Dec.16,2008 - The Day the World Stood Still

"Vancouver is beginning to remind me of Winnipeg, " the jovial garage attendant said to my agreement as I paid the parking ticket thankful for my Ranger 4x4 on the icy streets. I was meeting my friend at the Scotia theatre where he'd bought tickets for us to see The Day the World Stood Still, with Keanu Reeves. I settled in with my

buttered popcorn dinner to watch this 'save the planet' film.

Later my friend and I proceeded to the Starbucks for decaf americano and regular coffee. I added to my earlier dinner with a fruit salad.

"He's the star from Matrix." I said.

"Yea, he has the face for science fiction."

"I walked out of church when the minister said we had to walk gently on the planet and meant it literally," The grapes and pineapple bits were delicious.

"But the planet is fragile," he responded. "Look at the rapid decline in male sperm counts all over the world. That's one of things like the canaries in the mines you should take note of." I thought about science and wondered who was measuring and how they were sampling these declining sperm counts.

"What we need is space travel as opposed to wasting rockets on war." I countered.

"I agree to that."

"Buckminster Fuller showed that there's nearly infinite energy but that the bullies are controlling it, hoarding out of their fear and inferiority."

"No doubt, but we're not investing in the nearly infinite energy now because too many people are making billions off fossil fuels."

"Then there's the alternative and energy saving patents the corporation executives are hoarding like the priests before them hoarded the secrets in the Vatican Library. The planet is resilient. We may not be. Consciousness may transfer to cockroaches. I could be looking at the carapace of a pretty cockroach in a future postmamallian lifetime." I drank regular coffee at night while he drank only decaf.

"We're interconnected with the planet," said my friend. He has a warm smile, black glass frames, lively dancing eyes, and usually wears a ball cap.

" After a decade of fear mongering terrorist propaganda for profit I'm just not ready to jump on this 'save the planet' for profit fear mongering platform. I don't think my sorting out garbage is going to do anything when my government is dumping waste en mass with cruise missile cocktails It's like our finance minister who evaded taxes and wouldn't hire Canadians. The problem lies way above me. I don't know how to change the bullies. Like that defence minister in the movie. "

"I just believe it's one person talking to another person." he said, " The greatest contribution of western consciousness is the realization that we all are born individually and die individually. "

"But our immigrant populations come with the old family, fear and revenge based tribalisms. It's only the second or third generation that move onto the individual consciousness. They want it too but their grandfathers' sold them out for properties their children's children are going to have to pay the mortgages on."

"I wonder what those old civilizations must think of us who only think in terms of a hundred years at most. Individually it's still us alone and God, the Creator."

"I believe it's us and God and our neighbour. At times my neighbour seems like the Borg. I can love God, the Creator, but my neighbour is the difficult one. That's why Jesus said "Love your enemy, even the tax collector loves his family." The Chinese waitress was cleaning the table and taking away our empty cups.

Pointing his finger and showing the three pointing back, he said, "But you really get what you put out and I think whenever I'm having difficulty what am I doing to create this." I agreed with my friend and Oprah on the "Secret" in principle but in practice it seemed to me to unravel pretty quickly.

"Don't get me wrong, I like Eckart Tolle, Deeprak Chopra and all the other circuit guys. But there's the government - type person, the neighbour who says 'we are not amused' , the bully, the authoritarian with a gun or the paranoid who needs to step over you to save their life, the immature one, the Homeland Security guy with the power to abuse, the smug jailors. To me the guys with real 'planet' power are like Zeus and Athena, gods so far above me and so far distant they're like soap opera stars. Clowns demanding taxes for word games and charades and threatening me if I don't take them seriously. In comparison I feel little different than a house slave to the outdoor slave, the homeless freezing in the street tonight. "

"Victim doesn't look good on you but as long as I've known you you've had this thing with authority." He said, as we got up putting on overcoats and scarves. The East Indian guys beside us were leaving as well.

"That's the same for Job in the Bible. Victimship doesn't look good on any one. The women got away with it by burning bras. " I said.

"Speaking of which I heard Halle Berry was naked on some Vancouver street last night."

"God she must have had frost bit nipples. But look at the Dalai Lama. He and his buddies did the peace and prayer bit as good as any could and now all he's doing is whining about the Chinese. That's victimship. Freud was rescued by the Brits and said, 'Maybe the paranoids were right." That's victimship too Now everyone claiming a monopoly on suffering. The bullies are claiming they're victims. It's the doublespeak of 1984 and Animal Farm all over again. Look at these bail outs. They pay themselves for screwing up but if us house niggers screw up we're freezing our butts with the outside niggers."

By that time we were indeed standing outside and freezing our butts. It reminded me of the the hundreds or more conversations we'd had in the Winnipeg backlane between our childhood homes. Our breath would be freezing on the fur trim of our parkas and we'd still be talking the winter away.

"You know the joke, what does the masochist say to the saddist, beat me, beat me, and what does the sadist say, 'no'." he said, laughing. "I've got to go. Work in the morning"

"Have you heard anything about these new messages astronomers are supposed to be getting?"

"No. What about Zelmon Schacter.Do you hear anything about him these days?"

"All I heard is one of his students is a rabbi here."

We were backing away from each other. He was parked in one direction, I in another. Already the discomfort of parting was on me. Soon I'd be alone with God. My friend's been a good neighbour but I remember how we fought in the snow when we were kids. Hard to hurt each other much with parkas and mitts. Like the Inuit poetry wars.

Christmas Presence

This is a picture I took in Israel of where I thought Jesus migh t have sat when he taught the Beatitudes: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you."(Mathew 5) Tonight I saw Pacific Theatre's "Christmas Presence". Ron Reed and the original company that performed it 25 years ago had gathered together to do one more performance of this strangely moving enigmatic questioning of the Christmas story. Immanual. God within.

It reminded me of the miracles that I experienced when on pilgrimage to Bethlehem I crossed the blood streaked streets in the sights of sniper rifles. The way was harsh but the journey was worth it. I stood with dozens from other lands and sang a Christmas carol in as many different languages. I was moved to tears then as I had been over and over again in what seems rightly called the Holy Land.

Reading the Beatitudes again tonight I see once more why these teachings caused those dependent on external finite earthly power to resist the notion of internal infinite heavenly power. Yet Love conquers all.

Earlier this week I saw the epic movie, Australia, with Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackson. I cherished the idealism and sense of the sacred that filled this movie as much as the extraordinary scenery and panoramic views of a country of ancient song.

I found Sarah McLaughlin's Wintersong album and played it all day in the truck along with the Sheree Plett Christmas album I got this year. I was shopping for family. Thank God for sweaters. And especially thank god for all those articles of clothing and accessory where one size fits all.

It's not Frankincense, Gold or Myrr I found but the Bible said there was gift giving that first day. I'm not not so bothered by the commercialism as the forgetting of the message of forgiveness. Love your enemies, Jesus said. In the Triune Brain of McLean, the lizard, mammalian and human anatomical constructs develop sequentially into that which is truly human. Lizards don't love but mammals can love their family and perhaps their 'tribe'. To be truly human as Jesus was, he said Love God and Love your neighbour as yourself. It stands to reason that if your enemy wasn't your neighbour he wouldn't be your enemy.

It's Christmas. It's a time of Love. The winter solstice was no doubt taken over by the church from the earlier tribal traditions. The secret part of WWII I most enjoyed learning of was that men all along the firing lines refused to kill each other in the thousands or more at Christmas. Instead they crossed the lines and shared their meager rations.

I'm hoping that this is happening right now. Peace on earth. Good will to men! Merry Christmas.

Vancouver Snow

Snow in Vancouver. It began last night when I was at the Rainbow Church Christmas party carolling. We sang Silver Bells. "City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style, in the air there's a feeling of Christmas...." This is rainy Vancouver. When it snows the 'air' has no feeling of Christmas but rather rank terror. Even as I speak cars, silly enough to try it, are plummetting down the alpine Oak Street to an adult rendition of Bill Cosby's Baby Coach Wheel go cart spectacular descent to sure destruction in the unsuspecting freeway traffic of W6th.

Vancouver drivers, notorious for buying driver's licenses under the table, stoned on the principal billion dollar crop, BC Bud marijuania, (which also explains the bizarre local politics ), now have an excuse for fortified egg nogs in the morning. Those who are older with aging livers and a potpouri of geriatric medicines never 'share' their 'recreational usage' with their unsuspecting neurologists, cardiologists and psychiatrists because they consider marijuania a herb and alcohol an elixer. 60's flashbacks then compete with hearing aid feedbacks as horns honk and cars collide. "Hey man, we're tripping."

In addition there's multicultural bedlam with half the southern immigrant drivers never having seen snow let alone driven on ice. Meanwhile the west end traffic police have only been issued bicycles or if they're lucky, motorcycles. Canadian Tire sells out it's slim supply of snow chains in one day. Displaced Winnipeggers are en mass teaching emergency counterintuitive ice driving techniques to awe struck Vancouverites.

In Vancouver we 'go to the snow'. That means Whistler, Blackcomb, Grouse or Cypress Mountain. It's not supposed to come to us. The City Planners would never use salt on the roads as they need all the salt they requisition for their tequilla.

By afternoon the sun usually comes out. The ice will turn to slush and everywhere relief will reign. Then Robson Street will again be festive without the snow as everyone hurries to buy a Christmas tree and chat over Starbuck molkas about the surviving the latest 'blizzard'. Only if the rains return will the 'air' of Christmas again sing on city streets of Vancouver. Silver Bells. White Christmas! Humbug! A good monsoon. Now that's a Vancouver Christmas!

CAA-AGM

It was the Canadian Author's Association 2008 Annual West Coast General Meeting. A noteworthy collection of writers had gathered together in this Georgia Street Vancouver Whitespot on the way to Lion's Gate Bridge near Stanley Park.

The trouble was that they were all in disquise. Obviously paranoid about being recognised they had got out of their pyjamas and house coats. They'd washed their hair. Some had shaved. Others had slept for the first time in weeks. By all external appearances they looked largely normal. A little bright eyed, a bit too eloquent, laughing excessively, they were trying not to let some cat out of some bag. Otherwise they were normal.

No one would have guessed that they wrote steamy romance, dirty sex scenes, devious intrigue and gruesome cadaver strewn mysteries. Properly dressed in brown tweeds and white sweaters, talking of their work, they ate fettucine or fish and chips with knives and forks. An historian even showed around pictures of her latest grandchild.

The technical writer spoke quietly to the person next to him about artic terrorism. A dozen conversations about a myriad of highly suspicious subjects obviously embedded with arcane code were happening all around me. A former minister claimed to write urban fantasy. Two fellows in golf sweaters talked about the various methods of war time killing. It was all highly irregular.

Pirates, lovers, sexpots, spys, adventurers, irreligious , rebellious, and sometimes even inspirational, they were a dubious lot indeed. Story tellers. Writers, scribblers, jotters and word processors. They'd been at it along time. Some of the young had even gone white haired with their craft. Outrageously original, they claimed to use their imagination. At the same time some were delving into obscure sources for lost secrets claiming it was research for their latest work. Subversives, all of them. Vainly autobiographical and gossippy biographers. You couldn't tell which was which.

I confess I tried to put a face to a particularly incisive bit of political satire or wonder if that rather fetching woman had written that downright mischievous bit of romance.

Yet on the outside, overall, you couldn't tell them from the Kiwanis or Rotarians for instance. Maybe one or two clutched their wine glasses a bit possessively. The coffee drinkers showed nail and cuticle damage. Someone spoke a touch hurriedly. Perhaps the waitress hovered a bit more until the bills were individually paid. But otherwise they could easily have passed as normal humans.

At least until the book draw took place. As each person's name was called the individual proceeded to a table full of published works. That's when the madness or transcendence occured. Each of these otherwise innocuous looking beings took on an otherworldly sheen and glowed uncannily as they touched the treasure of their fellow authors. It was some kind of reverent communion. As each took a book in their hands it was as if they were suddenly complete. A faraway look appeared in their eyes. The meeting ended abruptly thereafter. They all almost scurried out of the restaurant

I followed of course. I had a book too and felt inspired just holding it. A warm and cozy feeling. Electrifying even.

Perhaps I wouldn't report this to the authorities, I thought. I didn't quite know where it was leading. It was clear that I was returning. These people warranted serious study. Maybe not research, yet. But someone had to keep an eye on them. Left to their own devices they were producing books. And alot could be said with a book. I'd already been right to suspect them of having words. I'd be back. No doubt of that!

Bluewater Cruising Association

http://haykind.blogspot.com/

I've just come home from the Blue Water Cruising Association's Annual General Meeting and Awards night. My friend Tom sailed back from Hawaii this summer with me on my SV GIRI. 2700 miles in 34 days slowed down just a tad by a broken mast a thousand miles from Hawaii. Tonight Tom received the BWCA's 999 Offshore Sailing Award. I'd already received the offshore skipper award for solo sailing to Hawaii in 25 days over the Christmas of 2004. It was good to be in the audience hearing Tom graciously receive his award. We'd seen alot of water together and he commented on just how much water there was "out there" . That brought appreciative laughter from those who'd done their share of ocean crossing. With pause for inspiration he said, "I'm glad to have gone where you can be sure of finding the unexpected. " Looking around the room I saw the 'elders' of that august sailing community nodding. He'd touched a chord.

Adventurers. That's what we were. And the sea is the mother of surprises.

Dec.8,2008

I keep forgetting to say that I've won a Folio. My article "Blind to all the signs" won in October, 2007. It's the international writer's award. I had my bio in the Canadian Author's Association West Coast Chapter newsletter and didn't mention this award. Silly. So I'm mentioning it here. This is a quote from the Medical Post.

Medical Post's physician-writers win prestigious Folio award October 09, 2007
NEW YORK Those amazing “doctors who love to write for us” have done it again for the Medical Post, garnering a glittering gold award in late September at the prestigious Folio: Awards show here.
THE FOLIO-WINNING ARTICLES
Blind to all the signs
Seeing beyond despair
A sinking feeling of helplessness
Approximately 3,000 entries were received overall for the competition, billed as the largest and most prestigious awards in the North American magazine industry. “Eddies” were given for excellence in editorial content and “Ozzies” recognized excellence in magazine design.
Spirit of medicineThe Medical Post received a Gold Eddie award in the Business-to-Business Healthcare/Medical/Nursing “Best Single Article” category for its “Spirit of Medicine” series. The articles were personal accounts from Drs. William Hay(“Blind to all the signs,” Nov. 14, 2006), Larry Kramer(“Seeing beyond despair,” Sept. 26, 2006)and Paul Caldwell(“A sinking feeling of helplessness,” May 25, 2007)on the emotional struggles they face daily in their profession. It marked the third time this year Medical Post doctor-written columns has been honoured in industry award competitions.

Dec.4, 2008

"Be Yourself - everyone else is taken."


"What's the opposite of being paranoid? Thinking you're following someone?"

"When they outsourced the suicide lines overseas, an american called and upon saying "I'm suicidal," was asked, "Can you drive a truck?"

Anthropologists asking new tribes what they call themselves usually hear the same thing in whatever language, "The People". So their next question is what do you call "others." In this regard Inuit means the people whereas the Cree word, for their northern neighbours, Eskimo, means 'fish eater'. In Borneo asking the latest tribe what they called themselves, they were told, "The People" so they asked what do you call others, and were told others were called "The Edible Ones".
Given this understanding of tribalism, sociopaths can be considered those who belonging to some tribal grouping do not consider 'outsiders' , for whatever reason, 'kind'. A new useful term for this tendency is to call this 'othering'. The psychopath in contrast is solely a loner without any real identification with humanity and therefore metaphorically considers all 'others' as 'edible'. Jay Lifton, author of Nazi Doctors, in his discussion of the psychology of war states that alienation is a central tenet of the propaganda campaign. Each sides engages in dehumanizing the other for the justification of their own ends.
Looking for similiarities as opposed to differences is the methodology of compromise and peace. The mind subtracts and divides whereas the heart adds and multiplies.

"It's a good day when you're on this side of the grass."