Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts

Saturday, March 25, 2023

Fort Garry Library

It was always a big excursion as a child, a regular sunny day adventure. It began late spring in Winnipeg, continued through summer and carried into the fall.  I don’t remember winter excursions though expect Dad probably drove us a few times.  There were always books around our home when I was growing up.  I had my pile and Ronny had his. We were able to check out five or 6 each as a child. Mom would take one or two herself. She liked westerns.  Dad read books but they were mostly engineering, mechanical and electrical books he bought so he could make notations in them  They stood in the book shelves beside his easy reclining chair so he could reach them while sitting back.

I remember trips to the library with Mom and Ronny began when I was five or 6.  My brother would have been 9 or 10 at the time.  We’d moved to Winnipeg from Toronto when I was 5 , taking the CPR train, which had been really exciting.  I especially loved  running all the way from the front to the back of the rocking cars, eating in the dining car and sleeping in the bunks. A man in a black uniform with gold buttons and a little hat pulled back the curtain, shining a light into the sleeping space telling my brother and I to stop talking and go to sleep.  I think my mother or father had put him up to that because we were just so excited by riding on the train it was next to impossible to fall asleep the first night of the three day trip.  

We  lived in downtown Fort Rouge temporarily when we arrived, right near Trinity Baptist Church and what became known as Crazy Corners intersection.  I went to Kindergarden at a school which would be torn down to make that bigger intersection. I remember it most because they had great tube slides we’d have to get into to escape for fire drills. The first time was horrifying but after that when we actually shot out the bottom on the ground alive, I couldn’wait for fire drills.  

Dad and Mom found the Fort Gary home, a red brick bungalow with a large garden and three big spruce trees at the front of the yard.  Two sweet old English ladies dressed in tweed wool suits.  . They had two little face licking British Bulldogs which I played with while the adults were making arrangements for the transfer of property.  My brother was looking at the girls next door as they had come out on the lawn to look at us. 

The library was quite the walk at the time.  Six or more city blocks.  I admire kids who grew up in the country and can tell distance. I still think of distance in city blocks rather than miles or kilometres.   We lived  on North Drive by the Red River near where the Golf Club and Badminton Club was.  

“Hurry up, Billy!”my mom would call as we were leaving. She’d be wearing her long white cotton coat over her dark blue midi dress, nylons and sensible leather walking shoes.  She had fabulous long thick  red hair which she covered with  colourful scarves  Ron and I wore slacks and sneakers, ball caps, long sleeved shirts and wind breakers.  Mom made sure we had clean button shirts for the library excursion. It wasn’t like church where we only wore white shirts or school where we could sometimes wear t shirts.  Somewhere in between but still  important.  She took a last look at our faces and ears holding us by our chins before we went out the front door.   My brother and I had satchels to carry our books.  I had my lucky white rabbit foot in my pocket. Mom was carrying her big leather purse over her arm She always had candy treats in that, plus wallet and Kleenex and everything else you might find at a pharmacy or hardware store.  The dog was left at home and not too pleased at that.

We walked down the steps and up the sidewalk and on to the Viscount Alexander Elementary School which Ron and I attended.  Our little group would carryon walking diagnonally across the play fields till we came out on another street which cut across to Crane and took us to the foot ball field and hockey rinks behind the swimming pool, police station and Vincent Massey High School.  The Fort Garry Library was on Pembina Highway by the school. We’d walk out on Pembina with all the traffic Mom had avoided by taking the direct cross suburb walk.  She’d point out Robins and daffodils and talk sometimes non stop about the neighbourhood trying to get Ron to open up. He was more reserved than I was, more like Dad. I was more like my Mom. I talked easily with her. I told her everything every day loving being with her always. She’d be doing the dishes or just standing waiting for a bus and I’d hug her leg and cling to her just loving being close to my mom, the warmth and sweet smell of her.  

The grey haired lady at the Library knew my mom beaming when we all came in. 

“Good Morning, Mrs. Hay. How are you today? And how are the boys. Did you like all your books.”

“We’re just fine. It’s a lovely sunny day,”  she said   “Ronny finished all his books right away though Billy took his time. I loved the new Zane Grey you recommended.”  She  opened her purse taking out two paper backs novels giving them to the librarian.  Ronny and I would lift our satchels onto the counter.  The smiling librarian stamped each of the cards on the inside of the front cover of the books beside our names. When you took out a book you could see everyone else who’d read it too.

While mom stayed and chatted Ronny and I wandered off into the library where the distinctive smell of the stacks and stacks of books would become one of my all time favourite smells.  The books he liked were in a different section  He could stand up to find books and there was a big person desk for him to sit and read a bit of books he chose. My section was low to the carpetted floor and I could read the books I selected lying on the floor or sitting at little  people tables and little people chairs.

I mostly looked at pictures when we began going to the library.  Soon I’d be in a whole world of talking animals, space ships, bright colours and folks in fancy dress costumes from around the world. It would be later when Dad bought us boys a globe that I’d learn where all the strangely dressed people came from in the books I liked.  Inuit in furs hunting seals, Japanese women in long kimonos, Africans in little clothes wearing necklaces with gold or ivory.  It was all very exotic.  I especially liked the blue skinned aliens who looked much like us but had close fitting white suits and seemed stretched out.  I’d never know how long we were there before Mom would be calling. 

“Billy have you chosen your books” 

I’d look up and Mom and Ron were already at the counter. I’d have to rush through the books I been looking at and choose 5 that I could take with me.  We’d sign them out.  Ronny and I  carrying our satchels of books would follow  mom out the library ready for another week or two of reading.  .  The walk would begin.  Often though we’d walk along the highway sidewalk  now that  some of our natural kid energy had been worn off  by the morning adventure.  We’d evstop somewhere along the route and she’d take out a Wagon Wheel and  break off piece for each of us. We didn’t have anything to drink but chewed on our treat savouring it thoroughly as we trudged back home. .  After we passed the movie theatre we’d turn off Pembina, head  down Lyon turning at the Anglican Church for the last block to home. 

The dog would be so happy to see us running around in circles as Mom took our jackets and hung them up in the hall closet.  Ron nywould go right to our room to lie on the bed on his belly and and start reading.  I’d  followed mom into the kitchen where she’d make sandwich’s.  Grilled cheese were my favourite.  She’d often serve them to my brother and I along with tomato soup. ,. We’d always drink a  glass of milk though Ronny sometimes had two. He really liked his milk.  The dog would be in attendance. Mom would slip him at bit of grilled cheese sandwich though we boys weren’t allowed to feed him at the table.   It would be another couple of weeks before our next library excursion on another warm and sunny day. 

 

Saturday, December 3, 2022

Fear of Death/Love of Life

Fear of death has been thought the greatest fear.  Many variations of the theme exist like fear of dying, fear of pain, fear of powerlessness, fear of loss of control, humility, and much more.  
The classic psychiatric text was Denial of Death by Ernest Becker.  Denial is the most primitive of coping mechanism and used primarily when overwhelmed or perhaps negatively surprised.
The historic and traditional, microcosmic and microcosmic, approach to death is reproduction.  Children have been humans ,individually and collectively, response to fear of death and mortality.  Art and empire and monuments are all other ways of attempting to reach beyond the apparent limit of life.  Religion and all manner of thought systems further attempt to extend this life.  Not only is this the forward thinking approach but the study of history and archeology further advance the idea that life isn’t brief and perhaps sordid but rather long and noble.  
Love of life and imnortality go hand in hand. 
Vanity.
Children and family and genetically related individuals and groups are the building block of society.  
Yet coitus interruptis, the ‘withdrawal method’ was mentioned in Genesis.  L’Chaim , to life, but not if it’s to one’s dead’s brother’s progeny which was the requirement of Hebrew Law. If your brother died without an heir, you were required to i pregnate his wife.  Onan, much maligned for Onanism, or masturbation, rather failed to impregnate his dead brother’s wife and give her and him an heir. Instead he wanted to keep the land for himself and his progeny.
Land and land ownership and all that ties to that was of course part of the need for the construct of permanence and denial of death and change and fear of course of change and death.
The reformer is the enemy of anyone who benefits from the status quo but as change is frightening.
Faced with fear we ‘freeze’, ‘fight’ or ‘fight’.
“Freezing’ is very popular.  However what happens to an ostrich who puts its head in the sand. “It doesn’t know who kicks it”.
Birth and death.
We only have other’s word about our birth and the Big Bang theory, and we can’t tell anyone about our death.  Just one more of the great paradoxes of life.
The Book of Mormon was a sublime comedy and satire of all philosophies and religions.  The play was a challenge to all ‘people of the book’.  The major books are Bible, Bhagadvagita, Koran, Talmud, the Tripitaka, the Tao, Communist Manifesto, and the list goes on.  Each book has a protagonist,  Moses, Mohammed, Jesus, Paul, Buddha, Confuscious, Marx, etc.  There are a variety of these emotionally carthaced individuals with a mythology that surrounded their venerable lives.
The notion of God is ideas coming down from God, Intelligence and ideas going up to God , competing elevator ideas.
The oldest law of the world is the Chinese Law of the Fish, there are Big Fish and Little Fish, and little fish must be fast and numerous.

Having children made people bigger.  We protestants didn’t like to fight the catholics because we had a couple of brothers and sisters in general and the catholics had a lot.  Throughout history empires were made on children who provided the armies and the equivalent of slave labour.  Today children are pets. Then they were tools.

Feminist is a great myth. Women’s individualism was a product of contraception and the myth of overpopulation and the Industrial Age.

The Machine,

The Dark ages aren’t as dark as intellectuals would have you believe The advances in engineering are mind boggling.  Just the idea of the lever and the pyramids and stone henge are more monumental than space flight. 

The dark ages and Middle Ages were a time of physical advancement and not just paintings.  The renaissance was a recovery and advance of science.  

Science joins two with the ‘neutral term’ ‘associated with’.  Marxism and it’s little sister feminism joins two ‘events’ with the value laden term ‘oppresses’. Hence the hysteria of victimship and legal equivalent of side taking, and blame and shame.  Politicians advance with divide and conquer and ganging up. 

Individualism was never desired.  In face of threat humans congregated.  Being alone was for the lunatic and the religious.  Even monks were a community as Thomas Merton showed in his study of Buddhist and we knew of the Dessert father.

War is us against them.  It’s all fear based and paranoia.  Steal a little and they put you in jail , steal a lot and they make you king. The winner writes history.  Women are equally guilty.  Eva Brawn and Hitler’s Mother created Adolf.

Women have been second class only because of their unwillingness to accept accountability.  No praise without blame.  Today the various victim cults want license not freedom. The language is changed to validate whatever ideology suits , such as murder and abortion or Medically Assisted Suicide,

I turned 70. I am an individual.  I realized 28 days alone at see with only a dog and a cat.  
The only day we have is today. Carpe Diem. ODAAT. One day at a tine,  We live from sleep to sleep. 
Life is a manifestation of memory desire and today.  Buddha did say desire is the root of all suffering.  Kierkegaard said life is suffering unto death.

Freud said Eros and Thanatos.  Life wish and death wish.

Politicians promote their children today and say vote for me “I”m a parent’.

The division is ‘parents and single’s, ‘families versus individuals’,  With the machine we don’t need many more. A dog and a cat perhaps, a God, a friend.  

Sex was first for pleasure.   Later it was connected to child making.  Later it was known that the largest armies one.  

Gender is a product of the past.  

Humans are heard animals. Raising children or even monkeys alone created insaniety, death wish dominant.  Raising biologically disconnected children, adopted, kibbutz etc worked.  

Science takes groups and compares them and finds general trends and directions which can guide but don’t predict the future of the individuals.

Individuals and individualism is associated by farmiles and countries.  The paranoid sees the individual as oppressed by the group.  Certainly the Communist Committee Gangstrism continues to oppress individuals.

Others see all relationships as mutual ,versus parasitic,

I like my dog,  Dog and human have been a long history of mutuality.  

I remember family and being born but my father’s generation was born into the celebration of the ‘family unit’.  The Asian family unit vernerates the old.  Children are a mother’s old age pensio.  Mother’s collectively are cared for by children in old age while the world is full of disregarded old men.  Men die 10 years younger than women because they are uncared for .  The lie of feminism was that women were tougher, but when put in the same jobs they died as young. Feminists haven’t been creative but have raised children for themselves .  Today women have sons on leash. Men have dogs on leash.  

Men are becoming women and women are becoming men,  God doesn’t make mistakes.  The whole idea of that is fate versus choice.  I chose to dress as a woman and because of that I can be deemed wrong, bad, mad.  But the other who says God made a mistake. Is the latest in the victim motif.  I love the advances of science and women getting big breasts and women getting little breasts is called cosmetic surgery. I’d like breasts as a man for the sake of cosmetic surgery.  Not because of fate or free will.

However the great industry of law and psychology is to ‘advocate’ for the outside.  Today one of the wealthier groups is the new ‘drug pusher’ who is the ‘advocate’ of the ‘drug addict’ who can’t abstain but must have safe source.  The natives did the land claims game with native getting 1 million dollars while two lawyer groups got 10 million dollars each to gabfest.  The safe source debate is little different,

The same debate occurred with Sangster and birth control and abortion.  The pregnant girl could abstain or the rape could have been compensated as in tribal society superior and more sophisticated than today which is a lewd and obscene society.  Neither better or worse. Difference.

The idea of the Christian’s refusing to take the plank out of their own eyes while attacking on mass the mote in their neighbours.  The Christian who is obese slanders the Christian who murders.

Hierarchy of hate and shame and inside out sider is perpetuated in the law of the fittest.  Are we reducing the gene pools but helping the wounded

I don’t have children. I like wearing dresses. But I liked wearing cammo. I liked wearing the military imitation officer suits popular with lawyers and politicians. I liked wearing yachting gear and dancing wear and clinical lab coasts and college cordoroy.  Gender is not who I am.  

Yahweh - I am who I am.  

Namastes - the God in me salutes the god in you.

Alone I am never alone,   I am a Christian.  The Christian god is loving and always loving and not judgemental ,  Incluseive , not exclusive.  But then God is loving and judgemental and inclusive or exclusive.  God is all or nothing and All and nothing.

I loved the 60 tv show Prisoner.  A totalitarian dystopia whereas I’ve a libertarian dystopia.

As a Christian I’m top of the class as married man with good kids today.  As a politicians, the same.  Historically the Christians were individuals and disciples and groups and some were alone and some some were married.  We don’t hear much of the children of the disciples.

Cherry pickin Christians have rejected Paul on women and slaves but also cherry picked Jesus ‘. Thoughts on enmity and money.  

I loved the 60’s books, Be Here Now (a take off from Brother Lawrence, Pracrticing the Presence of God’ and Elkhart Toole, Power of Now.,  I also like the couple who wrote ‘what to do till the messiah comes’.  A Jewish couple who did’t believe Jesus was the messiah,  I heard an Anglican Priest say he didh’t believe the Bible.  Another Protestant Canadian female minister didn’t believe in God or Jesus but wanted the job and pension.  

The government doctor told me “Act like a doctor’, and he had the arrogance to think he did To me he was just another ‘suit’.  

My life as a community psychiatrist was always “attraction’.  The world of ‘prevention’ is even more attraction.  The ‘police doctor’ the ‘licensing doctors remind me of the time when I was in charge of the asylum. If you wanted out you needed to do as I say.  There’s a world of coercion in medical politics,

In the healing profession the person is dying and you can delay the process and relief suffering.

All medicine is palliative care in face death,

I and my family go to heaven. You and your family go to hell. Your mother wears army boots.  Amazing what we can’t learn from what children discern. You’re in or out.  King Lear at the end speaking to his daughter.  Shakespeare calls it ‘court things’.

90% of cross dressing men are heterosexual .  The whole feminist movement of today is the woman wearing pants. Chanel to Hillary Clinton. The argument that post modernism is just a pretty name for the Super rationalism that denies the feminine and denounce the mother, the holy mother, the sacred mother.  Women in communism the religion of aetheism were denied children. Abortion and hysterectomy . Vasectomy is not a communist thing,  The primitive tribal woman says we count a man by the number of his children.  

The number of children and number of wives

Anthropologists define the west as ‘serial monogamy’. In my childhood 50 year marriages were normal with divorce rare and families in tact to some degree mostly. Today the urban divorce rate is 50 % and 5 year marriages are the norm.  Based on individualism and science perhaps the 50 % marriages that persist are the bad marriage.

My friend who left high school and became a millionaire called me a slow learner because I spent another 12 years in institutional learning and even went not to teach at a couple of universities.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  Women act more like men than their mothers,  Marx and Engles wanted to destroy families as a threat to the almighty god of the State.  Communists call mothers ‘Breeders’.  

It’s fun getting to know women more.  I also see gays and other minority groups in a non child centered fear of death way.  

An early female Judge found 320 consecutive family cases against the man.  

The woman registrar at the College of Physicians and Surgeons said “Women don’t lie about sex”.  I have to date never been compensated for all the sexual harassment I have experienced in the work place, the rape, the caning in school, being hit in the head by a teacher’s wooden mallet, the individual list of ‘wrong’s’ and manure of self pity that power the ‘pay me’.  The story of the fisherman and the beggar is lost to history.   

I don’t like being among strangers.  I have worked in the jails and the asylums and I have been in government offices.   I am good at my work.  I’m like a motor parts guy, a spiritual fixit.  I know the products available and have a lot of answers to all manner of questions most of which people are afraid to share with others.  

Live and let live.

Jesus taught Love God and Love thy neighbour as yourself.  If any passage in the Bible veers from this then that’s what needs to be discussed not whether a trucker wears diapers.  

To thine own self be true.

God is all and I am a part of God.  

My identity is not my self’.  C.S.Lewis’s said thoughts are ‘creatures’.  St. John of the Cross, Nada.  The spiritual path.  The long dark night of the soul.  

I am a lone but not alone,. 

 

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Mother Love

She is talking, matter of factly. The child is playing quietly beside her.  He is studying a book. She continues speaking adult to adult. But the child quiets for an instant and she reaches across to him touching him. He continues to turn pages. It’s a brief second. Like a ignition switch touch.  Two spines entwined. I’m outside of this. The adult talking to another adult. One whose body held this child with hers for short of a year. But now still connects with a spiritual umbilical chord.  The child is comforted by the touch. Goes on with his childishness.  HIs mother is close. All is well in his world. She is beautiful in her grace

I sometimes feel this with God. My own mother long dead.  Overworked.  Used up, depleted. Spent. Sweet in death as in life.  Now there are moments when I’m comforted by synchronicity and sacredness. It’s not the same. But it’s as close as I can come long past the age of this child, this side of the other place, called haven. Where my mother is.  

Sunday, May 14, 2017

I remember my Mother

I remember my mother
Holding me, wrapping her  loving arms around me
And pulling me close in to her soft warm body
I remember my mother
Protecting me from all harm when I was little
Always watching over me
Always being there to run to
Always being there to come home to
I remember her grilled cheese sandwiches
Fishing with her
Going for walks and holding her hand
Snuggling beside her in bed with her and Dad
I remember mother
Sitting upright in church with a colourful spring hat
Listening to the minister then standing and belting our gospel hymms
I remember mother making meals upon meals upon meals
(especially Red River cereal, and venison hash and moose roasts, pan friedfried pickerel)
For my father brother and me (and the dog we fed meat bits under the table)
I remember mother crocheting, knitting, quilting, mending.
I remember mother gardening, eating fresh home grown vegetables, especially the carrots
And her purple lilacs, and lots of daffodils .
I remember my mother arguing with the teachers and principals
About me and how she didn’t like the when they hurt me
I remember mother wailing out at me when I was bad
I remember hiding under the bed to get away from a spanking
And her laughing and getting me finally after a wild chase
And the spanking not hurting very much at all.
I remember sleeping soundly and dreaming forever play dreams
Knowing my mother and my father were there in their room
And my brother was beside me.
I remember my mother taking me weekly to the library
And reading books with me until I could read on my own
I remember my mother taking me to school my first day.
I remember camping with my mother and father and tenting and boating.
I remember riding on trains with my mother and visiting my family out east.
I remember long car rides with my mother and her making up games and songs
I remember my mother taking me and my brother to and from outdoor hockey games
In the coldest of winter and always having an oreo cookie for us on the way home
I remember my mother’s glorious red hair and her talking on the phone on the wall
I remember her typing up columns for the newspaper in the sunroom with her Christmas cactus
I remember her cheering in the stands and watching and encouraging as I played baseball poorly
I remember my mother helping with my homework and making sure assignments got done
I remember my mother coming to graduations and being very proud
I remember her calling us in from play in summer as the sun went down
I remember watching tv and eating kraft dinner with her and dad and my brother
In the living room with the dog and mom laughing because dad blamed the dog for farting
I remember my mom caring for my grandmother until one day my grandmother died in our home
I remember my mother taking in our cousin after her surgery and nursing her back to health
I remember mother as a peace maker resolving disputes between us boys and us and Dad
I remember mother making turkey thanksgiving dinners with her sister and all of us enjoying celebrations
I remember Christmas and birthdays because my mother remembered them and celebrated them.
I remember my mother laughing and crying and singing
I remember my mother teaching me to pray on my knees beside my bed
I remember  my mother always supportive and always encouraging and always forgiving
I remember my mother dancing with my dad and loving my dad and my brother and me
I remember complaining that Dad wasn’t at a hockey game and mom scolding me and saying
“Your dad is working hard so we can have a roof over our heads and food on your plates so don’t you ever complain about your dad"
I remember my  Mother screaming in the little plane Dad’s friend took us flying in like she did on the  fun rides at the fair
I remember her making rhubarb pies and giving my brother and me one orange each watching tv in winter
I remember mother making the NHL hockey nights special for us watching black and white tv with my brother and I in team shirts
I remember us all watching Lawrence Welk and Ed Sullivan on evening tv and listening to CJOB Beefs and Bouquet  morning radio
I remember my mother loving my brother marrying my sister in law and proudly telling everyone how smart she and Ron were
I loved when she had grandchildren and how she beamed and smiled a continent wide with joy for the babies
I loved that she was always there for me when I was sick, rubbing vapour rub on my chest when I was young
Bringing me soups and stew when I was old.
I remember my Mom always inviting me in and often telling me not to tell my father when I told her  some trouble I was in
I remember my father telling my brother and I not to tell my mother about some adventures we had together
I remember her listening to my woes and then making me tea or a sandwich and saying that it was going to be okay
I remember my mother helping out at the community club, game and fish, church and the local parades.
I remember my mother always helping out always remembering things others forgot and always making sure everything worked out
I remember my mother writing letters to me when we got older talking about the same old things, gardening, the neighbours, church, and stuff
I remember her coming over for dinner when I was married and Dad had helped me pick out a house and she was so happy for me
I remember my mother being so generous and gracious with the women in my life loving each one and showing them kindness and goodness
I remember her remembering my friends names and asking me about Wes and Keith and always loving Kirk and Garth.
I remember my mother getting old and sharing pictures of the cruises Dad took her on and pictures of her with natives in foreign lands laughing
I remember her in hospitals visiting her and her smiling and asking how I was
I remember my mother in her last year in a wheelchair, Dad pushing her in a big circle around the outside of hospital spring and summer, fall and winter
Dad told me she liked to hear the birds and I remembered all the bird feeders she had over the years especially the one outside the kitchen window
I remember her shovelling snow to get out to it so she could keep the bird seed full in the coldest times of the year when the birds needed her seeds most
I remember her and my dad, her in the wheelchair, my Dad standing bent over beside her, tucking in her scarf, her hands bundled in mittens on her laps
The two of them were the greatest love story I have ever known and my mother made my Dad and her sons happier than anyone else could ever know.
And I remember her dying last days and her telling me she was tired and she wanted me to let her go.
I remember my mother loving me. I remember my mother always loving me even when I made her angry or sad.
I remember my mother as love incarnate
I remember my father and brother and I bereft at her passing, my father who never cried, crying like a baby.
I remember my mother.I will always remember my mother.
On the best of days I dream of her and my dad and my brother and my aunt  and the dogs waiting for me
Often I feel her close to me.I remember my mother.
She was always there for me.
And now she is always here for me.


Saturday, December 21, 2013

Loss at Christmas

It's coming up Christmas.
I was woken from sleep at 3 am. Nightmares.  Again.  Wet pillow.  Tears.
I was reminded today of a woman who had the courage to refuse an abortion and how she was hounded for years after and abused terribly till she was no more.  Everyone who tried to support her was attacked viciously.  I feel I've come close to pure evil again and was strongly reminded of this today.
I found myself missing a lawyer friend, Dugald Christie. We sat in church and talked about God, love, ethics, morality, society on drives to the jail where he got  me doing pro bono work.  I was blessed to know him.  He was killed.
I learned of another patient who died today. HIV and drug addiction.  I talked with him of his whole life.  So many fine chapters in that blessed book. These last few pages were miserable and his death is a kind of blessing. I'll miss him.  Another patient hung himself earlier this fall. He'd been turned away from the hospital and refused services.  We did our best in the community but it wasn't good enough. We have no resources and we are punished for caring.  Our thinkings is wrong because we're not looking at things from the perspective of profit and these people simply aren't profitable.
There's more talk of euthanasia for the elderly.  Legalize marijauna, give them cake, have everyone stoned and it's Matrix and the Holocaust all over again but now we'll all be 'high' so it will be okay.
I feel so alone at times.
I miss my mother and father and aunt and grandparents.  They're dead and I'm old and it sometimes seems so sad.  I pick myself up and pray and pray. I meditate and I try to exercise. The pain gets to me more some days.  I'm blessed beyond belief but I grieve.
Loss is loss. There's no getting around it. I miss people who have gone.
I miss Jesus. I think of him being killed by Herod and Pontius Pilate and Peter being crucified upside down by Nero and stupidly I'm reading about William Wallace tortured and quartered by Edward Plantanget.  These are the real morality tales.
I should be reading about birds and flowers.  I think adults who have children have a buffer, they get to read all the fairytales over and over.  I miss the fairytales.
I don't have answers or solutions.  Mostly questions.  I dare not ask why anymore. Mostly I just ask, where?  'Where are you Jesus?'
The great lie of the secular world is that atheists are foisting the notion that theists are killers but the only religion of atheism is communism. Russian Communists killed 80 million people in very few years. Chinese Communists killed 120 million people. And I just came from Cambodia where Cambodian communists, the latest generation of atheist government, killed 3 million in record time, 4 years, more than a third of the countries population of 8 million.
I swore on a Bible today.  I liked that,  It felt good under my hand.  In a break I read psalms.  They were comforting as they always are.  Still I'm sad.  So very very very sad. But this too will pass. It's just a hiccup. I could take a drug, smoke some grass, have some wine, not 'feel', 'numb' myself out. I tried that years ago after the divorce, after being held hostage, the life threats and the deaths, so many, back then. HIV and suicide.  "Man up!!!"  "Shake yourself out of it."
I remember the shame and embarrassment I felt kneeling and crying in the hospital corridor when the boy died despite all I did to save his life. He died because he stopped taking the medication that was keeping him alive and here I am years later, still crazy after all these years, trying to stop people from taking drugs that are killing them.  Will I ever float down stream?
I sat with a colleague and felt his fear at the threat of being hounded in retirement. He's scared about the babies he delivered. He did his best. I know. He's the best doctor I know but we're not perfect and now there's so much money to be made by destruction. No one's into creation. It's out of vogue.  Bankers even bid on insurance against collective suicides they've engineered for power and greed and we're pawns in the insanity of politics.
I'd rather be in a storm at sea alone than in the crush of media hype hysteria. First they built enough bombs to kill us all a hundred times over then they were supposed to stop that and needed a whole bunch more money to clean up the mess they made and then some of that clean up didn't work and Syria has gassed its people and it's no long global but regional and we're supposed to make sense of it with all the false prophets and misinformation.
Trust me I'm a politician.  Trust me I'm a reporter. Trust me I'm a government representative. Trust me I'm a lawyer.  But if I say 'trust me, I'm a doctor', everyone thinks that's funny.  Weird and twisted humour this planet earth has.
I probably should walk the dog more along the river where I take pictures of the beautiful birds that live there year round.  I could lie on the beach.  I could sit a lot longer in Rome churches with the smell of incense and the place of worship.
I'm an ecumenicalist.  I believe that all spiritual seekers are on the same path.  I pray to the 'saints of all religion' and believe that Buddha, Mohammed, Moses, Jesus all were further along the path than their followers. I see these spiritual men walking out at the front where God is calling to his son and all his children, to come home.  And death is that home for me but I can't get there till I love this gift of life to it's fullest. And I don't feel I'm living life as lovingly or as meaningfully, gratefully or graciously as God would have me.
The irony is I'm as likely to meet Spongebob in the afterlife.  Divine Comedy is what it is.
I'm kind of slouching towards Bethlehem.  I've got way too much attitude. I'm dragging a whole lot of luggage that's negative and resentful and poor me.  I'm so full of lust, sloth, gluttony, greed, and downright stupidity that I can't feel the wings of eagles or be lifted up to my Lord in Heaven.  I'm a slug wallowing in the dirt, hiding in fear a lot when I should be a kid in sandbox throwing the dirt in the sky.
I want to dance without pain, sing without hoarseness, laugh till tears stream down my cheeks.
I want Jesus.
The basic story is God was born man and killed by man. What could be simpler as metaphor.  Now I have to believe that God resurrects.  There is life after life and life after death and my family who have died, my friends who have died and my patients who have died are still alive, not just in my memory but where I can meet them again, like long lost friends, like high school reunions and comings home from distant lands.
Mary was like my mom, like every mom and Jesus was like me, like every baby.  And they had friends and they suffered governments and taxes and intolerance and greed and the powers of this world.  I've lived twice as long as Jesus and my mom lived longer than Mary and all of us have been living this metaphor myth story in our own lives as the cosmic Christ is within all of us.  God is born. God died. God will come again.  The trinity of father, son and holy spirit.  The beginning middle and end, Parent, child, holy spirit. But it's not linear. It's stellar
Contemplating the Christmas story. Advent and the coming of the king.  The servant king.  The message that God is a lover.
I have no children but my brother shares the men he and his wife created with me.  They're fine men.  I was with a friend and his sons. They're fine men too. They're all moving into marriage and having families.
The cycles go on.
I delivered a hundred babies, stopped an epidemic or two on Indian villages, saved a dozen infants with meningitis from brain damage.  All those nights without sleep. All those terrible unknown diseases. Being held hostage. Being attacked, The deliriums and dementias and the teams of people, teachers and friends.  I've been blessed to be a healer among healers.
When I studied buddhism and was a disciple and yogi in my 20's I learned about right living.  I figured that what Jesus did was right living.  So becoming a healer was okay and it's been okay.  It's been good.
I'm not allowed to do that so much anymore.  I feel I've been hi jacked for other purposes.  I keep thinking of missionary work.  But then I like my things.  I 'm a fat cat yuppie who lacks any real compassion, self centered, self serving, complaining, whining, twittering and face booking with my luxury computer and luxury I phone communication devices, and designer clothes and glorious motorcycle and fast sports car.  I worry about losing this hard won hard earned bit of the Canadian dream.
But I've not had heat secure for weeks and the water hasn't been sure. Basics like electricity are never things I can take for granted in my world. This cold snap caught me off guard, fighting beurocrats with too much tax dollars and not enough real work and no real life experience to learn humility.  I've no house and the really rich think I'm rich but my riches are my dog and a fishing rod and rifle.  I 'm a survivalist.
I can live off the sea or off the land. I haven't had much faith in governments and stupid people in groups not to crucify the citizenry collectively and have us all nuked and having to defend ourselves individually from zombie groups of marauder gangs.  I fear the break down of civilization and yet I've prepared for just that eventuality.  Boy Scout motto, always be prepared.
The core fear is what Pascal described as the God shaped hole inside me.  I can't find the architect God in the wall of the building. I have to find the light within that is the source of the light without. Easy enough to say and easy enough to talk about.
But
But
I pray and meditate and meditating am distracted by a myriad of 'things' in that quiet time when I listen for the wee small voice of God.
I would know you more fully, more surely more really. Let me be like you Jesus. Let me know you but lets accept you did the cross bit and that was for all of us so I can get down off the cross, take the nails out of my hands and feet that I keep putting there and use the wood to build a house.
I loved the 150 year old St. Thomas church where Steven Bell sang and played guitar last month. Now there was some mighty fine wood.
Maybe I can sleep again. The little dog is sleeping beside me.  I pray I'll be with God in my dreams. I love when I dream of family and dogs and friends who have gone before. I love the dreams of meetings and especially love the old ladies.  I'm walking towards the light, Jonah like, stumbling and twirling and back stepping , getting swallowed by whales,  staggering, side stepping, sashaying, skipping, hopping and crawling.  Sometimes it's so slow and other times its way too fast.
Thank you God for hope. Still my fear and comfort me in the loss.  Thank you for these days to come and Christmas.  Hi Jesus,  baby God.  

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Mother's Day poem

I remember holding your leg
And hiding in your skirts
I miss you and those days you protected me
Ferociously

I remember your grilled cheese sandwiches
Lunches at noon on school days
Telling you what I'd been doing
And your really wanting to hear

I remember your love of Dad and family and flowers
I remember going to church you and your sister
I remember the picnics
And times in the boats
I remember your bringing me soup
When I was sick in bed

I remember you at graduations
And weddings and awards ceremonies
I especially remember you and Boris' dad
Standing outside at our hockey games
The only parent spectators there in the bitter cold

There's too much to remember
Then you were Old
And I was sitting time and again by your side
The winkled withered smile
That reminded me then of your mother
Who stayed with us in the front room
Till she died
As you died
Quietly, bravely
Trusting in Jesus.

Dad and my brother and I cried
When Dad died I saw you coming back inside
Saying I've come to take your father home
And I know you'll be there to take me too
But I'm alone now
Lonely now remembering
Still Often afraid
Missing your writing
Missing your tales
Missing your rapt interest in mine

All my life is just the product of your love
All that is good and true
I've learned from you and Dad
The rest I've learned
Has just been extras
I'm so very thankful

Sad remembering
But thankful
So very thankful
And blessed by your love
Till we meet again, Mom
In His home.