2011

A loud confident knock sounds on the front door, and I have just sprung from out of the kitchen to answer it, almost knocking down Carl who was just getting up to do the same. And here they are, Kenny, with Amaris standing on his left. He is smiling broadly as they proceed their way in before I can say anything. "You sly old dog you", he says, slipping off his shoes by the door, Amaris following suit. "You didn't give me the address because you knew if it wasn't really me we would be lost." "And you didn't need to wait to be asked to take off your shoes", as we enter the living room, and he already knows his way around. Before claiming a spot on the couch next to Amaris, Kenny chimes, "You haven't done one single thing to change this place. It is exactly as I remember it." Then, glancing around, he notes, "Except for that landscape painting, the small one by the window." "Dad, just a year before he died, was giving a lot of support to Leonora Vandervene. "She was married to, what's his name, Cornelius, or Larry." "You do have a gdood memory. Larry passed away and..." "Yes, I remember, Leonora was an artist and that does look like her work. Beautiful..."

2008

"I suppose I could get some food together", says Francois, as he presses send, then shuts his laptop. "I can do it", say I. "What have we got?" "There's a ton of Costco potato salad in the fridge", says Francois, swinging his legs down to the floor. "We don't shop at Costco." "Chelsea does, she came over this morning to get her cat and to dump the potato salad on us because she bought too much." "Easy to do at Costco", says Erik. "Kenny and Amaris are coming for lunch by the way." "who?" says Carl. "My old friend. He lived here." "He's dead." "Carl, you already saw him alive last night. Remember?" "I already told you we didn't see him. Right, Erik?" "We did see him", he says. "Now I remember. With Ethan." "Oh my God", says Carl, his eyes widenng dramatically, "You're right..."

2009

Following Francois into the kitchen, I say, "Francois, you remember meeting Kenny yesterday, right?" "Kenny?" "At the Refuge." "Where?" He is rummaging in the fridge, first taking out the huge container of potato salad which he drops onto the counter. "You don't remember?" And now my friend is standing leaning against the counter with his fingertips pressed to his forehead, as though enduring intense pain. "i can't talk about this right now", he says, returning now to the fridge. "Well, they're on their way over for lunch, right now, and should be arriving any minute." "Who?" "Kenny...and Amaris. The woman we also met there." "How do you know it's really him", says Francois, fixing widened and scared eyes on me. "Quite simple. When I texted him this morning, I did not give him the address. He lived here with us for five years. It it's really him, they will both find their way here without any help from me."

2007

It has been a long drive, and Francois is alone in my father's house, horizontal on the couch, as always, propped up by cushions and writing on his laptop. "You're back", is all he says, just glancing up, then resuming his typing. "Wow, how's that for a welcome", says Carl, with grim humorous good will. Without looking up, he mutters, "Did I forget to wag my tail?" "Oh, you cat people", says Carl, letting himself drop onto the other half of the sofa, just missing Francois' bare feet as he pulls them out in the nick of time. "Always a flatterer." Erik and I have each taken an armchair. "Are you the only one here?" say I. "Until two minutes ago, yes, I would say so." "What are you working on?" asks Erik. "A letter to my mother who is finally recovered from covid. Her husband is still struggling but seems to be rallying. What about your mom, Carl?" "She is about to be discharged from hospital. I imagine she will be staying in New West, there is more room plus Melissa is a lot better with her than I am." "And, Jason and Lazarus?" "They went over to Maureen's this morning. They will be staying with the girls... and George and Jeffrey are hoping to lease the condo from you longterm" "We've already agreed", say I. "There is a text on my phone from Kenny: "Amaris and I have just left Richmond. May I presume we are invited for lunch?"

2006

There were limits to what we could pack and carry from the mansion, but as we are all filing in and out of the house with boxes, and unpacking everything, there is a collective sense of resignation over having to make do. Everyone did strip their own bed and bagged and carried with them their own bedding. Carl had gone online to order and purchase the seventeen mattresses and boxsprings, all single, and the last ones were delivered yesterday, presumably while we were doing other thngs, but he did clandestinely explain to me that he had already hired and mobilized various other helpers connected with the ones who painted the house. And now Jeff Bezos is just a little bit richer thanks to my friend's resourcefulness. But we have to leave the others, Melissa, Sheila, Glen, Michael and Matthew, to do their own settling in. Maureen has already agreed to lend two of her spare bedrooms to Jason and Lazarus, and George and Jeffrey refuse to leave my condo downtown, which is fine with me, leaving more room in my father's house for the rest of us. I am back behind the steering wheel of my car, as Carl and Erik both join me, and now we are on our way back to my father's house....

2005

It is lunchtime and here we are, both cars in Queen's Park, pulling up in front of the Queen Anne style Victorian doll's house. And it is lovely, the sky blue exterior with the white trim woodwork and fin de sicle curlicues all suggesting a festive summer sky. "You're new home, Glen", says Carl, forcing a smile, for all the stress we are under today. "It is beautiful", he replies with measured perfunctory indifference. Knowing far better than Glen, who has lived the most sheltered existence one could imagine, instead of lecturing him about how fortunate he is, given that many men of his age and lack of means are already sleeping under bridges and crowding homeless shelters, I dutifully hold my tongue. The house smells and looks freshly painted, and the small bits of furniture we found time to purchase do not do the place justice, leaving the rooms looking underfurnished, and all the walls white and starkly naked, but each bedroom imcluding the occasional rooms, seventeen in all, has a bed, and Melissa has had the forethought to bring enough bedding from the mansion to guarantee sweet dreams to everyone staying here tonight. She also took the time with her brother's help to empty the refrigerators, and soon we will be having lunch, our first meal in our, or should I say, in their new home, buffet style, natch, because we also are lacking a table and chairs.

2004

In my car we have besides the driver, me, Carl, Erik, and Glen. Behind us are following Melissa in her vehicle with Sheila, Michael her son, and Matthew. we have just bypassed the diner, and we are counting on a long drive given that traffic is already heavy. It is a preternaturally quiet drive, in this car, anyway. I have put on a classical cd, the Mozart Requiem and it appears to be to everyone's taste. Between Tron or Ethan last night, and the cops searching the house for bodies this morning, we are all, shall we say, lost for words. It is almost as though I am alone in the car, though still aware of this pressing burden of presence. We are past Abbotsford, and the Mission exit is now just behind us, but I don't reckon we are stopping till New Westminster, where I imagine the new house awaits at least some of the people in our two cars, all freshly painted and furnished like a big happy, if slightly creepy, Victorian era doll house...

2003

"But Kenny.. we were both there. Yesterday. Remember?" They seem to be taking their time finding their way to my car, which is okay. This cannot wait. "I was dreaming about that place last night. We were both there. And several friends of yours. But that was a dream" "You were also here with me last night, in a different mansion, and some of those few friends. Including Tron. But now this morning, you are not here, and no one remembers you, and Tron, who was Ethan, a random guy on his bike who spent last night here, but..." "Wait a minute...Tron? "Lives at the refuge, the big house you were in on that island, tall, dark hair, gold and green robes, fourth century christian martyr." "O my God Chris. We have to talk. Look, I can be in Vancouver today, I am staying with my friend Amaris at her parents' house in Richmond. We actually saw you guys in the Waves coffee shop on Broadway, or thought it was you, and we walked in, and you and I looked at each other, and we knew each other right away, but Amaris said it was too soon, so we left." "Come over to Dad's house this afternoon. Keep in touch in the meantime. I have to hang up now because I'm in the car and they're coming, I will be driving them back with me into town...I will call you as soon as we're there...

2002

The young cop appears to be introducing Carl to a short thin slightly bent elderly man. They are shaking hands. The real Cosme, I presume, and now Carl is bringing him over to me. "Christopher, I would like you to meet Cosme." The old man has thin greyish hair with whisps of faded auburn, an aquiline nose and a rugged, creased face that was once considered handsome. His dark eyes were likely once bright and fiery, but now seem dull and a little evasive. "How are you" is all he says in accented English, then, before I can reply, he returns to the young cop. "They are just about to bring out the dogs to search the house. No one here is under suspicision, so we are all clear to go." My phone is vibrating again. "I'm ready now, so if that's okay I can wait in my car." A text from Benjain Butterfield: "Chris, you clever sly dog you", another code expression of our friendship, "You blew my cover, Yes, it's your old friend Kenny, Kenny Liam McLauchlin, also known as Cassandra the old street tart, and Harriet, of course is always here with me. I am alive and well. I was fished out of the waters in a coma and cared for by loving strangers in a big house on one of the unknown Gulf islands. Long story, but they helped me connect with my mom here in Duncan, where I have lived under a new identity ever since. oh, we have so much catchng up to do."

2001

Breakfast is pretty basic this morning.  Toast, peanut butter, jam, cheese, cereal.  Erik and Carl are in the kitchen cleaning up while everyone else is getting their ducks together for the great evacuation today.  Here in the small reception room where no one can find me, next to the baby grand that Carol played so magnificently on till she broke down one morning weeping and sobbing.  Here in this comfy dark green velour chair facing the French doors, on my phone.  Facebook.  Benjamin Butterfield.  And here he is, no photo but just his big yellow B.  Texting:"in spades, baby.  In spades".  The French doors are open bringing in the cool sweet morning air and I suddenly am restless so I am back outside, on the small round porch, then down the four steps onto the grass, still glistening with the morning dew.  There are two cars pulling up in the driveway, and yes, the police have arrived...back in the kitchen, Carl announces, "Okay, we all have to step outside and identify ourselves to police".  As I file out with Eric and Melissa, my phone begins to vibrate.  Waiting for my turn to present to the young RCMP officer my personal i d, I pull out the phone and read the code words of my friendship with Kenny, "You really know how to set a girl's heart aflutter"...

2000

Carl alone is seated here with me, on the bench where the young Jesus just sat.  He smiles, as I seem to have just opened my eyes.  "I must have dozed off.  How long have you been here?" "Not very.  As I stepped out on the verandah I noticed Ethan leaving on his bike.  Didn't even say goodbye.  Not even a thankyou." "Some people." "What a piece of work." I am not going to mention anything.  Not that Jesus was just here, nor how they both disappeared together, and certainly not our brief naked encounter in the bathroom this morning.  I am not going to ask what really happened, because whatever did occur, and whatever I witnessed occurring are going to be similar but very different occurrences. "what really happened?" "What do you mean, what really happened" "You're not going to sit here and tell me that that guy really was a Roman soldier turned Christian martyr at the turn of the Fourth Century under Diocletian?" "Tron?" "Tron?  Where did you get that name?  Ethan." "You mean, we didn't meet him at the Refuge..." "Where?" "Kenny could confirm it, if you don't believe me." "Kenny?" "My old friend.  He lived with me and my father.  Years ago.  We read his journal. Remember? He is with us here, isn't he?" "In the spirit perhaps, but your friend Kenny has been dead the last twenty-five years..." "What?" "Chris", Carl has a very worried look on his face.  He moves to my bench and parks right next to me, his hand on my forearm..."Chris, it's okay..Come back to the house with me...we'll have breakfast...We have a long day ahead of us...". 

1999

Nobody is up yet, and through the enormous rambling mansion, my ears remain alert, because this silence is complete and actually louder to my ears than an outdoor rock concert.  I imagine Tron would be wanting me to guide him around, but he has taken the lead and obediently, like his devoted little shih tzu, I meekly follow.  As we descend the steps of the deserted verandah, I try to hurry to catch up with him, but remain lagging behind, as though I am forbidden to consider myself his equal.  And really, how could I possibly presume to be peer to a man, so entirely and enervatingly beautiful, who was born more than seventeen hundred years ago, if he is to be believed, a man who was crucified like our Lord, and now walks just ahead of me, immortal...  The tulips are still hanging on, but many have already dropped petals, and the irises, especially the golden and deep purples ones, are at their peak. "It is natural for you to be in love with me", he says, stopping so I can catch up to him. " I came into the bathroom while you were still in it, both of us naked, because this would help bond us together.  You are wondering how this could have happened, two homosexual men attracted to each other, without sex entering the picture." "Yes, I do actually, and I didn't know you are attracted to me." "After we die, that is to say. Christopher, Christ Bearer, after we die into life, eternal life, our sexual nature does not die with our bodies, but our sexuality is transformed, not as a vehicle for lust , but for divine service, for that was the original divine intention for us, and not, as many clerics mistakenly affirm for mere procreation of the species  And you, Christ Bearer, as one who knows himself to be asexual, are already ahead in your game...  I see not one, but two peacocks in the southern magnolia, which now is approaching full bloom of its huge cream coloured dinner plate flowers  A blue one on the left, a green one, such as the one I saw in the book and the vision with Tron at the Refuge, on the right.  They both appear quiet, stately and unaware of each other, though they appear to be regarding us intently.  On one of the three stone benches sits the young Jesus, his green eyes fixed lovingly upon us both.  We flank him on the opposing benches, for he is seated in the middle. "I see you have been in the loving care of my servant", he says, turning to me.  "Tron now must return to the Refuge.  He overstepped with you this morning, not with malice or selfish intent, but precipitously and now must return for a period of rest.  Even in eternity my servants must never be overtried, and for this reason, my friend, and my great love", and now his eyes are on Tron again, "I am returning you home.  You have served well and faithfully my servants here, but this morning you  began to speak of things to Christopher that he is still forbidden to know, and must wait some years before you can both return to the conversation." Jesus and Tron both rise up from their benches, he takes hold of both Tron's hands and kisses them on the palms and backs.  And now they are both gone.  They and the two peacocks...

1997

Tron is dressed as Ethan.  I am tempted, but dare not ask about his robes.  "Come in and sit down while I get my ducks together"  He comes in, closing the door behind him, which  I find a little bit uncomfortable.  As he sits down in an armchair, I ask, "How did you sleep last night?"  I wonder about commenting, if jokingly about us two being naked together in the bathroom, but think better of it." "Sleep for me", he says calmly, "is always a vigil.  I have been commissioned to watch over various places and situations simultaneously, and that becomes the focus at night, but in the form of restorative sleep.  It is what you people call dreams, but are really recollections of visits and visitations of which your memory is always going to remain at best sketchy.  Now that I am free from the bonds and limitations of mortality, I have a true and sweeping panoramic view and experience of those realms." My shoes are on, and everything is in order.  "Ready when you are."

1995

"And Thaddai kept his mouth shut."  I am feeling suddenly cheeky and empowered. "He knew the consequences", replies Tron as he steps into the shower.  somehow it doesn't feel inappropriate to linger here while he is in the shower.  Slowly I finish towelling myself dry, then reach for the toothbrush and toothpaste that Carl was thoughtful enough to provide me with.  Indeed, they always make sure the bathrooms stay well stocked.  Tron is also fast in the shower.  The water has been turned off and while I am starting to shave he is standing next to me, towelling himself dry.  This is all beginning to feel a little bit absurd.   "There are toiletries in the drawer here, Ethan", say I, holding it open, "with everything you need, including..."   and I whip it out of the drawer..."Deodorant." "Thanks.  Don't leave your room yet after you get dressed, I want us to take another walk together before breakfast..." A text from Francois: "How's it going so far. have they found any bodies?" "I write, "just got up and showered and now Tron wants to take a walk with me before breakfast." "Tron?" "Remember from the refuge, tall, very handsome, wearing gold and green robes." "What is he doing there?" "Long story. We should be home this afternoon sometime and then we can tell you everything. what's going on where you are?" "We all spent the evening huddled together debriefing. We seem to be recalling things sporadically, like we were all having the same collective dream. You guys?" "Same. Hey, you know the house in New West is ready for occupancy." "Are you trying to get rid of me?" "On the contrary, I was hoping you would stay with me." "Your wish is my command..." Then he adds a bright yellow smiley face. I respond with a thumb up, and now Tron or Ethan or Adrian is knocking on my door. I know it is him, it is the same quiet measured and authoritative three knocks I heard twenty minutes ago on the bathroom door... "

1994

"And Thaddai kept his mouth shut."  I am feeling suddenly cheeky and empowered. "He knew the consequences", replies Tron as he steps into the shower.  Somehow it doesn't feel inappropriate to linger here while he is in the shower.  Slowly I finish towelling myself dry, then reach for the toothbrush and toothpaste that Carl was thoughtful enough to provide me with.  Indeed, they always make sure the bathrooms stay well stocked.  Tron is also fast in the shower.  The water has been turned off and while I am starting to shave he is standing next to me, towelling himself dry.  This is all beginning to feel a little bit absurd.   "There are toiletries in the drawer here, Ethan", say I, holding it open, "with everything you need, including..."   and I whip it out of the drawer..."Deodorant." "Thanks.  Don't leave your room yet after you get dressed, I want us to take another walk together before breakfast..."

1994

First one up, first to the bathroom.  I am tempted to linger in the shower but the warm wet solitude must wait for another day... Someone else will be needing to come in, and likely right now even.  I am just towelling my head dry when there are three knocks on the door. Before I can say anything, the door opens.  It is Ethan, tall, naked and dazzlingly gorgeous.  instead of covering myself, because I simply refuse to do knee jerk modesty, I am smiling, he smiles back, comes in without so much as closing the door, and begins to pee, in the toilet, of course.  He sounds like a mighty waterfall, and his dimensions are very generous and curiously he is also circumcised.  Above the roar of his torrent he says, "Did you sleep well?" "Without dreams", say I, feeling suddenly very casual and very comfortable, naked in a small bathroom with a naked demigod. "You are wondering if I am Jewish?" says he, noticing that my eyes are on his dick, which he shakes dry while flushing the toilet.  Then he selects three squares of toilet paper with which he wipes clean the rim of the toilet.  "In a word, yes, my parents were descendents of refugees from Jerusalem when the city was destroyed in the year Seventy.  because I never lived in the barracks, though I visited frequently, no one ever saw me undressed, so I was safe from trouble..."

1993

I am back in my old room, which is Carl's old room.  Alone at last.  How I have been needing and craving solitude and soon everyone or almost everyone will be moving into that Victorian era house in New Westminster leaving me still not quite alone but with Carl, Erik, and, yes, Kenny.  those three most important people in my life.  And I want to run away from all of them because I have just gone totally Garbo on the world and I really want them all to leave me alone. I want to be alone, but now I have to sleep and solitude, to be properly enjoyed, is wasted on sleep, especially because for me, having synesthesia, sleep means dreams and more dreams, and still more dreams, all of them involving other people... I check my phone.  It is 6:36 am, and that peacock is crying again, likely from the southern magnolia tree.  I just slept seven hours uninterrupted, no dreams, this is a first, and right now I have to piss like a racehorse.

1992

Carl slumps, a dead weight, back into his chair.  And now we are feeling a collective exhaustion.  Words have failed us.  And we all know, even though no one has said as much, that we are never going to be the same again, not after this, but the words somehow are finding their way out of my mouth: "we are never going to be the same again, not after this." "Do you think he's for real?" wonders Carl. "How could he not be real", says Kenny, and now he is remembering again.  "Yes, it is clear again.  I saw a lot of Tron during my twenty-five years in and out of the Refuge.  Next to our Lord himself, one of the most beautiful and authentic beings I have ever encountered." "Did he ever refer to those experiences he just recounted?" asks Erik. "Often...Yes... Often." "So now what do we do?" asks Carl. "we return what is left of the milk to the fridge and wash the glasses, and then go to bed", say I. "Oh Chris", he says fondly, "Do you know who you really are?  You are our Common Sense Guru." "Thanks.  I think...I'm sure I've been called worse things by nicer people:" "Oh, you're such a flatterer." Says Kenny, "You never were one to mince words Chris.  That is what I've always admired about you...

1991

I have to get some sleep", says Ethan, yawning. "i'll show you to your room", says Carl getting up.  To the rest of us he says, "You guys, there are plenty of vacant rooms on this floor with beds all made up.  Christopher, could you help them please?" Once they are out of the room, Kenny turns to me and whispers, "Did you see what I just saw?" "I saw it too", says Erik,   "the green and gold robes.  That was the same person or being we saw at the refuge." We are all just completely lost for words.  We just stare stupidly into space, daring not to say anything further.  Then, reaching for the jug of milk, I say demurely, "More milk, anyone?" Erik reaches for the chocolate chips..  "You're not finished yet?" wonders Kenny, with a huge emphasis on the word yet."I guess so long as chocolate doesn't keep us up all night." "You guys ready to turn in" say I. "We should wait for Carl to come back", says Erik...

1990

We are speechless, breathless, and gobsmacked.  and now the presence that is emanating from this young man, this young man who is in reality more than seventeen hundred years old, confirms that we are not being regaled by some random bike dude we picked up along the way, but a minister and representative straight from the holy of holies.  Tron is radiant, his amber eyes flashing with divine fire and again his shorts and T-shirt are transformed before my very eyes into an emerald green tunic partly shrouded by a robe of shining gold.  The Nikes he was wearing replaced by the most elegant golden sandals I have ever seen  We are all silent.  he is smiling, then, as he opens his mouth to speak, once again, we are in the company of Ethan, random bike dude, dependent tonight on our hospitality, out here in the toolies.

1989

We were arrested at the Damascus Gate of the great city.  Claudius, my companion in the barracks in Nicomedia knew me immediately and had me in chains.  On my pleading they released Thaddai, claiming he knew nothing of this, and miraculously they let him go.  He returned immediately to the refuge where his mother and sister were sheltering.  I was given no trial, for them I was already a deserter, traitor, and worse, a Christian, I was already tried, indicted and convicted.  There was a cross waiting for me.  They stripped me of all my clothing, because not even our Lord Jesus Christ was spared the humiliation of hanging fully naked before the world. And there they nailed me, there I hung, bleeding, much as our Saviour bled for us, but unlike our Saviour, I was consoled throughout by the divine presence. God would never again forsake God that the ultimate darkness should never again shroud the earth. Yes, the pain, yes the humiliation, the agony as I felt my body breaking all around me. And yes, as I could feel the moment approaching, the crows gathered round me to begin their despicable feast.  But that was it.  It was over.  And yet, it was only the beginning.  While the fowls of the air banqueted on my corpse, I was already being received into the place of light and love and life undying...

1988

At daybreak we reached Neapolis, the nearest town to Aelia Capitolina. We knew not to enter the city, and had been told of a small farm nearby that would give us refuge. We were well received by a family of believers. The grandparents, their son and daughter-in-law and three small children. They were concerned about our destination, knowing it would be perilous, and they gave us the information of a safe house near the centre of the city. In a hidden storage room for grain we slept artfully concealed by blankets between bushels of barley. We knew we were coming to our journey's end, when anything could happen. Exhausted, we all slept through the afternoon and into the following dawn. When they gave us breakfast, our elder hosts begged that the two women stay behind with them as Thaddai and I went forth, knowing how perilous the trip would be to two women, especially given the Roman soldiers' lascivious reputation for brutally violating vulnerable women...

1987

There was a very sketchy sidepath just to the right, that went down the hill and around in a route that would be hidden from the Roman soldiers.  We took that route, and met with good fortune, for there was a rock face with a small cave at the bottom, it was more of a crevice but we could still just fit inside.  There we waited.  And waited.  It was already dusk, but we knew we must wait till nightfall.  We had hoped that travel by day would be without incident, but now we were stuck, but just for a while.  I needed badly to urinate, so I was the first to step out and find a private spot.  There would be just enough remnant light to see us safely up to the main path again.  We climbed back up, and there was no one, nor firelight or torch.  We continued walking.  Thaddai stepped in fresh horse dung, and we knew the soldiers had passed that way.  We would be safe for several hours...

1985

Thera had kept the old clothes of her late husband, Antares.  Dionysus wore them as a disguise, for without his magisterial toga, no one would know him.  Then, Thaddai and I escorted him to the home of the archbishop, and left him there to be baptised that same day.  We never again heard of him, but the Bishop did tell us there was a ship leaving immediately for Iberia that he happened to board in Tyre.  Of course we were more than a little relieved to have him out of the way, even if that meant a significant loss of income, but soon our wares found other markets, and then the storm hit.  The persecutions and purgings had spread from the military to ordinary civilians such as ourselves.  The deacon, Melena's husband was taken to prison and tortured to death.  We took her in with the baby, but knew we were not going to be safe anywhere.  The soldiers were already conducting searches from house to house, extirpating the faithful and carrying them to prison, torture and often certain death.  Knowing how perilous would be an overland to Jerusalem, or Aelia Capitolina, we were going to ride together, I, Thaddai, his mother, his sister and the baby, to Tyre, from where we could board a ship to Capernaum.  An angel had appeared to us all that same morning and commanded us to return to the site of Our Lord's execution and there await our transport into Glory...

1984

"It's like we're a bunch of eight year olds at summer camp", muses Kenny, receiving the glass of milk Carl has just poured him. "I regret to say we don't have anything stronger", says Carl. To Tron, or Ethan, Kenny says, "Back in the days of the Roman Empire, how did you ever cope without chocolate? He replies, "We had dates, and figs, and pomegranates, and such wine finer than any that ever flowed from the hills." "What is it about milk and chocolate?" says Erik.  "They seem to perfectly balance each other." "Sorry we don't have anything stronger," says Carl to Tron. "The chocolate does taste idyllic", he says. Carl says, "Apparently milk chocolate has the same fat to sugar ratio as human breast milk.  Ain't that a riot!  We're all crying Mommy, like we all want a tit or maybe something else to suck on, and then just like little sweetie we fall into a food coma for our little nappy." "Something else to suck on", cackles Kenny. "Donuts have the same ratio," says Erik. "Homer Simpson effect", screeches Kenny in a peal of drag queen laughter.  "Doooouuuuggghhhhnut!" Tron is clearing his throat quite audibly and says "May I get on with my tale?" "Yes, please", says Carl,  "You have to forgive my ADHD.  At the end of a long day it sometimes gets a bit out of control", he says with a nervous giggle. Tron resumes, "On his third visit, Dionysus, the governor, came carrying a large bag of money and another bag full of his personal items.  He handed the money to Thera and said, "This is for the care of my child that your daughter has given birth to.  I have left the palace, I have resigned my  post and now I must find a safe harbour for soon they will be searching for me.  Then, looking intently on all of us he whispered, "what must I do to be saved?"

1983

"That must have been very disconcerting", says Carl, putting aside on top of the desk the half-depleted bag of chocolate chips.  "Oh, I'm sorry", he says, "Does anyone want any more?" "Not I, said the pig", says Kenny. "Oh speak for yourself", say I.   "Yes dear, you really know how to set a girl's heart aflutter." "In spades, baby, in spades."  Now that I have Kenny back, alive and well, after twenty-five years of his presumed death by drowning, I am lapping up like a thirsty dog every single opportunity to return to our old selves together, our old coded and campy banter of friends forever.  "What I would really like right now is a tall glass of cold milk." "I actually brought up a four litre jug.  It should be in the bar fridge in the snack bar up here." "I can get it", say I, rising from my chair.  "Where is it by the way?" "You'll need help carrying glasses", says Carl, getting up to join me. "I didn't know we have a snack bar up here." "I'm sorry. we should have kept it stocked during the retreat", says Carl, taking the lead in the hallway, " But we wanted as much communal participation from you guys as possible",  It is in the room behind the mysterious closed door right next to Carl's old bedroom, the same room I was staying in. And there it is, a small fridge, an upper shelf with a microwave, and cupboards, and a small tiki bar with black stools.  There is also a couch, two comfy chairs, a wooden coffee table and a couple of vintage standing lamps.  I have to struggle with a small prickle of resentment that Carl never told me about this room. "What do you think of our guest's tale, so far?"  say I, opening the fridge and pulling out the milk. "I thought after so much chocolate we would be needing it", says Carl." "What is it about milk and chocolate, anyway, say I, because they really do go together." "I dunno.  How old are we?" Remembering my friend's controlled ADHD, I say, "Now back on topic, please." "Yes, of course", he agrees, pulling from one of the upper cupboards four smoked gently curved glass tumblers.  They are tall, and would hold twelve ounces." "How do you like these beauties", says Carl, gently setting them on a tray that he has just pulled out from the bar. "Very elegant.  Now, what do you think of Tron's account." Carl pauses, both hands on top of the bar as though to steady himself.  "Early church history live.  Otherwise...", he pauses as though for dramatic effect, "Had it not been for everything that has happened to us over the last twenty-four hours or so, I would say our friend needs something much stronger to drink than milk."  We are proceeding back into the hall.."but there is no way that any of this could be made up.  No way at all..."

1982

Soon, we were being visited regularly, not by the governor's servants, but by the governor himself. This was most disconcerting.  And Thera was particularly shaken by this change of course.  Especially given what a complete breach of protocol  this was, but he was the governor, and we as Christians, were under holy obligation to receive all strangers with hospitality and kindness.  Dionysus saw one of the saddles that Melena had just embroidered.  Very fortunately she had but recently been married to Cleopas and was living with him and his family on their farm.  Dionysus had no idea where he could find her and to our great surprise and consternation, seemed not at all interested in Melena nor the child, his child, she had just given birth to.  When he asked about the embroidery, Thaddai merely said it was the work of a kinsman, and nothing more.  Dionysus remained for an hour, looking at and discussing the art and designs of our wares and offering us both suggestions of what he would like because he also wanted to start purchasing my saddles.  Then, on his third visit he began to ask us questions about the way of Jesus...

1981

First, the Roman governor, Dionysus, began to notice the beautiful handiwork of Thaddai's pottery, and of Thaddai himself.  His work did outshine by far his father's, and the governor sent his servants to our home to see and purchase his finest work.  But that wasn't all.  Dionysus commanded an audience with Thaddai.  I accompanied him.  In the hall of meetings we stood before him, a man nearing fifty, lean, still handsome, his greying hair already thinning.  He wanted to know who I was.  I simply said that I was a saddle maker of humble provenance.  It was a stroke of divine wisdom that I came with Thaddai, for it was clear to my eye that the governor had designs on him for his bed.  He introduced me as his kinsman, and protector  There was something very serpentine about the governor's eyes as he glared first at one then the other, as though he were in the flesh market struggling to choose between two savoury hams.  Then he asked Thaddai to remain behind.  He of course refused, and the governor consented with great affected courtesy.  We descended the steps from his palace, both of us shaken to our very sandals.

1979

"What did the bishop do when he saw those golden pearls?" says Carl. "First we presented to him and the deacon both letters from the bishop, which we had the forethought to keep on our persons. They agreed to meet with us the next day in the house of Thera. Melena was also present. She looked quite different. Her eyes were no longer adorned with kohl, and she wore a very plain shapeless garment, white and somewhat worn looking. We all spoke together openly and candidly, then it was revealed to me that the deacon was their kinsman through Melena and Thaddai's deceased father. I believe that his wife, also deceased, was a cousin of their father. As the conversation proceeded it became evident that this man had lost his own wife and their only child while she was giving birth to him less than a year ago. He openly admitted that he believed Melena's repentance to be genuine, though she might be required for two years to sit at the back of the congregation and leave early without partaking of the eucharist, the standard penance for fallen women. That was when I took from my bag the gospel of Luke, and read these words out loud.. Jesus Anointed by a Sinful Woman 36 When one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, he went to the Pharisee’s house and reclined at the table. 37 A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, so she came there with an alabaster jar of perfume. 38 As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them. 39 When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner.” 40 Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”“Tell me, teacher,” he said. 41 “Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. 42 Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?” 43 Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.” “You have judged correctly,” Jesus said. 44 Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. 45 You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. 46 You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. 47 Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.” 48 Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” 49 The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” 50 Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” They had never heard those words before, even though by that time all four of the canonical gospels were being widely read and studied.and as the bishop was about to question their veracity, I showed them again the letters with the bishop's seal, for the gospel was mentioned there. Then the deacon spoke up and said that he needed a wife and a son and that Melena could provide him with both, and Melena would also need marriage to an honorable Christian man to erase her shame and reintegrate her into the community of the faithful. The bishop protested that this was way premature, but the deacon asked Thera if she would permit him to marry her daughter. "What do you say, Melena?", she asked, looking solemnly at her daughter, who burst into tears, said yes, and fell at the deacon's feet, kissing them while her body heaved with sobbing. To satisfy the bishop's need for a little decorum the wedding was postponed by six months, during which time, with Melena and Thera, Thaddai and I would wait in the back of the church, then leave together before the celebration of the eucharist.

1980

"I also took up again my trade in saddle making.  I was afraid that my style of work would be recognized by any Roman military, but Melena came to the rescue.  She was an expert in embroidery and crewel work, and her colourful designs and patterns effectively disguised my signature work.  my saddles or our saddles, became locally famous.  Thaddai was already a trained potter, thanks to his father's careful attention.  His work was breathtakingly beautiful and brightly coloured, often featuring designs of peacocks, flamingos and phoenix.  Thera's business also began to mysteriously flourish and soon everyone wanted to eat her bread.  We integrated well into the church, and Thaddai and I soon became enlisted in ministering to the needs of widows and orphans, beginning with our own Thera.  We did well for three years, and then the storm clouds began to darken..."

It's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is) 7

I recently composed a spoof based on Nancy Sinatra's legendary song, "These Boots Are Made For Walkin'"  We all remember Nancy, right?  If she hadn't been Ol' Blue Eyes Little Girl, she likely would have been a flight attendant or hair dresser, maybe a bank teller, and maybe on her free nights, a karaoke queen: Bought my Nikes at the local Sport Chek.Shelled out almost half a K,Now I'm takin' over every city sidewalk.Gonna mow down everybody in my way,These shoes are made for runnin',That is just what they'll do,One of these days these shoes are gonna run all over you, Hear my favourite tune on my Bluetooth.Inspire me to run just like a racehorse,Protect me from the songs of the birdies,And from all you inferior people of course.These shoes are made for runnin',That is just what they'll do,One of these days these shoes are gonna run all over you. Running will make me live forever,Forever young and sexy I'll stay,Won't have to look hard for a partner,Gonna get laid every single freakin' day,These shoes are made for runnin',That is just what they'll do,One of these days these shoes are gonna run all over you. I'm the centre of the universe,It's all about precious little  me,So I can knock down little old ladies,And everyone I don't wanna see,These shoes are made for runnin',That is just what they'll do,One of these days these shoes are gonna run all over you. They are everywhere, every single day, infesting the sidewalks and footpaths of Vancouver like a locust plague, or like an outbreak of scabies.  I am referring here of course to joggers, or runners, as some prefer to be called, but,hey, in spite of halo effect, we all know they are a social and logistical public nuisance.  They are not all obnoxious.  A few will make lots of room for pedestrians (sorry, City Hall, but joggers move too fast to be labelled pedestrians), some even going out onto the street (where they really belong). However, most don't seem to really give a crap.  I have seen elderly people with canes or walkers and small children almost getting knocked down by those idiots.  Not a word of apology nor even a glance of recognition.  When I was still working as a mental health support worker, while walking with my client on a narrow trail in Pacific Spirit Regional Park, he was actually knocked into a shallow ditch by an oblivious young female jogger.  I gave her supreme shit. She did sort of apologize but didn't even stop to see if he was okay. I could go on. I used to get hugely annoyed at joggers.  I would either step off the sidewalk  or cross to the other side to avoid them.  Should they have the nerve to say thank you I would simply reply, I didn't do it for you.  And if they really violated my boundaries some nasty shouting matches could result, including getting sworn at by some of those young wastes of DNA.  However, in the interests of peace, sanity and good common sense I have come to accept this public nuisance and just simply say hi, or beep beep or happy Tuesday, or burn rubber to them as they pass.  Most say hi back, smile or even laugh.  I think they really appreciate the connection.  Others, and they are a minority, simply try to pretend I am not there, or they are so distracted by whatever they are hearing on their bluetooth that they simply think they are the only person in existence. I see this as a symptom of the kind of entropy that our society is crumbling towards.  This deification of self, this heightened toxic individualism, this utter narcissism indicates a culture that has lost its moral and ethical moorings.  With climate change and  global capitalism, we have all become balkanized into little organic bots.  Our sheer value to our governments and to the corporations that control our elected politicians is purely economic.  Only the strong, the pretty and the compliant will survive, until they two get swallowed into this growing engulfing vortex. As a Christian, as a First Century Disciple of Jesus Christ, as a Spirit-filled Red Letter Christian, I am proposing nothing short of a complete revival.  Only as Christians rediscover the Living Jesus of the Gospels and surrender unconditionally to the Lamb of God who was slain for us, will we see any effective bulwark against this rot that threatens to engulf us.  I am not proposing religious syncretism or vapid spirituality.  Simply that we come to know Jesus.  In a new way.  In a powerful way, so that the love of God sweeps through our lives and into this fallen and broken world in great torrents of pure Living Water.

1978

"How did things work out for Melena?" wonders Carl.  "I mean, I studied early church history and if I must say so, they were very hardass about fallen women, and particularly towards prostitutes.  How could she ever survive the judgment and surveillance of all those sanctimonious Miss Grundies." "You raise a valid and very interesting point", replies Tron.  "While the history books speak truthfully and accurately about the heightened legalism of the early church, what they neglect to tell us is that that sacred institution was composed of very broken and imperfect human beings.  And neither was everyone of one hundred percent accord.  This was the year 299.  Before the Councils of Nicea and before the Christian scriptures were codified to form the New Testament.  The gospels  and the letters of Paul and the Apostles were in full circulation, among many other writings, letters and gospels, none of which were accepted as canon.  Because of the lack of doctrinal cohesion, often the writings were read and treated selectively and sporadically, often anarchically.  The bishop of Nicomedia had gifted us before we left with his copy of what became known as the Gospel of the  the Great Physician, Luke, and just as we were meeting his sister, Melena, and we were studying the account of the sinful woman anointing our Lord's feet with nard and her own tears..."  Here Tron pauses, his amber eyes shining and glittering in the soft lamplight.  "I saw myself, we both saw ourselves as that sinful woman, to whom Jesus responded with his blessing.  And immediately we could see Melena as that woman, and though we were young men, we could see Melena as us.  That bit of wisdom became a very useful and powerful leavening when we were approaching the bishop of Damascus..."

1977

Thera looked up at me, her face white with unabashed shock.  "Where did you find these ?" she demanded to know.  I said they were a gift from a friend of the Bishop of Nicomedia.  "The value of these pearls will sustain us much longer than just two to three years," she gasped in a near whisper.   "We will never have to go without again. But these are many.  Far too many and if I or my daughter should exchange these for money all eyes would be upon us.  Dionysus, the governor, her former brute, would be upon us in no time. "  She carefully returned the pearls, one by one, into the bag, then handed it back to me.  Then Thaddai spoke up, "Mother, Adrian and I could exchange the pearls, just one or two at a time, as we have need, and there are other towns and cities where we could have it done.  Perhaps..."   Madame, said I, there is prudence and common sense in the words of your son"...and so we were able to elaborate a plan, but we would have to do it with the greatest of care, and we were not going to do it without the blessing and support of the local church...

1976

The young woman, upon releasing Thaddai from her embrace, lowered her mantle to her shoulders revealing a dark and sensuous beauty with black curly hair cascading way past her shoulders, or so I imagined since her hair was still safely tucked behind her black shroud. said Thera."I wasn't expecting you this early". "The proconsul's chief manservant forbade me entry today, but gave me this bag of money.  I am not permitted to return, not ever again", she said tersely. "What did you do or say that might have offended him", said Thera wearily. "I imagine that it is time also to tell you as well.  You are going to be a grandmother." "Do you mean to say..." "That is correct, mother.  I am carrying the proconsul's bastard child..." Thera looked like she might have wept on the spot, but I could already tell that she had long ago emptied completely her wells of tears. She emptied the bag of its contents onto the table before her and began to count the coins. "It should be enough to keep us for a few months, said Melena. Without looking up from the coins, her mother replied, "if we eat just one meal a day it might keep us for a fortnight. Then I pulled from my tunic the bag of golden pearls. I handed them all to Thera. She looked at me in uncomprehending shock. "Take them to the money changers tomorrow. They must not know where you got them. If anyone asks, your kinsman has stepped up for you. There should be enough value in these golden pearls to keep you for two or three years. And, if I can count on your hospitality, Madame, I am a skilled saddle maker, and I could restart here my craft and their marketing, if that is right with you..."

Visions 3

I saw a roller painting a wall whte, later I saw a hand presentng me wth a ring of several five, I think, keys. The interpretation: You are being made pure and innocent again and I am handing you the keys that will unlock and open the doors I am preparing for you. i will not open the doors, but I will lead you to them. Your part is to unlock them open and enter in. I will show you throughout the way which resources you already have and how to use them in order to make my way plain before you.

1986

"Now", says Tron, "May I get on with my tale?" "By all means", says Kenny. We were standing, visiting with Thaddai's mother in her grain and bread shop.  She was telling us that some recent droughts had reduced the harvests, she had to raise her prices and there was scarcity.  Thaddai's father was a maker of pots and vessels, one of the finest in Damascus, so that even the Roman proconsul had become one of his most diligent clients.  But with his death, that income completely dried up.  Thera was pausing, hesitating as though she did not know how or whether to proceed, when a dark shadow came in through the awning.  I looked more carefully, and all I could see was someone veiled in a black mantel edged with gold embroidery.  I could see at its hem a green silken garment, emerald green and the exquisitely sandaled foot of a young woman.  The figure said nothing, but handed Thera a small linen purse that appeared to be full of coins.  She left it on the table, then turned and noticed us.  Then, throwing back her veil, revealing a beautiful dark young woman with eyes painted with kohl., she screamed "Thaddai!", and like his mother clutched and clung to him in a tight embrace.  She was weeping silently.

It's All About Me (of course it is dear, of course it is!) 6

As a species, we humans have really totally blown it.  Climate chaos is upon us.  Europe is broiling under yet another killer heat wave.  Last year on that continent, seventy thousand people perished from heat-related causes.  Our last eleven years have been the hottest in recorded memory.  Here in Canada,as well as elsewhere in the world, killer wildfires have become the norm.  Every summer in major cities the sun gets hidden or turns a ghastly copper-orange, by clouds of health-destroying smoke.  For a couple of days Vancouver had the world's worst  air quality   topping Mexico City, Beijing and Delhi.  Meanwhile, government leaders go on signing and approving deals with the fossil fuel industries, meaning more pipelines, more fuel, more contaminents, more heat,  As if they are completely tone-deaf to what we are doing to our planet, to ourseves, to the entire web of life.  In Europe and in China there is a surge of  renewable energy, solar, wind, etc, but this really reads like too little too late. I could go on, but there is no need to. How did we get this way?  Well, fire has a lot to do wih it.  The Greek myth reads that the titan god, Prometheus, stole fire from the altar of the gods on Olmypus and gave it to humankind, so that they or we would no longer be completely subservient, but become the master of our own lives, our own destiny.  As punishment, he was chained to the face of a mountain where an eagle would come to devour his liver for all eternity. That gift of fire turned us into apex predators.  Meat, till then eaten raw and difficult to digest and rather disgusting, became tasty and easy on the stomach.  We turned from being a prey species into beasts of prey.  Our brains grew, we became more inventive, more adept and more adaptable.  We left Africa for other climes.  In many cases, places of bitter and biting cold, since the ice age was upon us.  Fire helped our paleolithc ancestors adapt and adjust to some of the most hostile climates imaginable.  Even after our prehistoric ancestors were nearly wiped out by cold and pandemics, a remnant survived and went on killing and eating, and taking down trees to warm themselves and survive the bitter cold of Europe, Siberia, and northern Canada.  Our population grew, doubling, tripling, quadrupling and so on.  We cut down more rees, burned more wood, deforested mountains and hillsides, destroying ecosystems, and even then we were starting to foul the very air that keeps us alive.  It never occurred to anyone that we might be a species adapted and designed exclusively for tropical qnd subtropical climates.  No one was about to move back to Africa, or stay in India or indonesia.  Fire made us masters of our destiny.  Fire was the first catalyst to help separate us from God. Our numbers grew.  exponentially.  We continued to hunt to extinction a whole myriad of species of the most magnificent animals that ever graced our planet.  We continued deforesting, destroying ecosystems, and then came agriculture, the big ecological deal breaker.  Most of the British isles and many other parts of the world became deforested.  but we wanted to stay warm and cook our meat.  Bye bye forests, bye bye ecosystems.  Then coal was discovered, and entire cities in Europe became almost uinhabitable from the reulting smog.  Then petroleum game along and gangbusters!!!!! i almost forgot to mention that not long afer, we learned how to split the atom.  Bye bye Hiroshima.  Bye bye Nagasaki.  Hello global nuclear terror.. We could, especially in developed nations, cut our energy demands and needs in half, and with just a few small trade offs and sacrifice, we would be living within our means and climate catastrophe could be forestalled, perhaps indefiniltely. But no one wans to do this or even hear about it.  Prometheus's gift of fire was the gift of hubris, and ever since then, our species has gone its own destructive way, completly engulfed in greed, selfishness and fear, because hubris does not unite humanity.  It splinters, balkanizes and divides us.  Every rat for himself. And now we have this lovely age of narcisism to survive.  i tend to think here of the closing lines of the song by King Cimson, Epitaph:  "Knowlege is a deadly friend if no one plays the rules.  The fate of all mankind i fear is in the hands of fools." We have always  like small children playing with adult size tools and weapons.  This is not going to end well

1985

"I'm not sure if I quite follow you, Ethan", says Erik. "Who is here in this room with you?" "Why, you guys of course", he says with that dumb helpless smile of he who really does know better. "And we are your neighbors.  And when you are in Stockholm or Malmo walking the streets, who do you see on your left, on your right, and walking ahead of you." "strangers?" "And...?" "Other people." "Who are those other people?" says Carl. "How the hell should I know?  In Sweden no one talks to each other." "No one talks to their neighbour", says Tron, a little grin hovering on his lips. "But.. I didn't mean, I don't...What?"  and as though his deep brown eyes have just discovered light for the first time, they both widen, and Erik says,  "Ohhhh!" "You are not far from the Kingdom of Heaven, my son", says Kenny, chortling...

1972

Says Carl, "You're just like that young smartass in Luke's Gospel who inspired Jesus to tell about the Good Samaritan." "The good what?" "You mean you don't know the parable about the Good Samaritan?" "Erik comes from Sweden" say I, which is a country full of atheists, and very few there have ever heard or read the Bible or seen the inside of a church." "The Good Samaritan", says Carl, "Was a member of an outcast people in the time of Jesus, whom the Jews, especially the Pharisees or religious leaders, really despised.  Their ancestry was mixed, so they were considered impure or traitors.  And Jesus often taught in parables, or little stories, so he told about a man who was robbed and beaten and left for dead on the road.  Two different jewish religious bigshots passed by and ignored him.  Then came a despised Samaritan, who took care of him and made sure he was okay.  That really tweaked the Pharisees because they knew he was telling them off for their hypocrisy." "Much like modern church leaders", scoffs Erik,  "We still have a few of them in Sweden and they are such a joke. No wonder no one in that country believes any more." "So then, Erik", says Tron, fixing on him his beautiful flaming amber eyes, "Who then is my neighbour?..."

Visions 2

Yesterday I saw two erect wooden poles with netting between them and a grapevine growing up on them and bearing an abundance of ripe grapes.  Then I saw a rushing stream of pure crystalline water, and the stream grew to  river, a waterfall and eventually to a broad mighty and slow flowing river with deep muddy water and all kinds of herbiage and trees growing on its banks and then  flock of beautiful white birds, like terns or doves taking off into the air. today I saw a closed fist, slowly opening and revealing a handful of golden wheat, and even before the grain was scattered on the ground it began to sprout and germinate and some green to all manner of plants and trees when it hit the ground, some produces beautifully coloured birds flying away and some turned into gemstones.  Then I saw several large urns, brightly coloured.  Each was being uncovered and an angel began to clean the inside.  The lids were to remain off because the urns were going to be filled with wine. You are going to bear an abundance of fruit in your remaining years of earthly life, and I have created for you a structure that will support you in this endeavour because as a grapevine cannot flourish without something to grow on, so must you have external supports for my work to flourish and be complete in you.  Your daily discipline and the people I have brought into your life and the place where you live are all going to contribuñte plus I will be bringing to you new supports.  Your life is represented by that river,, in your youth you were not ready to produce anything lasting for me buñt through the course of your life you have gained and grown in depth, knowledge and wisdom and now, even though you are moving more slowly it is with thoughtful and prayerful consideration and the harvest that results from this overflow will be abundant and as with the white birds, a great blessing shall spread to many. the closed fist is your heart slowly opening to me and revealing the seeds of life I have planted in you. As you continue to open to me and to others these seeds are going to germinate and grow into a variety of blessings.  The urns represent the talents, gifts and abilities I have given you, and s each gift is surrendered and opened to me so will I cleanse it of the world's corruption renew and reconsecrate and sanctify it to my use, and it will be like the wine of My Spirit, My blood and My holiness.

1971

"What are the two great commandments?" wonders Erik. "Hear O Israel".declares Carl, "The Lord thy God is One God, and thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, with all thy mind, and with all thy strength.  and the second commandment is like unto it: thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself  On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets." "The law and the prophets?" Says Tron, "All the writings of the Old and New Testaments spring from the same source.  The love of God, for God is love.  Regardless of what humanity has done to mar or distort these beautiful truths.  They still all consist in God who is love.  Our command to love God and neighbour is simply our native response to the love that God has for us.  For God is love; it is God, or love, that created the universe and all that is in it; it is God who is love who birthed into being this beautiful planet we call earth, it is God who is love who created our kind and breathed into us the very life of his spirit, our souls.  And though we plunged this beauty into chaos when we followed the prince of shadows in our rebellion against God who is love, he came to us as Jesus. that selfsame youth who is also our lovely host, to wear our human flesh and suffer and die in great humiliation our very human death.  But love could not and would not stay dead, so that Love, as Jesus, descended to hell, set free the captive souls and rose again triumphant over the grave, death and hell...." "And who then is my neighbour?", argues Erik.

2087

"She says, "Carl, I am every bit as confused as you are right now, darling, and I seem to be lost in this forest.  I am on a trail and have just come out to a lovely wooded ravine. Caspar whom I am seeking is nowhere to be found.  Wait, there appear to be stairs descending down to a road by what appears to be a beach.  When I am down there I shall hail an Uber.  But first I need to find Caspar, so I shall wait longer.  Please give me an address where I might meet up with you."" "That sounds like a plan." "That sounds like Stella, alright, but how did she get here?" "Talk to both Erik and Ethan when they are back from either walk.  We are almost home and I will also talk to Francois.  He might have a better memory.  Wait, Kenny is poking my arm." "I'm starting to remember, Chris". "Carl, I'll call you back.  Kenny says he's starting to remember." "This is all, if you will pardon my English, fucking confusing." "I know...I know.. call you back quick.  Also ask your mom and sister.  and what about the others because they might know something..." "How would they possibly know about Stella?" and Carl is almost yelling, he seems so frustrated. "I don't know, but let's just say I have an intuition, a hunch.. Call you back." "Hurry..."

It's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is...) 2

Yesterday, Sunday, I was minding my own business on a quiet and leafy street in East Van, while examining the contents of a little sidewalk library, when I noticed a scrawny half naked little man near my age )I am 70), wearing only shining magenta shorts and sneakers, He sported a dark suntan that would worry any self-respecting dermatologist or oncologist.  With his caved in chest and bones showing so clearly I could count every one of his ribs.  He said to me nonchalantly,"you'd better put on shorts or yer gonna melt in this heat."  I thought he resembled a medieval woodcut of death. Instead of swearing at him, I casually replied "My choice, not yours", and he got away awful quick.  I might have added in my rebuff the famous words of Germaine Greer, "You're young only once, but you can be immature forever," but I'd already made my point, and besides, it would be like hitting a child.  (mind you, with permissive parenting these days and a whole generation of entitled little brats getting ready to grow into the pack of entitled young adults that are soon to succeed us, there are some children I wouldn't mind at all hitting, and even more so, their parents, though in theory I actually do not approve of hitting either). So, what was I wearing on this hot summer day?  A mink coat?  A Canucks toque?  Woolen mittens and a big wrap around Hudson's Bay (remember them?) scarf? I was wearing a light cotten, oversized long sleeve button down shirt, very elegant with narrow vertical lilac, black and white stripes.  a very beautiful shirt actually that I got for maybe fifteen bucks at Value Village last year.  And a pair of blue jeans.  Casual elegance and easy on people's eyes.  Unlike the scrawny freak show in magenta jogging shorts.   I was also previously criticized a week ago by an acquaintance for overdressing in the heat.  None of her business but I kept my mouth shut. The thing is, I do not like wearing shorts.  They look ridiculous on adults, plus I am comfortable going out fully and properly dressed.  And why should I inflict on other people's eyes the sight of my gleaming white legs and varicose veins?  My ankles look like two slabs of Danish blue cheese.  Okay, Stilton.  Or how about Gorgonzola? No one should have to look at that.  And really the sight of some of those legs: some so hairy that they must have been sired by a billy goat, or women with lacklustre games and cellulite that will never measure up to Marlene Dietrich, or some skinny guy who finally has shown us where those two missing pool cues ended up. Yes, I get it, people like to feel comfortable.  Who cares what others might think?  As long as I'm happy.  But, anyone taking a good look at modern sidewalk scapes over the past fifteen years or so will be inclined to agree that people in this city do not know how to dress,  and I am not talking fashion plates.  I mean this:  We all visually impact one another when we are out in public.  It isn't so much a matter of how good or how awful we must think we look, but how we are affecting one another.  An extreme version of this can be found in many Islamic states where a woman appearing not properly covered could face time in prison or worse.  An absurd, tragic and lethal extreme.  And I for one do not advocate social or government controls over how people dress.  As far as I am concerned, anyone should also feel free to go out fully naked if they want.  It doesn't mean that I approve, by the way, I just think that nobody has any business telling anyone else how to dress. But what I also see here, is how people's attitudes about clothing show a decided slide into hedonism and individualistic narcissism.  I mention again our sidewalk scapes of grown men everywhere dressed like toddlers:shorts, hairy, skinny or ugly bare legs, dumb looking T shirts, often bearing logos or dumb comments.  Or tank tops.  Hey, some people look great half naked.  Nature has been very kind to them.  But why advertise?  Why draw all this not necessarily desired attention to yourself?. And by the way, no one should have to look at all those ugly disfiguring tattoos you have tagged yourselves with. There are those who do dress beautifully:  like the tall and elegant transwoman sporting a brilliant tie dye shirt.  I told her "You are wearing the colours of the day", and how she smiled and glowed.   To the rest of you I say: Please take more care and a little more pride in how you present yourselves.  You are not alone.  It is not all about you.  Others see you and react to you.  Be kind.  Dress like an adult.  As  beautifully as you are able.  And please get over your narcissism.

It's All About Me (sure it is dear, sure it is) 5

Living in a BC Housing building can be like living in a petri dish. Sometimes a crucible. This is bound to happen when you put together a group of adults with nothing really in common outside of our humanity, our age demographic (this is a building for seniors), our poverty,, and our trauma. I think it is safe to assume that everyone, or almost everyone, living in subsidised housing has had some experience of trauma. Such is life when you are poor, housing vulnerable and often have to navigate obscenely long wait lists in order to find a decent place to live, or any place to live. Our building is managed by More Than a Roof Housing, an organization of Christians who really do stellar work in helping us keep body and soul together. MTR is also dedicated to building community in their buildings, a promethean task not to be taken lightly. Especially given how incompatible a lot of us are with one another. For those of us who take seriously the Christian faith, the Gospels, and the discipleship of following Jesus, community is not simply an option. It is a command. Whether it be church, or group activities, or simply living as a good, kind, friendly and respectful neighbour. I really try to be that kind of neighbour. It isn't always easy, especially when we have such a diversity of tenants, each having a story, or rather, each one being a story, or perhaps a blockbuster novel, and each being turned to rather different pages. I try to remain on the periphery here at City Heights. I need lots of rest and time for prayer, which obviates a lot of social interaction. But in passing I have become friends with some very fine neighbours here and always look forward to running into them and chatting. Two people here appear to find me problematic and for what I think are very childish reasons, hold huge grudges and will not talk to me. One of them tried to persuade me that non white immigrants are threatening the white social order of Canada. I called him out on his racism and reported him to management. To this day he hates me, will not respond if I say hi, and will even bail from the elevator if I am also in it. The other will not speak to me because I complained about smoke in my unit from her sacred family barbecue. As hard as it is living in close quarters with hostile individuals, this does present me with the daily challenge of dying to myself and forgiving and praying for them, and,yes, even loving them with Christ's love. I do not know their personal stories. I can only guess at the kind of pain they have been through and still have to live with. It is sad, knowing that carrying hate and bitterness could easily destroy their souls and cast them away from the presence of God come judgment day, and for this reason I pray for them both. Forgiveness is not easy, but it is not impossible, otherwise Jesus would not command us to forgive. But it is only going to happen if we are willing to let go of our own self-importance and our sense of personal sovereignty. And this can only happen when we agree to love. To actually care for the person who has hurt or offended us. This letting go is not easy. It is hard, but it is also essential if we are going to move forward as humanity. Otherwise, Israel and Palestine will go on bombing the bejesus out of each other, and also Russia and Ukraine, not to mention, the US, Iran, Yemen, Darfour, and pick any one of the world's many trouble spots. Forgiving means putting to death our self-centeredness and self-importance. Forgiveness means flipping the middle finger in the face of narcissism and selfishness. Forgiveness shakes the scales from our eyes and the mud out of our ears so that we can see and hear Jesus standing in our midst. When someone offends me, they are also blessing me, because they have given me something to forgive, and forgiveness heals us and brings us closer to Jesus and to one another.

1970

"How did this all change and impact your relations with the boy?" wonders Carl, slowly pulling from the bag a scant handful of chocolate chips that he now  almost meditatively drops into his mouth. "The relations were problematic from the very beginning. He was not just my servant, but my personal property.  My possession  As a slave and as my slave, Thaddai had no right to personhood, nor to personal dignity or integrity.  Only his utility, his service to me mattered.  And that was so contrary to the law of God's love, to the two great commandments.  Still, I developed great tenderness towards him, and even in my rough handling of him in bed, tried to spare him as much discomfort as possible.  But there was no pleasure in it at all for him, and from the moment when I layed down my life for Jesus, I began to see there was neither for me any great pleasure in this.   Setting Thaddai free set us both free, and also from the unclean carnality of my mishandling of him, for I had committed against him a grave bodily crime.  The first words I uttered after I first knelt before our Lord that night in the olive grove, surrounded by the faithful, were a plea for forgiveness from Thaddai.  Then I declared him free.  I am glad to say that from that moment on we became bonded and united as true brothers in Christ..."

Visions 1

This morning, while singing in worship I had two visions.  The first was of rather an old fashioned looking faucet with two taps, hot and cold water above it, as you would find in a farmhouse or utility sink.  They were solid gold.  A small trickle of very pure water was flowing from the faucet.  The interpretation of this vision is:  because you are weak and frail with limitations of age, like this faucet the flow of my Spirit is going to appear weak and small, but it is not.  There is great strength in the small, and this work must be carefully and patiently measured because anything more intense would harm  you.  Yes, you are old, but you are also made of gold and are highly precious to me and in My Kingdom.  Accept thle blessing of your limitations and allow me to bless you and others through your limitations. Second vision: I saw several tiny coloured gemstones being transformed into yards of highly coloured fabric, as though each ream of cloth was being pulled from the gemstone of the corresponding colour: red for ruby, green for emerald, blue from sapphire, golden yellow for topaz, etc.  The interpretation: each act of kindness, every kind and loving word to others is like a gemstone from which you will gain the robe of righteousness, the garment  of praise.  I am also the Lord of Small Things.

1969

Thaddai, slowly and gently, almost diplomatically extricated himself from his mother, Thera's, arms.  She was still weeping, still wild with joy, and the three years of anguish thinking her child was dead, and then he gestured to me:  Adrian here, brought me back to be with you again.  He kept me safe on the journey...Then, following the script he had suggested to me during the journey, I opened my mouth and said, Madame, your son has been in my custody more than two years.  I bought him from merchants of human flesh and he served me and my father in our home in Nicomedia.  It is through the agency and faithful prayers of your boy that I have but recently converted to the life and service of our Saviour Jesus Christ.  I have released him from my bondage, with great repentance, and now your son is restored to you.  I dared not say any more, and could see that Thera was already struggling with what I had told her.  We had already agreed, Thaddai and I, that the last thing she would need to hear was of how I had carnally misused the child of her womb in order to satisfy my adolescent lust.  He insisted that she must never ever learn of this, and I could only honour his petition.  Almost struggling against her maternal instincts, she forced her hand towards me in a gesture of friendship and Christian pardon, and invited me to lodge with them in her home....

it's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is!) 4

I started learning Spanish in the fall of 1999, age 43.  This was my delayed response of obedience to a call I received from God in 1994, just following my first visit to Costa Rica.  I knew I would be returning, but did not know when.  My fortunes were decreasing, money was getting tight.  In 1997, when things were already desperate I asked God again if He was calling me to learn Spanish and return to Costa Rica.  Three days later,  Wednesday afternoon in early February, I felt called to attend the daily evensong service at St James, the high Anglican church I was then attending in Vancouver.  On my way out of the church a small spry elderly man started gesturing madly at me that he wanted to give me something.  So, I received from this complete stranger a small Spanish-English dictionary.  I knew then that God was speaking to me. It took me two years to get my ducks in a row, but when I became serious I bought a bigger and more complete Spanish-English dictionary, since the one the old man gave me was missing some pages, and a Spanish exercise book.  Then the doors started to open.  Within days, while out walking on Main street, I needed to use the washroom quite badly.  I was going to stop in at a café where I was a regular, but somehow felt awkward about going in there just to pee, so I detoured to the Kingsgate  Mall nearby where I went to the washroom at the library which at the time was located there.  Just as I was leaving I ran into an old friend, and as we were chatting we learned that we were both trying to learn Spanish.  She had a number of Latino friends and promptly began introducing us, plus she was very knowledgeable about helpful resources, including: various local radio programs in Spanish; free Spanish language newspapers; cheap Spanish classes at one of the neighbourhood houses for one dollar a pop plus five dollar annual membership; and a free Spanish-English language exchange program at another neighbourhood house. That was more than enough to get me started. So, over the next three years or so I got to work at classes, listening to Spanish radio, reading Spanish newspapers, studying grammar and vocabulary, and practicing with native speakers.  Fortunately, I had a lot of time for this, since I was on social assistance while also painting and shilling my art and cleaning homes.  Though I was broke, almost everything that came my way was free.  I  also had no idea about when or if I would be returning to Costa Rica, but God had already spoken and who was I to doubt His promise. Eventually I found stable affordable housing, trainng, and employment.  I continued to work at my Spanish.  Although nowhere near fluent, native speakers were already praising my accent.  I had a bank balance.  Got a passport, and in 2008, with my intermediate Spanish, I spent four weeks in Costa Rica, living as much as possible in Spanish.  Thus I began to really grow in the language.  In 2009, I spent a month in Mexico City.  Ditto.  And back in Vancouver, I continued to work at it.  I was also finding and buying books in Spanish, novels mostly, in second hand stores in Vancouver and of course in Mexico and Costa Rica.   I became involved in a language exchange program and, thanks to Skype, I connected with native Spanish speakers throughout Latin America and Spain.  Made some lasting friends.  Returned to Costa Rica for six weeks in 2010, made friends with my hotel hosts, and continued living in Spanish.  I returned to Mexico City and Chiapas for another six weeks in 2012.  in San Cristóbal de las Casas, in my hotel dining room I passed out from food poisoning.  As I came to, I had to communicate to my many helpers (such lovely, kind people) in Spanish because no one spoke English.  That was when I became fluent. I returned to Mexico City one month each, 2013 and 2014, living completely in Spanish, then Bogotá Colombia one month each, 2015 and 2016, exclusively in Spanish.  Every year, till now, I have returned to Latin America, sometimes for up to two or three months, so that when I returned home I was speaking English with a Spanish accent.  And I have come into some lovely strong and stable friendships. Now I enjoy full fluency, and an authentic Latin American accent.  Very unusual.  But I think I have done this well for one particular reason:  I was never in this just for myself.  It was with the desire to serve well and connect well with people who live in Latin America  this is why God called me to learn the language. Early in my learning stage I often suffered great frustration at not being able to understand a lot of people speaking Spanish.  It was as if there was this strict and nasty little gatekeeper in my soul,intentionally trying to protect my precious mother English from the Spanish contagion.  Rather like an immune system working too well. and I really had to fight that resistance.   I had to become vulnerable, like a little child, because as little children is how we learn our mother tongue, and only by becoming little children again in our receptivity and vulnerability are we really able to effectively learn a new language. Had I only been in it for myself, for career opportunities or simply to get easily laid, or pick  any one, I would not have done well.  In fact, I have become highly critical of people who want to learn English only to enhance their professional and income opportunities.  This is very selfish and very me-first.  For the same reason I have also criticised Latin Americans for wanting to immigrate to Canada only for their own economic advantage. I have counselled them that if they really have no desire to help and offer their time and hearts for supporting and helping others here, then they had best stay at home in El Salvador or Colombia or Perú and see what they can do in order to learn how to become  the change they desire to see.  None of those people are still speaking to me. Because I became childlike in order to learn Spanish, my heart has grown by many sizes.  I used to think that the reason I am so happy and joyful when speaking Spanish was only because of the character and good energy of the language itself.  Now I realize that it is because Spanish is the language that cracked me open, gave me a tender and beating heart of flesh, and taught me to see others with renewed and loving eyes. "Except ye be converted, and become as little children, you shall not enter the kingdom of heaven"  --Jesus of Nazareth.

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..."

1963

We are all completely rapt as Tron tells us his story. His voice is deep, sonorous, but not harshly masculine, and his visage shines, his olive skin, dark hair and chiseled aquiline features showing that yes, he must indeed have been born in that part of the world, however long ago. "At the moment of my conversion, for that is what had just happened to me, I looked at my boy, Thaddai, who was now no longer mine, who was kneeling next to me, and I could already see him being taken away from me. I said to him, "Thaddai, you are no longer mine. You never were. And I can hardly face you to beg your forgiveness for how I carnally misused you, of how I also drew you into sin against our Saviour. Thaddai, here before God and before this assembly of the faithful, I release you from my bondage, from the bondage of chains and from the bondage of flesh. Only tell me now please how I could best serve you. Here we both confessed to Christ and the faithful our sin, our renunciation and, as there was a spring nearby, we were both baptised that same night. Then, we embarked together on a journey for we knew it would no longer be safe for us to remain in Nicomedia. Once they heard of my conversion I would be a dead soldier before nightfall. We set immediately together to Damascus, for Thaddai yearned to see his mother and his brothers. His father himself was dead, murdered by brigands who abducted him to sell on the slave market, for adolescent boys were a particularly hot commodity then in the beastly market of human flesh...

1962

"Ethan", says Carl. "You have a story to tell." "I am not proud of what I did", he says looking directly ahead, and not at any one of us in particular.  "I was born in the mountains of Armenia, and moved with my father  to Byzantium, in what is now called Turkey, and he found work as a saddle maker, which was his trade, in the great city that came to be called Constantinople, but was then Nicomedia, which was also the New Rome where the emperor had his throne.  My father found much trade with the garrisons and as a youth I entered into military service.  I bought a Syrian slave boy and began to violate him, as was often the custom.  He was meek and passive.  And he also followed the cult of the Nazarene.  I became very tender towards my boy, who was just three years younger than me  I was eighteen.  One day he asked permission to meet with other disciples of the Nazarene.  I felt curious and said I would come.  He looked at me in a state of nervous terror.  But I loved him, and promised I would do nothing to betray him or his fellow Christians,  The meetings were, of course, clandestine, and I was careful to dress anonymously.  They were meeting in a grove of olive trees outside the city.  I was quickly impressed.  They were mostly humble folk, then one, an aged man who appeared to be their bishop turned to me and spoke the words of the Lord to me, "You are one of the emperor's foot soldiers", he said, "and we know that you are here not to betray us but to betray your own heart to the Prince of Peace.  Now, we enjoin you that you release this boy from the vile and unclean bondage you are holding him under and turn at once to the Saviour of men and even of Romans".  At that moment, as it were, the scales fell from my eyes and I sank to my knees weeping...