1968

"We later saw Larus again in Damascus.  The road was clear of difficulties and curiously, we didn't see any Roman soldiers.  Not a single one.  We went straight to the market where Thaddai's mother worked as a seller of wheat and barley as well as milled flour and baked loaves of bread.  She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw her beautiful son appear in the tent where she sat behind a table beneath an awning.  I could tell right away that his beautiful looks favoured her, and even in middle age she was a woman who would merit at least a second look. With a wild, jubilant cry tearing from her throat she sprang up and hurled herself at her child, engulfing him in a prolonged ecstatic and weeping embrace.  I thought she would never let him go again...

"It's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is!) 3

Yesterday I was chatting with a friend over coffee and cookies at my place and the subject was wildfires, and the latest tragedy to strike the remnant town of Lytton which was totally destroyed by fire five years ago during the deadly heat dome.  I asked my friend what might have caused the fires.  She answered, "Was it lightning?"  No.  "Was it a cigarette?"  No.  "Was it a campfire?"  No, you're not even close.  "Then what was it?"  It's something you put in your car every week.  "Gas?"  You're close.  Oil.  The global output and reliance on fossil fuels has not abated and this is destroying our planet, is basically what I said to her. The petroleum industry alone has a lot to answer for, because with other fossil fuels, they are responsible for up to 80 percent of the  emissions that cause global warming and climate change, and around 20  percent of that oil goes into people's gas tanks.  I told my friend that at age 16 I decided that I would never own a car or learn how to drive.  At 70, that is one decision I have never regretted.  I sensed that God was telling me, back then when I was a teenage Jesus freak, that I was not to participate in this mad dance of death towards lasting environmental degradation.  My friend is in her late seventies.  She drives a car.  She also walks with a  cane, And the nearest bus stop is quite a walk from where she lives.  I told her that I don't expect her to hobble to the bus stop. Still, her answer about the cause of forest and brush fires is a little bit concerning, and it illustrates just how much people with cars live in a kind of personal fantasy world, or a state of selfish denial.  They are and have long been way near the apex for being responsible for global warming.  Very few people really need to drive a car, at least in Greater Vancouver where we are blessed with good accessible (but still needs lots of improvement)  public transit.  Nobody has followed my lead about not having a vehicle, and to this day I remain a voice crying in the wilderness.  A loud, strong and annoying voice perhaps, but it is really like trying to speak to the chronically deaf.  The resistance is very strong with extremely complex roots.  Our cities in North America are built and designed for cars.  Almost every tween and young teen is just champing at the bit to learn to drive, get their license and their own car.  Independence.  Status.  Power.  and there is so much myth around car ownership.  It is considered one of the first rites of passage into adulthood.  Many people will not consider you an adult, or  person of any worth or value if you go through your life riding public transit.  Remember the loser cruiser?  Why, a lot of women won't even date a guy who is twenty'five years old and still riding the bus. (Has anyone ever done a survey about how many teenagers lost their virginity in the back seat of a car?) So, this is what everyone has bought into.  Basically, the climate, the planet, the wellbeing of others, the wellbeing of God's beautiful and awesome creation, can all go to hell, if it means that I have to give up my privilege, my entitlement, my illusion of adult independence.  EV's are too expensive, plus they are also uniquely problematic to the environment. As our summers are becoming unbearably hot with lethal heat waves (70,000, mostly vulnerable, people perished last summer in Europe due to the heat), and killer storms become more frequent, I cannot envision very many people parking their cars to walk or take the bus or their bikes.  Too lazy, too selfish, too entitled.   it doesn't look good. In the words of the late screen legend Bette Davis in the film "All About Eve":  "fasten your seatbelts everyone. It's going to be a bumpy flight."

1967

In Tyre we were warmly received by the bishop and in his home I was deeply troubled to see Gaius. a young man who had been my friend in the garrison in Nicomedia. Like me he wore civilian garb, but remained clean shaven.  At nineteen my young beard was already gaining momentum and I hadn't shaved since our departure.  It would have challenged him to identify me at first.  But the bishop joyfully introduced him as his son who was finally restored to him.  And Gaius had disappeared some months before.  As soon as I identified myself, he knew me and a shadow of fear darkened his face.  And then we both had to labour rather hard to persuade the other that we were no threat but brothers in Jesus.  We stayed two nights with the Bishop.  Larus had arranged to be there longer, so we left him behind...

1966

It was springtime and the weather, while not rough, did provide us with some strong winds, but fortunately it did not rain during most of the time except for a few showers on the last day, and very fortunately it never rained at night for we had to sleep on the open deck under the stars and underneath whatever else God would happen to send us. Thaddai befriended another youth. I suspected a runaway slave, but he was finely dressed and mannered. And very convivial. And another disciple of the Nazarene. They had a peculiar way of identifying themselves to each other. On a wooden post with his knife, Thaddai discreetly carved with his small dagger an upward curved line. The other youth produced his knife, which put me on the ready, since I had no way of knowing what he was going to use it for, then, marked a corresponding downward curve, directly underneath, running it from the point to just past the other end, forming the outline of a fish. By this sign they knew each other as disciples of Christ. He was dark haired, slender and very handsome, quite in contrast to Thaddai, who was also a very beautiful boy, but like some Syrians with light skin, fair hair and green eyes, so there was no wonder his type would be highly coveted by men of sinister carnality. In hushed tones, we would huddle together speaking of our faith and exchanging questions about the Way. Larus was also going to Damascus, and would be stopping with us in Tyre. The Bishop of Ephesus had furnished him a letter with his seal to the bishop of Tyre who would give him lodgings. When we showed Larus our two letters from the bishop of Nicomedia with his seal, as well as being comforted to know that we were genuine, invited us to join him for the advantage of hospitality in Tyre.

It's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is...) 1

I imagine it could be time to resume writing in my blog material other than, or, as well as, my novel, the Peacock.  I quit writing reflective, controversial, current and challenging material in the wake of the attempt of the Anglican Archdiocese of New Westminster to threaten me with their lawyers if I did not stop writing and publishing on these pages "defamatory" if very true material about those pious bastards  Well, I did win, by threatening to and starting to go totally public on them.  The cowards backed off, and even though I offered them forgiveness, to this day they refuse reconciliation with me.  Much better to save that for our First Nations People, since that gives the Anglican church of Canada such excellent PR.  I suppose it could be said they would rather reserve their pearls for worthier swine. Well, I simply no longer care.  I have been through two other churches and denominations since then, the Lutheran and the United Church of Canada, and I will likely write more on those ecclesiastical soap operas on future pages. Today, I was riding the number 33 bus out to Pacific Spirit Regional Park, that fabulous sprawling second growth forest near UBC..  One more time, on the bus, a young man was illegitimately squatting on the courtesy seat nearest the front.  Somewhere in his twenties, not going to mention his nationality or race because selfish indifference appears to be a universal human trait.  There was lots of space both in the front and in the back of the bus.  Personally I don't think younger people, unless they are children, have any business on those seats, whether they are otherwise needed or not.  I do not know Translik's position about this, but I would like to.  I am 70, so I am allowed to sit there, but I will always offer my seat to someone who needs it more, be they frail elderly, people with disabilities or mobility issues, pregnant women, or people with babies or small children.   Unless there happen to also be hale and healthy looking young people occupying those same seats, and appear to be so engrossed in their dear little smartphones that nothing else appears to be going on in their tiny universe.  Then I will say something.  If they feign deafness, I raise my voice, and will say something snappy like, excuse me, either you are too young to be sitting here or you must have a very good plastic surgeon.  Oh, and this lady needs to sit down, thank you very much.  Oh, and could you please give me the business card of your plastic surgeon?  It works every time. I am reminded of a visit to Mexico City in 2012.  On the metro train, an elderly woman was standing, and none of the selfish healthy jóvenes, or young people, would offer her a seat, not even when I tried to scold or remonstrate with them in my already fluent Spanish (I was also standing, if you must ask). So, I wrote out my frustration in my travel journal which I sent off to various friends all over the world.  One of them, Christophe, a 29 year old middle class twit who lives in Germany, responded to me with an email scolding me for daring to be so rude to people when I am visiting a foreign country.  He went on to write that when he is riding public transit, if he feels tired or is reading something he won't give up his seat either.  So, without revealing his name or nationality, I quoted him word for word in my next post.  He promptly ended our friendship. Good riddance.  I imagine that now, at forty-something, he might be married with kids of his own, or divorced, given it might take a very special kind of woman, or a very stupid one, to live with his sense of entitlement. The bus went past a very attractive looking café on W 16th ave, called Sweet Obsessions. I noticed a dog seated next to his owner on one of the comfy looking loveseats outside on the sidewalk, and right away I saw a red flag.  Dogs do not belong on furniture.  If they are permitted, they will assume to be equal to their humans and will become all the more difficult to train and discipline.  Science backs me up on this one.  Besides which, should the patron using that same loveseat once human and doggy have left, have an allergy to pet fur and dander this could be particularly problematic. I like dogs by the way, and find some of them quite adorable despite such disgusting habits as sniffing bums and crotches and eating poo.  I actually prefer cats.  But I also enjoy petting and making friends with nice doggies, and often will greet strangers on the way with, happy Monday, and your doggy too.  What annoys me is the narcissistic entitlement of some dog owners.  And I sometimes wonder if the ongoing madness about dogs in our culture is also a symptom of an ethically bankrupt narcissistic society totally corrupted by capitalism greed and selfish individualism. Likewise the fad that does not know when to die,known as sidewalk jogging.  I used to get really annoyed with joggers, like the ones hogging the narrow trails I was walking on today, for their clueless self-absorbed narcissistic behaviour.  Now I just smile if I see one coming, say beep-beep, or hi, or burn rubber, and unless they are particularly obnoxious and entitled, they almost always smile and say hi.  As if they are glad that someone has acknowledged their existence.  But that kind of isolation is one of the many bitter and poisonous fruits of narcissistic individualism and rampant capitalism. Like it or not, we are all in this together.  We really have to start addressing the spiritual and moral vacuum that has turned so many of us into such pathetic consumerist zombies.  I sense a real hunger out there.  Let's see what we can do, eh?

1965

"I imagine there were dangers and risks along the way", muses Kenny. "There was little risk from brigands or thieves, because  the high road is well patrolled.  Thaddai and I took different clandestine routes, known only to local shepherds and herdsmen, because soon there would be an alert posted about my desertion, and being caught for both of us would be a death sentence.  We travelled only at night and there was enough moonlight to keep us from getting lost, and we slept in thickets and groves during the day.  In five days we were in Ephesus where we found the home of the bishop and presented the letter and surrendered to him our horses.  We sheltered there for five days.  He was an enormously kind, generous and holy man, and per the request of the Bishop of Nicomedia, he also took care to instruct us further in the faith.  There was only one close call.  A soldier I knew in Nicomedia was patrolling the dock while we awaited the ship.  He did not appear to see us, and since I was dressed in regular street apparel it would have been harder for him to know me. But we were not taking chances.  We found refuge in the shop of a seller of purple cloth, where we had only to linger a few short minutes before the ship was ready for boarding.

1964

"We were taken under protective custody into the house of a wealthy pearl merchant who was part of the congregation of the faithful.  The bishop joined us and there for the next day we were further instructed in the faith of Our Lord.  Then the merchant gave us a good sum of silver and gold coins as well as a supply of golden pearls to supply all our needs for the journey.  A youth from the church, known already to my father and me as an adept at our trade of saddle making, agreed to take my place and assist my father in the home and in his work.  Then the bishop wrote and signed with his own seal two letters, one to be presented to the bishop of Ephesus, for our lodging and refuge for however many days we needed while waiting for the next ship to Tyre, and another letter to the bishop of Damascus, instructing him to receive us among the faithful.  Then, the pearl merchant loaned us two of his finest horses, which we rode to the great city of Ephesus..."