second nano second after the thought. God is the first.  I’m a reaction. Thought is something later. Experience is first.  Grok.
God I long for you. I pray for you. I beg you to come into my life. Light up my night.  Raise me from ignorance. Fill me with your love and wisdom. Show me your way. Thy will be done not my will.  Guide me. Help me.
Thank you for this day. Thank you for the daily bread. Thank you for awakening and sleep. Thank you for all your blessings. Thank you for food and water and air and this life. Thank you for this ‘game’ of pixels and keyboard and help me win to a higher level.  Help me to get from this bottom of consumer materialism accounting financial quandary where I want and need to that higher power place of faith and trust and living in the flow.  I’ve cared for so many people through you. I’ve given with all my heart as those I’ve given to have counted ventricle and vessels to be certain I’m not short changing them an atrium.
Lift me out of this place of fear and sorrow into that world of freedom and prayer and meditation and certainty of you where there isn’t the constant negativity.
It’s my work. Lord.  Help me help those who are daily in the grip of delusions. Help me help those who are the pawns of the government psychopaths who enable addictions and write off the many for the profit of the few. Help me help each and every person who comes to me for solace. Help me give them hope and lead them from the darkness. Help me be a better healer so I can work myself out of a job. Help me end this life of constant service in insanity where there seems no end to the business. Help me make a difference,is that what it is, no I don’t think I’m that naive. I just want to move forward an inch at most, a nano second.  Help me to change myself and my attitude and help me to pray and love more deeply. Help me to help others more fully and show me the way.  The Way. The Way.
Life is a journey.  I’m feeling like I’m staggering about in the ditch lost in a forest when there must be a trail or some easier way forward.  Some place where tax men don’t threaten and bully like the men who bring guns to their doctors visits and the girls who see you as disposable ass wipe.
And I know too late how much my mother and father loved me and how I never loved or appreciated them enough. The dead call to me. I miss them so much. I regret I couldn’t have enjoyed the silences we shared more. I miss the packs and tribes and nations and groups. I understand the Salvation Army, their good work, their platoons.  I would know that there are others when I feel my back to the wall. I call out to you Jesus. I repeat your holy name. I pray that I am not alone.
Yet I feel alone. I feel separate and apart. I feel alien to the heard. I feel judged by my financial tag. I’m worth only what the bank says I’m worth and it’s a fixed game in a gambling casino and the tattoo on my arm was put there by someone sometime who said I was worth only this much. Arbitrarily someone else was worth more and I’m struggling to pay the rent when I think I should have a rocket ship.
But I don’t really want a rocket ship.
I want Luxor and Cleopatra and grapes and mommy.
Really I want back in the womb.
I’ve been expelled from eden for eating the fucking apple and I want back in the garden.
I am at war with God because that fat old man with a white beard won’t let me in his garden.  I named everything as I was told and even listened to her prattle on about the fucking snake. The snake says this the snake did this.  I ‘m without a rib and all I hear is what a shit I am.
I need a new publicist.
I want the role of God next time round.  Even Jesus didn’t have to live out a whole life. He kicked the can in his 20’s .  I used to worry about the crucifixion till I worked in intensive care and saw that people dying at 90 could suffer like a saint. Death and dying could be unpleasant any time.  the Good died young. The lucky went with a bullet.  War wasn’t such a bad thing as months in hospital. I felt saddest for the fistulas and the genetic ward.  Theres the rheumatism and arthritis. There’s the fatigue of damaged hearts. Theres the insane.
I’ve spent my life in disease and sickness with Donovan’s song, “looking through crystal spectacles, I can see I’ve had your fun, the doctor bit was so far out’ revolving around in my brain as those drug dealers are laughing at me for my silly words like integrity and duty.
Even the judge twisted the truth and lied and lied and lied.  Our big brains are not for honesty but for deceit the scientist says as with a bigger brain we can plan hunts better and sneak up together on wholly mammoths. But maybe we need our even bigger brains to learn our own self deception. To understand the deceit of State and Rulers and Bankers and the Media and the ……oldest law of the world is the Chinese Law of the Fish….there are big fish and little fish and the little fish must be fast and numerous.

I’m just a little fish.

Despilte all the self esteem training I can’t find it in me to think I’m a big fish. To be a big fish I’d need my own army and a rocket ship and mistresses.  Lots of mistresses. An a movie company and a license to kill and super powers.
I’d like to raise the dead and heal like Jesus.
I’d like to heal like Jesus.
I’d like to be a better doctor. After all these years I still can’t convince a drug addict to stop killing themselves.  I’ve stopped the suicidals but not the ones on drugs. Even the schizophrenics stopped killing themselves in my care but the drug addicts …..well….I failed…..he hung himself last year…..he was alone in the end…..family friends work all gone. ….and now they’re telling me it was a win….he hung himself but in the future I can ‘whack’ him with heroin and let him drift away.
A kid came in on heroin though. He was only 20. Should I whack him.
Do no harm.
And the judge and the college and the government laughed and laughed at me for saying I took the hippocratic oath and believed in it.  I want to die in the wee hours of the morning and leave this nightmare where the doublespeak of 1984 is all about us, where the promises of Clockwork Orange are here today and I’m unable to do anything about even one life who insisted that smoking marijuana he’s a genius. And I tell him he’s a fool.  He’s not enlightened. He’s a slave. and I wish I could sit another night with bikers screaming along the words to Goddam the Pusherman with Steppenwolf on the stage.
I’m grieving.
I want to raise the dead.
I want to walk on water.
I want to have telepathy.
I want a rocket ship and a license to kill.
I don’t want to kill my patients but I do want to kill the man and women who stole the money for the medicine and the man and women who gave the heroin for profit and didn’t include an insurance policy.  Justin Troudeau and his mom can smoke dope all they want. Why are there so many bureaucrats getting on about ‘prevention’ when the police won’t even keep the streets clear of drug addict zombies looking to bounce off a car just trying to get to work each day in the insanity of the city.
And what am I doing in the city.  She insisted that we had to return to the city. Twice I’ve escaped to the country, going with wives who have said they wanted to ride horses and have fresh air and do all that other country shit but once I was there with them they insisted they couldn’t be so far from their mothers and the shopping. I’ve tired of shoppaholics as well.  And what am I doing here when I could be alone in the wilderness or alone at sea.
I’m here as one small voice.
I’m Isaiah.  I’m the salt. I’m a spice. I believe the hysteria would run rampant with anti vexers and luddites and ISIS if not for a few who hold true to the delusion of democracy and all for one and one for all.
I’m silly.
I will go to work and do my bit.  Stiff upper lip.  My fear for family will pass.  I am a cog in the wheel.  I’m insignificantly significant and significantly insignificant.
The rioters don’t clean up after themselves.  The journalists and bureaucrats and all the paper pushers and talkers condemn the police and nurses and all those others who work in front lines.  We’re all plumbers.  Were Jesus to return he’d not go to the fishermen but rather he’d come and say “Be a plumber”.  Clean up shit.  Constipation is the problem.  The need is not in getting food but rather in getting rid of waste. And yes Jesus, ‘give unto cesar cesar’s due’ but really that was when taxes were 10% not the 50% today. Government is a cancer on the work of men. I see horrendous waste of resources in the DTES. Government funded crack pipes and government funded programs upon programs with little understanding of history or change put forward like kids who get a bag of gold and spend it on their friends and their ideas. Well I’m tired of seeing this waste and working to help individuals only to see things like school debt slavery for those who would have and education or costs of medications only the rich can afford.
I feel at times I just have to squeeze the pus out of my head.  There’s the fear and resentment and I’m not able to stay in the day and work as a cog in the wheel because I’m lost in the illusions remembering the promises of politicians and how we all worked for this health care and education and one day found that all the money was going to CEO”s . When did a government manager need millions . When did the CEO of the CBC get off getting millions in perks and I’m a doctor working 12 hours a day and that shit is putting out the news that propagandizes the country and i’m sup[posd to tell the truth and he’s allowed to lie with impunity. When will the CEO OF the CBC be held accountable for the shit he puts out when all of us drive to and from work and listen to rank propaganda not from our government but from some insanity I heard 40 years ago.
I pay taxes for the news and I have to go to BBC to learn what’s going on in the world. I drive to work every day and want to hear the ’news’s but I have to have Facebook to learn about Tesla’s new home battery. I have a half hour when  I could hear the ’news’ but instead I listen to the symphony because my taxes are being wasted on programmers who are propagandists and their bias and misinformation is unforgivable. I can only believe that those who write the news for CBC are living in the security and wealth of Luxor on some space station but their Canada is so far removed from what I experience.
All day long i see patients who are struggling financially in the richest country in the world. These are people who work and have worked and are good people but they can’t afford houses and they can’t pay student loans and they’re afraid for their kids and
I miss speakers corner.
In london, there was this shoe box.
I went at lunch with a sandwich and heard the ranters.
I loved the ranters.
Sometimes they’d sound just like the adorable CBC program called the Debaters.
In my head there’s rarely this mess. I block my negative thoughts with constant prayer. I’m focussed all day on solving problems .I’m teaching and showing and celebrating and elevating and explaining and encouraging and struggling to transfer experience and knowledge of disease and cure to people who have so many obligations and so little time.  I’m other focused all day.
Then I wake in the night and can’t sleep.
And this is the Laing Knot that’s blocking the sleep. This is the despair and fear and worry. This is the sense of failure. This is the despite the big brain and all my effort I can’t keep people alive forever. This is the fear of losing another person or even another dog. I don’t do well with dead fish. I tear up inside. I literally fall apart when I see sickness or death and I blame myself.  I blame myself all the time for the failure of life. This planet should be perfection. Everyone comes to me and complains. It’s a day long experience of complaints and I personalize it. I’m the cause of all disease and all failure . I ‘m the second law of physics. I’m supposed to be able to fix everything or at least reduce the pain.
I am daily given suffering and pain. All day long I’m faced with people blaming me for their pain which they caused by slashing their wrists and wanting to feel good slashing their wrists. I miss the simplicity and reasonableness of main stream general practice and the lie that it’s not as insanity  as psychiatry.
I miss the collusion.
I miss the confabulation.
 I am in the raw reality of life sucks. I want to die. Help me.
And all the fucking supreme court has to offer is physician assisted suicide. And all the government has to offer is pot.
Most of my patients would be a whole lot better with half the taxes and a little more money and jobs.  Where are the jobs. Why did the university sell women’s studies degrees when there are no jobs for any more fine arts students.  Shouldn’t those with women’s studies degrees be able to demand they be paid back their tuition and get to take accounting and engineering and plumbing course because that’s what the state is paying for.  Could we half the cancer of baurocracy and reward entrepreneurs or admit we really no longer want ‘universal health care’ but only ‘health care for the useful’ and give physician assisted suicide to anyone who is unfashionable this month. The communists ran their countries by killing off half the people and letting the rest share the illusion of progress because they were double wealthy overnight.
There are these thought loops in the brain. Cognitive behavioural therapy helps to identify them. Buddhism and Christian mysticism, ala the Dark Night of the Sout worked on identifying these computer ’trojans’ which had somehow burrowed into ones’ brain and interfered with normal functioning.
Most of the fear is self created.
Most of the suffering is caused by lack of presence.
Most of the problems I think are problems are above my pay grade.
I’ve no useful information about the climate change or the life of the planet. The nonsense the media put outs and what’s available on the internet is quite silly. As a scientist I know the answer is in the ‘stacks’ but the ‘stacks’ aren’t readily available on the internet because they begin around 100 or 200 pages in as all the early internet stuff is propaganda and what stupid people want to know on a topic.There’s also the dark web.
Follow the money trails.
Whenever I research anything I find conflicting accounts and these are competing. For instance the destruction of Alberta which gave rise to the change in government followed the successful Warren Buffet fight against the Keystone Pipeline on the grounds that it would damage the environment. Warren Buffet moves oil by train. It costs 3 x as much and is highly dangerous , far worse than pipeline spills.  But blocking keystone kept this monopoly and Canada suffered.  Collectively Canada has been rich because of Alberta’s ‘transfer’ payments.  Alberta has been condemned much as the police and much as scientists have been.  The NDP win in Alberta.  Canada is a ‘resource’ source for the mighty US. New York raped indiana.  Canada can expect to bend over.  There are big fish and little fish.  Our enemy is not the US but rather China which is the new Russia.  Russia is the new Germany and 60 is not the new 40.  Old people are fighting yesterdays wars with yesterdays knowledge.
We’re due for a war.
In Europe their a major wars every 50 years.
Economic recessions are like tides.
Without a miracle we’re hooped.
The atheists and intellectuals are declining. They hope to fill their ranks with pot smokers.  A study of the rationalists showed so many were emotionally immature due to addictions.
The enlightened can avoid war and recession. There is hope in God and spirituality.
I have to fight the demon of depression within me. The black dog. The part that just wants to give up. And I wrestle with the devil or god till the tiredness recurs and I get a possibility of sleep. I'm tired now. I've got out all the pus. All the stuff that doesn't make any real sense and isn't relevant to actual chopping wood and carrying water, all the media shit and all the conspiracy theories and all the anxiety and self pity.
Now I might sleep again a few hours before another day.

Please God be with me and guide me and if it be thy will let me die peacefully . Help me again to do the very best I can with what I have.  Thank you for all that this life gives and for all the help I have.  Thank you.  Help me love more. Help me fear less. Help me be of greater service. Guide me. Please.