Pet Therapy

Joni Mitchell's song Yellow Taxi has the most profound lyrics, "they paved paradise and put up a parking lot'.
Always a head of the curve Joni Mitchell spoke to the conflict in society between those who liked machines and antiseptic surfaces and those who liked life and natural fractuals.
In the therapy context this revolves around 'pet therapy'.  Naturally I don't want pigs in the operating room but all too often humans in recovery houses and nursing homes and even extended care wings of hospitals are denied live contact by some insaneity of cost effective management and a bit of parking lot mentality.
Gilbert is my pet therapist. He's a part of my office and does amazing work. I love watching my depressed patients come alive as he greets them with immense enthusiasm. My autistic patients warm to his touch and those isolated and alone find smiles with his happy presence.
He came after the fish.  All my offices for decades have had fish.  Long ago research showed that fish were calming.  I was even more pleased when I learned in a feng shui review that fish tanks attracted wealth.
My fish tank remains in the waiting room while Gilbert goes from waiting room to office and back and forth with an interesting routine. A previous pet therapist dog, Shinto was more mature when he enterred my office and learning his mannerisms  often gave further insight into patient's guarded emotional states.  Gilbert as yet seems mostly to bring happiness to all.
I left a position as consultant to an extended care facility when the administration, far removed from reality among anything, very caught up in the bottom line and other anal matters, refused to allow the nursing staff to have a cat.  I decided the writing was on the wall and that all the work we might try therapeutically was going to be against the effort of the administration to sterilize the building of all life including my own.  I much preferred working for a head injury home where cats roamed the halls with patients.
I liked that St. Paul's Hospital in Vancouver has long had a pet visitor service taking dogs about the wards to visit with anyone who cares to meet the pleasant canines.
It came as no surprise to read "The vital function that pets fulfill in this world hasn't been fully recognised. They keep millions of people sane".  That's from Eckhart Tolle, author of Power of Now.  I wholly agree.   Gilbert wags his tail!

Global Police State

A friend said that there is no longer any reason to run away.  "There's no place left to go."  Corruption and police abuse occur locally but are also global.  Whether it's overt or covert isn't as important as the fact that 'geographical solutions' no longer seem likely to be any more than lateral displacements.
The true nature of the police is to 'serve and protect'. Their success stems from their close relationship with the community they serve in. Further they are most successful when they represent the community ideals.  The fact remains that a fraction of all individuals are simply ferral and lack darwinian advancement to be able to consceputalize society at all. These are the psychopaths.  Psychopaths object most to being put in jail with other psychopaths.  They thrive on victims. A good police service is like the sheep dogs that serve the shepherd.
What is problematic is when the police serve tyranny or are politically at variance with the majority aims of the people.  Further, police are distinctly different from the military. The military's function is to find the enemy and extingquish the threat.  The paramitarization of the police is a concern because of the paranoid devision which results.  Military need an group enemy whereas police theoretically don't.
Organized crime today is becoming for some a 'blue collar' police force acting where the 'white collar' police force has failed.  Russia is described as in bed with the mafia and Japan has long cohabited with the Yakuza.  Gangs provide an order out of disorder. There's a history of gangs and unions that speak to the service this misled groups have in adressing chaos.  'Steal a little and they put you in jail, steal alot and they make you king, ' was a saying of Dr. Johnson, the english political critic.
Meanwhile bullying was a means of gaining power whereas killing might cost one the power that threat and extortion gained.  Southern writer Carl Hiaasen has quipped that the only things a southern politician can't do, all else being acceptable, is "being caught with a dead girl or a live boy "in their bed. There's a blurring of the boundaries which has given rise to various privatized 'security' forces and increased powers for 'private police'. Meanwhile in the school teachers are all on about 'anti bullying' which was once the 'private boys school learning grounds' for next generation leaders with hazing as central.
During the 30's in Germany and Europe as a whole there was a time of great spirituality and a time of eco awarenss.The great nudist and nature movements thrived between wars and prior to the development of the great police states of Communism and Nazism.  It is both exciting and concerning that we are faced again with a time of great spirituality and eco awareness.
Today we have a soldier on trial for releasing secrets that Wikileaks passed on to the people. The 'secrets' showed the corruption in the high places of governemnt.  Naturally this corruption undermined the 'police' themselves in North America.  9-11, the OJ trial, and countless other events have eroded our faith in the 'purity' and 'honesty' of leadership.  At the height of the Goldman Sachs,  Franny Mae and Freddy Mae debacle there were cocaine drugged executives whoring with high class prostitutes.
Locally a new 'watchdog' has been brought in to 'police' the 'police' yet hundreds break all manner of law defiantly squatting ('occupying '- note the military language) in public parks and 'disrupting traffic' because they like to.  The normal police are damned if they do and damned if they don't.  Increasing all over the world police are faced with containing 'protestors' in increasing 'civil war' like scenarios.  Yet if they 'act' in day to day scenarios they will be scrutinized and if they avoid acting to catch criminals they will be playing it 'safe'.  It's a confusing time to be a police man or woman.
The 'police' state depends on the judiciary.  Increasingly there's 'centralization' of control and judges demanding that there be no criticizm of them while increasingly there's a demand, much like with 'wiki leaks' to film proceedings. The Vancouver Riots court cases are due to be televized.  Not "Judge Judy' by any means, thank God, but a return to Solomon without the exclusivity and dark corridors.  Meanwhile Philip Slayton's book, Mighty Judgement , How the Supreme Court Runs Your Life has been published to show Canadians just how free Americans are compared to Canadians who behaviour politically fluctuates from silliness and irrelevance to abject vassal stateship.
Meanwhile as Christians we believe that God is in control of all aspects of life including politics and law though Jesus did say that a different ruler ruled the world before his death by the judges and police of his day was supposed to change things. Hitchens died recently and was famous for saying if the religious felt their homes were in the afterlife and heaven why were the religious organizations, be they Christian, Catholic, Moslem or Jewish so intent on acquiring land and power in this world.
The paradox has always been that we are 'gods that shit'.  We have minds capable of imagining peace on earth especially at Christmas but our bodies war with the very idea.  Freud was afraid of the "id' and the unconscious, according to Jung and Milton Erickson who felt the unconscious was to be embraced.
The police state is all about the rational limitting the unrational to all extents and purposes.  Historical 'rationality was the domain of man and irrationality the  domain of women."  This resulted in the quip that the heart has reason that the minds does not know of.    Yet in British Columbia, though half of the lawyers graduating are female, two thirds leave law rapidly because they apparently are so excluded that the law society is now finally attempting to make more room in it's irrationally rational corridors for the rationally irrational sex.  World War I was the war to end all wars and confirmed that the 'age of reason' had culminated in the most unreasonable of behaviour.
I for one am a healer. I'm on the side of motherhood and children. I think Dad's a bit over the top at times still I love him dearly.  It's  balance I love best. I'm a student of Freud but love Jung and Milton Erickson.  I believe that all the gold and bullion put into the hands of the controllers with first the failed war on Drugs and now the war on Terror would best be divided with those in education and medicine.  I think theres a place for prevention and enforcement but I think that we're way over the top with tanks in police forces.
I think it's time to win  hearts and minds and if we did that we'd have a global police state that 'served and protected' rather than tended more and more to the para military.
In Canada we all have to re think Troudeau despite my personal love for his red carnation. His calling tanks into the streets of Montreal may well have been the greatest failure in our history.   Perhaps the resurrection of the Canadian Liberal Party could phoenix from a re think of that sad moment in Canadian history.
I want to believe and see God in charge and know that I am safe in the hands of the Lord. I want to know too that my leadership isn't lying and stealing while smiling like Robert Hare's  'Snakes in Suits'.  I would have more faith in the future if countries like Canada lobbied on behalf of Julian Assange of Wikileaks.  We need to support authority but we can't stand for tyrrany.
Of course if Obama declares a state of war with China then we will have to accept 'loose lips sink ships' but until then we need to here and now to accept a Global Police State but work together to ensure that it's role remains 'to serve and protect'. My friends says, "there's no place left to run to."  Of course, I'm following the latest Mars expedition with keen interest.

Fisherboy Park Motel and Campground, Sayward, BC

http://www.fisherboypark.com/

Laura, Gilbert and I loved the Fisherboy cabin I rented for a weekend of elk hunting this December.  Terry and Barbara greeted us when we arrived with the warmest welcome.  There's a general store with all we could want.  Laura bought the makings for snacks and breakfast while I headed out with Gilbert to the bush.  Fisherboy is right off Sayward Junction. That first night we walked the city block (our measurement) to the Cypress Tree Pub and Restaurant. Great meal and lovely host.  Sayward has another restaurant but we would have had to take the truck for that one.  Terry had given us directions to everything we wanted.  His friend even recommended the areas where I might prove successful hunting elk.  Gilbert enjoyed a walk around their grounds with all the great carvings.  While Gilbert and I spent the next day hunting elk Laura enjoyed the cabin and grounds.

I shot an elk but rolled my ATV getting it out.  Steve Mitchell, a local logger, helped me upright the ATV, drove it up to the road and helped Gilbert, me and the elk get back to my truck.  Aching back happy spirit I rolled into Fisherboy.  While I had a hot soak Laura was off to Terry and Barbara to get ibuprofen.  Without their help I'd not have slept that night.  In the morning they were all concerned I was okay.  Terry had even offered the night before to hang my quartered elk in the freezer.  The weather was cold enough I left it hanging in the truck. When I lived on Vancouver Island a decade or two back I always hunted in the Sayward region. It's even more notorious as a place for fishing. I'd love to go back anytime.  It would be a great place to bring my RV next year for hunting or fishing or just exploring the mystical north Vancouver Island.  Terry and Barbara certainly made Fisherboy a wonderful place to stay. 

I Shot My First Elk and Rolled My ATV

In the spring I put in for British Columbia Limited Entry Hunting draw. I was lucky to win a female elk draw for North Vancouver Island by Sayward.  I'm a meat hunter so I'm not particularly interested in horns.  They make a thin soup.
Laura, Gilbert and I headed out from Vancouver on Thursday night, catching the ferry from Horseshoe Bay  to Nanaimo.  We spent the first night in Campbell River before going on to Sayward Junction  to stay at the Fisherboy Cabins and RV Park.  The Fisherboy was terrific.  Laura and I loved the cabins The owners bent over backwards to be helpful and make our stay all we wished for.
Friday I got out to Elk Creek logging road but didn't see anything. I was glad to do the drill, a little slow driving in and watching in the Ford F350 diesel truck, unloading the Polaris 500 Sportsman ATV, a bit of driving about. Then stalking quietly along a mountain trail with Gilbert at heel behind me.  Didn't see anything but shot a can with the rifle confirming all was well.
Back in Sayward we had a great pub meal at Cypress Tree, grandma's home cooking,  before early to bed so I could be up before dawn.
Filling the truck at the Sayward Junction I heard from another hunter out for the last day of deer season that he'd seen the Elk herds around Eve River. At Fisherboy they'd told me the same.  Can't argue with local knowledge.  It was snowing when I headed up the highway and found the turn off.  A logging truck pull out turned out to have a perfect split level to unload the ATV. I put the Ruger Stainless Steel 30:06 we'd named 'sexcaliber' years ago when it came shining out of the box like a great modern sword, onto the front rack.  I put my Mossberg lever action 30:30 as a back up in the Polaris Rifle holder at the back.  Gilbert was in his sweater and harness strapped in behind me.  The snow was falling great flakes and the roads were slippery. I was glad to be on the ATV with the truck parked safely.
I took the East Main and found I was riding alongside a river, maybe the Eve. The wind and flurries of snow were coming into my face muffling sound and ensuring my scent wasn't going to give us away to upwind game.  I was headed for the Adam when I found tracks and droppings. I parked the ATV at that. An exciting moment.  Gilbert was really excited to be out of the harness and beside me as we stalked along the road. I just stepped into the bush to look through to the clearing when I saw a great elk head.  I was looking at the face 50 yards away and then just as quickly it was gone.  With Gilbert at my heels I ran a ways backwards to where there was a pile of slash which I climbed to the top of trying to get elevation to see the elk.  I waited and used my binoculars to look the whole valley over  Then I back moved up the road a bit and climbed an even big pile of slash and wood to binocular the area further on.  I wouldn't have seen them without the binoculars.
But there on the other side of valley I saw the female with another one, whose gender I couldn't tell as it was standing more in the woods.  I lifted my rifle to get the female in my sights.  She was looking at me from what I figured was 300 yards away. (Later with the Bushnell RAngefinder I found it was only 200 yards)  I didn't lift the shot but aimed at the chest just below the neck. BANG. I don't know if I hit her with that shot. But she turned to follow the other into the bush.  I had a broadside shot then, bolted home another shell,  sited on the heart  and BANG.  That definitely hit. She shuddered and stood still. I remembered Bill Mewhort telling me moose hunting that they're big game so keep shooting till they're down.  I bolted home another shell. BANG.  I was shooting freehand without a rest almost tippy toe on top of the slippery mound of slash and wood.  She was staggering when I got another shot off. BANG. That one hit for sure too because she sat right down and rolled over. Down and dead.  I gave thanks in prayers.
But now the work began. I got my hatchet and rope from the ATV and had trouble just climbing down the hillside into the valley. Crossing the valley where there'd been logging and the ground was all strewn with stumps and couple of year old growth was a struggle in itself. I knew I was in for a hard day of work.
Gilbert found her before I did He was running a few yards ahead and just stopped when he saw that big body lying there in the bog.  I gave thanks then.  I'd shot an elk, my first one and it was big.  I took a picture or two before settling into field dressing. It was like doing a moose. Once I had the field dressing done I began quartering.  I was really glad for the hatchet.  I was a couple of hours  do this,  The adrenaline was gone and I was exhausted with all the cutting ahd cleaving.  I was thankful for my Bowen Island hand made knife that kept a mean edge.  Gilbert began keeping an eye on the bushes when I was almost done the quartering.  He began grunting like he was smelling something he didn't like.
I always keep my rifle handy when field dressing.  But here there are cougar and Gilbert's barks hurried me along.   It's an awkward thing to wear a rifle and haul quarters up a hill but we've all heard the stories of guys getting mauled by bear while hauling meat out.   I got meat the first hundred yards up the hill figuring if I left the offall whatever was bothering Gilbert would be less likely to bother us. The shoulders were an easy pull but the hind quarters were murder.  I missed a back board.  I'd carried a moose out a mile or so with quarters on the back board, 20 years younger,  and that was a whole lot easier than pulling these dead weights over the countless logs strewn all over.  I had to get the elk up to one ridge down through a valley then up the hill to the road. It was a bout a half mile or more but it seemed like forever.
I'm a desk jockey and I think a cowboy or logger wouldn't be so fagged by all the pulling and hauling.  I began getttin charley horses in my thighs. I had chocolate bars and a red bull but I really needed an airlift.
I finally had all the elk, my rifle, hatchet and clothes a hundred yards down from the steep incline to  road.  That's when I figured I could use the winch on the Polaris.  I figured I'd just drive it down the incline as far as I could then run the winch down to haul each quarter up.  I'd left half the ribs because I'm not a big fan of ribs in general and just half the ribs were almost as heavy as a hind quarter.  So 4 quarters and ribs to hauld.  I tied the rope together and ran the rope on the winch out.
That's when the winch didn't work. I tried to get it to come in on 'in' but it wouldn't. Instead it hauled in on "out".  Once it was in then it simply wouldn't go out and I couldn't find a release lever and promised myself for the umpteenth time that in future I'd read all the instructions.   I'd counted on using the winch to get the atv back up the slippery slope over the logs if need be.  In the mean time I hauled the rest of the meat up to the atv stopping and working out charley horses.  Then I turned the atv without any meat on it and tried to head up the slope.  I knew I was back heavy.  I just didn't know I'd catch on a log and with the trapped back wheel and that initial burst of low power speed I'd literally lift up and flip  back over , ass over tea kettle.
It all happened so fast. I just remember the ATV lifting, and me going back with the beast coming down on top of me. I was glad I had a helmut on because it hit a log and then I was just lying there trapped under the ATV.  As I'd gone over I'd felt my lower back stretching impossibly as my body was pushed forward into the saddle.  The back seat and windshield additions helped me. First thing I did was wiggle my toes.  All's well when you can feel your feet.
Gilbert was right beside me licking my face and obviously distressed.  I was so weak and in shock I couldn't get the ATV up but I could release the extra gas tank and with that off I could shimmy my body out from under the TV.  I thanked God to be free.  Then I turned off the ATV.
I didn't think to take a picture. I wish I had. It was like a sick upsight down turtle.  A sad sight.  My back was aching something fierce and my legs were cramping. It was all I could do to get myself up to the road.  Carrying my rifle I headed back towards the truck.  It was going to be a long painful walk.  Gilbert was a great companion.
I had a radio and tried calling for help on different frequencies but it's not like a phone. Someone has to be listening.
With a charley horse in my thigh, my low back killing me and miles to go I put the radio away and began praying seriously  Jesus help me.
I believe in miracles and I believe in the power of prayer.
Steve Mitchell came around the corner in his superduty truck.  I told him I'd rolled my ATV.  I think I looked a sight.  He said, "hop in" and we drove the couple of miles back to the wreck.  We walked down the hill.
"First thing we have to do is right this thing " he said. I'm used to being  around crazy people so just went right along with him.  Together we pushed. Sure enough it turned over. Steve is a strong man and I figure his pushing accounted for 90% with me adding maybe 10% to the equation.  But there was the Polaris upright.  Next thing Steve did was get the keys from me and started it up.
"Do you want me to drive this out of here for you," he asked.
"Sure," I said. "I'm a doctor so if you don't make it I can help you. It's just that I can't help myself."  He laughed and with a fair amount of cursong and wheeling about in the logs and moss he had it on track and drove it up the incline over the lip and onto the road.  Amazing.
Then we were doing more of  the 90%/ 10% thing Steve and me hauling the quarters together up to the road.  I couldn't lift them at all there but he lifted them like they were half the weight into the back of big truck. Steve is a big and strong man.
"I'll follow you back to ensure the ATV doesn't break down."  he said.
"Mind if Gilbert goes with you," I asked.  Gilbert was cold and wet and I didn't know where his harness had got to.
"Not at all."  You could tell Gilbert thought the warm truck cab was a great idea.
Off we went. Me doing 30 km for the next half hour wondering how I'd ever have walked that distance in the pain and cold. I realized alone I'd not have made my truck till sometime in the middle of the night. It was already dusk.
At the truck, I got the ramp out and Steve drove the ATV on.. Then he carried the quarters over.
I asked him what I could give him
"I just know what it is to be broken down out in the woods. I couldn't take anything."
"What about ahind quarter."
"Too much explaining if I was caught with it." he said throwing the final hind into my truck.
"It would have cost me hundreds to get a tow truck out here. That was my plan. Could I give you a few hundred for your time, at least"
"I couldn't take it," he said.  "But I'll follow you to Sayward to make sure you make it back safely."
"Then take this, " I said handing him a knife. "It's my favourite folding knife. Keep it to remember the day you saved my life."
He liked that and smiling got back in his truck to follow me back to Sayward.
I was glad for the company. I could mostly only go at 80, my back killing me and concentration hard in the snow and wet slippery road.
At Sayward he pulled along side to say "You should be okay now" before driving ahead to the restaurant.  I drove onto Fisherboy where Laura met me at the cabin.  I was seized up by then and had trouble getting out of the truck .
" I flipped the ATV and hurt my back a tad." I said hobbling into the cabin.  Gilbert was beside himself to see her, telling her all about his adventures in ecstatic barks.
She was all for taking me to hospital whereas I was intent on getting into the hot shower and then the hot tub.
"I got an elk, " I told her. "It's quartered in the truck.  Steve Mitchell, is an saint. Remember that name. I'd spent three or four hours pulling those quarters through hell when I got to the 50 yards from the road and tried to get the ATV down a bit where I could winch them up the steep incline. The winch jammed and trying to drive out I flipped the ATV. I hurt my back coming down. Nothing broken just ligaments stretched.  I was caught underneath which upset Gilbert but I got free and walking out til Steve came. He got the ATV upright. Drove it up the incline then we hauled the quarters up to take them back to my truck in his truck.  He just drove behind me all the way back here to make sure I was safe. We were 30 or 40 km up the road and some 15 km back in the bush."
"Steve Mitchell," she said.  "I wish there was some way I could thank him for getting you two back here."
"I got an elk." I said between groans.
"I think you should go to the hospital."
"They'd not do anything."
"You're in pain. I"ve never seen you in such pain"
"It will make the elk tastier for all the effort."
Much to both our surprises we didn't even have an aspirin or tylenol between us.
"I'll see if they have some ibuprofen or tylenol at the store"
I stayed in the tub trying not to move until she returned with meds.  I took three or four times the recommended dose then lay in bed watching funny Christmas movies.  Humor helps.
"Did I tell you I shot an elk," I asked Laura again.
She'd given Gilbert a bath because he was covered in mud and blood and so wanted to cuddle.
It's morning now.  I slept quite a bit.  Gilbert had me up a few times in the night growling and together we checked the elk in the truck. He's pretty proprietary when I've shot game.  Now it's time to get going.  It was a really cold night but it's going to warm up as we head south and I want to get the meat to the butcher without delay.
"Laura, did I tell you I shot an elk?"

Ideal Cafe, Campbell River, BC

I stopped at River Sportsman for ammunition.  It's always been known as the place for fishing tackle.  But sure enough, they had rifles and ammunition. Just what I wanted too.30:06 180 grain Nozzler Partition.   Lots of designer outdoor clothing too.  The prettiest little 18 yo  girl  with blond hair and facial piercings seemed dressed tastefully enough to help me pick something warm for Laura. "She's very 'pink', I said, "and think 'sexy grandmother"    With that she showed me the perfect pink and green hoodie with a cammo motif.  I now had the the ammo and designer hoodie.

"Is there a breakfast place you could recommend, " I asked.

"Ideal Cafe," she said. "it's the best food all round but their breakfast is awesome."   The older fellow who might have been the owner or her father nodded sagely behind her.  I got directions.

Breakfast at the Ideal Cafe just leaving Campbell River to Sayward, over the bridge.  Superb pan fries, great sausage. "I love the bacon." said Laura.  I remembered to get a 'take out' sausage for Gilbert .  He agreed. Best food, ever.  The waitress was smart and cute. the decor and cleanliness of the place all round was just as one might hope.

Laura and I both used the washrooms, last stop before Sayward.

 

Ocean Resort, Campbell River

My assistant, Joanne, was tasked with finding me a pet friendly hotel room hopefully with a sauna, in Campbell River. Laura, Gilbert and I had decided on a getaway months back but only confirmed it this week. I had the time booked off, work being so demanding and breaks being essential to staying healthy in face of all the ill health that comes with the trade, but only barely tore myself away leaving skin and bits of flesh at the last minute.  Laura's superiors were away so she just 'emailed" them.  Gilbert packed up his toys, sweaters and food and told the cat to manage on her own.

It was a mad dash for the Horseshoe Bay Ferry.  Working, last minute, calls, an excess of faxes and emails, collecting clothes, a trip to the storage locker and finally making it to the terminal an hour before last sailing.  I was told then that I couldn't have an extra jerry can in the truck. There was no where to dispose of the extra jerry can.  Now one lovely woman working for BC ferries and her younger compatriot tried to offer a solution suggesting I fill the extra jerry can with water.  However it was half full with gas already  The older male, his mind clearly demented by year of beaurocratic service, kept telling me I couldn't take the jerry can with me and denying me the ability to despose of it all the while taking great 'little man' delight in my 'catch 22' experience.  Finally a fellow worker suggested that I could fill the jerry can and the truck behind me was more than happy to carry it as there's.

All this seems a minor glych in the trip but was a typical example of how minds ruled by 'protocols' and 'laws' couldn't possilby find their ass  even if both hands were attached to it.  The majority of those present took no pleasure in my poor plight and came en mass to my assistance giving me great hope for life on earth despite the monster machine absorbing weak minds at an apparently increasing rate.

The ferry itself was a joy. White spot fries are unbeatable. The burger was scrumptuous. A moon came down out of the sky and followed the great ship in it's wake.  Before we knew it we were at Nanaimo, a city I've grown to admire more and more each year.

We travelled up the new highway at 110 km hour until we reached Campbell River.  Thats when I realized Ocean Resort isn't in Campbell River as advertised. Downtown Campbell River is 20 miles north of Oyster Bay. Ocean Resort is across the road from Oyster Bay Resorts.

We travelled back 20 miles along the ocean front road, island highway,  so that Laura could have that experience women just live for," pissed off man, driving truck, late at night, cursing."

Thank God, Ocean Resort was spectacular.  If it hadn't been I might well have driven threw it with the Ford F350.  Unfortunately the Resort has 'namaste' written on the door. Namaste means  "The God in me salutels the God in you'.  It being late, I couldn't come up with an equivalent  sanskrit saying "The Devil in me pisses on the Devil in you". The resort was so peaceful with the sound of lapping water that it was increasingly hard for me to nurse on the tit of resentment.

Ocean Resourt  advertises itself as a peaceful healing spa and retreat.  Even if the people don't know where they are located they are at peace.  When I had my guns out of the truck and into the room that others have obviously meditated long hours in I was more than ready for the Sauna.

I couldn't find the sauna but found the hot tub room locked.

That's when I found out that all the 'peacefully healling" facilities were closed after 9 oclock .  We arrived at 9:15.  A helpful note suggested that the steam rooms and such  could be opened for later but that arrangement had to be made with the front desk. The front desk had noted that they left at 8 pm. So I was left standing in my robe and slippers in the hall , meditating.  The 'peaceful easy feeling' business isn't up to 24 hours a day.  Which probably explains why people like me who come from 24/7 cities can get 'peace' from smart people like them in the country  who tell people lime to 'f' off', but in a nice pc California west coast way, so they can be rested up and peaceful during the day. I can't imagine anyone working here having had any days like I did that day.

Struggling to hold onto the tit of resentment despite the incredibly elegant and peaceful surroundings, I came back and told Laura that the note had been for an 'ocean view' room. Instead,  we were looking at my truck in the parking lot. Laura, not being at all helpful, said "You always prefer to be in rooms where you can watch your truck.  We can't see the ocean in the dark, anyway."  Gilbert took Laura's side as usual. So feeling ganged up on I pouted.

Thankfully the television had a thousand channels.  I found the Mentallist.  In addition the owners had left  drinks and such in the hallway with , imagine,  an honor system for paying $2 for diet soft drinks, juices and granola bars. The whole fridge was full and I had just come from downtown eastside Vancouver and had an empty  duffle bag in my room.

Beside the fridge they had cards offering massage, reiki, reflexology and all manner of peace inducing activities. None were on an emergency basis.  There was no 'on call' reiki master, either.   Gilbert, Laura and I made do with diet coke, ginger bread men and the "Mentalist" on tv.  I wrote down what I'd taken from the refridgerator just to humor them.

The room itself reminded Laura and I of the rooms we had in Milan.  Just lovely.  The bed was unbelievably comfortable.  It was attached to the floor and I considered in the morning getting an axe from the truck but by then there was a guard at the front desk, meditating

A whole room of healing books and crystals , couches and computer consoles was now unlocked and open to the public suggesting that while management trusted guests such as me with juices they were more circumspect with high tech internet consoles.

Gilbert and I walked all over the simply beautiful grounds.  We even did a stroll on the drift wood strewn beach.  Laura meanwhile spent hours and days in the bath luxuriating in the spiritual atmosphere of the place.  Eventually she came out smelling  fragrantly  and I was able to get in and have a dump.

Given how Laura  can literally lap up spa experiences and my obvious need for them it was all we could do to pull ourselves away from what was obviously meant for city folk such as us needing to reconnect spiritually and emotionally with our inner holiness.

Gilbert however had other plans and herded us out to the truck so we could go north to where flannel shirts were de rigour and an elk was waiting to sacrifice herself for her loved human and canine planetary fellow beings.  Namaste.

St. James Anglican Church - Advent - 2nd Week

Laura, Gilbert and I were at St. James Anglican Church, Vancouver  for the lighting of the 2nd Advent candle. Jesus is coming. Hallelujah.
The sermon was intriguing. I later discussed interpretation of Greek and Aramaic with a friend who told me that Hebrew wasn't a language in the day of Jesus. That discussion I had outside Dug Out later that day had concerned  state of 'hopelessness'.  Advent was the season of greatest hope.  "Spirituality"  has also been considered as 'hopefulness'.
Listening to a friend in despair, an aetheist, who wanted to believe in anything because he said he'd lost even that capacity, I was reminded of "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani" from Mark 15 in the New Testament, among the last sayings of Jesus on the cross. "My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me."  In contrast to my friend, Jesus in his greatest pain didn't lose his belief in God. Indeed he continued to speak to God with his dying breath.  It was that discussion of that passage and whether it was originally in Greek or Aramaic that the discussion of language of translation and interpretations arose.  My other friend who believes was discussing with me our mutural friend who doesn't and what we could do to help him when he insists he's beyond help.
Certainly that line, "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani"  is open to multiple interpretations.  Some might say it condemns the whole Christian religon and reflects Jesus' losing faith in himself as well as God.  Personally I've always found comforting that Jesus didn't speak to his father in a 'churchy' way.  By the standards of the 'authorities'  he was downright 'irreverent'.  Personally I've questioned God's actions in my life and with even a toothpick cross I'm likely to cry out "lami sabachthani'.  I'm a big fan of preventative prayer.  I'd hate to hold off questioning God's providence to my dying breath.
That said, church is a great experience.  Elizabeth greeted us at the door and made Gilbert's day. Elizabeth is one of his favourite aunts so he was happy to hang out with her greeting people rather than being hushed by me and required to lie quiet under the pew.
A pew is a bench in a church.  Despite sounding something vaguely 'bodily' it referrs to the holy bench.  As little boys in church we thought they were called that because of all the bums that had been on them and all the farts they must have known.  I think that discussion occurred in Sunday school when we were supposed to be studying the Bible.
The choir is the group of people that sing at the back.  The choir as St. James Anglican Church is particularly entertaining.  Church choirs are  the source of all great rock and rollers like Elvis Presley, John Lennon, John Cleese and such.  Mostly people start singing in choirs and go on from the church to the secular world where they take off half their clothes,  add some bawdy bits and get rich quick.  These days the choir members mostly get into country. Better hairdos.  It's hard to believe but it's likely most of the rappers had their debutes vocally in church.  That's where Aretha Franklin's began.  While the Chinese communists continue to focus on ranting the underground Christian movement is turning computer geeks and ping pong players melodic.
Communion is the time when everyone is invited to go up to the front and be given wafer and a sip a wine sharing in the 'last supper' of Jesus when he said that the bread he shared with the disciples represented his body and the wine he shared represented his blood. This has led to anthropologists likening Christianity to the ancient of ancient cannibal festivals where the tribe ate the king.  Joseph Campbell, Robert Graves and Carl Jung were fascinated by the Last Supper.  Theologically there's tremendous conflict over whether the bread and wine are actually Christ, or just symbollic.  Scientists, especially physicists today are more likely to go for the actual Christ interpretation whereas the arty fart artists with their new word 'brand' and new 'spins'  of 'marketting' would tend toward the 'symbolic'. It's not really supposed to be understood in the temporal sense no matter what Science says about 'timescape' and St. Augustine says about time.  The real question always is whether we're spiritual being having an earthly sojourn or material beings having spiritual insights.
Psychiatrists like to think that if the group participates in the collective psychosis of different religions then that explains why the religious are most healthy and less likely individually to be psychotic.  Secular folk figure more and more that the collective psychosis of state and law should satisfy the need for the absurd and ludicrous. " As above, so below", that sublime spiritual saying goes,  suggesting simply  that Wall Street is just the  white collar equivalent of  Vegas.  Einstein however couldn't believe that God played dice.
It really wasn't that long ago either  that the decline in ethics and morality in the 'new world order' caused a famous newspaper journalist to write a piece which simply asked what's the difference between 'political parties' and 'street gangs'.  In the past it was answered spiritually but today it's apparently measured in whose got more military hardware. CBC just reported on an US police department acquiring tanks as part of a US army arrangement that allows them to dump yesterdays technology on the police forces of America for free rather than destroy them or sell them off second hand in the middle east.
Church is a peaceful place in contrast. This probably is a result of  a moment taken in the middle of the service where we all look around and shake hands or greet those about us.  It disrupts those of us having homicidal thoughts towards our immediate neighbours. We say "Peace".  It may just be that the religious realize that they'd better sort out relationships mid service to avoid altercations at the end of the service.
Whatever, everyone leaves the church, not like they might after a good morning of sex, but as Anglicans, looking and feeling like we might have just come from a very pleasant and civilized  tea with Jesus. It's that kind of uplifting. The week of work and CBC and government and law all seem so much easier to tolerate after a good visit with the Lord.
I know people say they like to have their own time with their own spiritual focus and I am all for that.  It's like the exercise I always plan to do when I'm doing it myself.  At the gym I actually get down to business.  At church I'm sure of at least an hour thinking of something other than the struggle of mortal existence, the rat race and how to survive the rise and fall of the American Empire in Canada.
Jesus is coming. Hallelujah.
I think that people who make a point of getting to the store before Christmas, money and consumerism being their religion,  might consider a visit to a church to get some of that 'old time religion' just for a change. Now, that's my evangelism.
Evangelism is an old word for wearing the team sweater and having that little yoga symbol on the otherwise nifty comfortable west coast blue jean alternatives slacks.  It's kind of like having a bud lite beer bottle on a ball cap or tshirt. In this case I've got this dead man on some wood hung about my neck. If Jesus were whacked today by the authorities  I'd probably wear an electric chair with a 30 year bearded guy  strapped in for the ride.