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...

1961

Retaking his chair, Tron says, "You were told, all of you, that the two dimensions have come together.  You are all going to be experiencing rather differently time, space, and sequence of events." Carl, pausing in mid grasp with the bag of chocolate chips in his lap says, "Wait a minute.  We went furniture shopping, we spent all last week visiting places, in Yaletown, South Granville, Main Street, five days we were at it.  And it was all mixed in with the other stuff". And Erik's eyes are starting to widen.  "I was in that hotel just three days.  I was helping with some of the furniture shopping.  Stella was with us." "But the other shit also happened", says Carl.  "Rescuing Jesús from his landlord, Baked, the pot cookies, the dinner party with the piñata." "It's all mixed in", say I. "And Kenny, yes we were all at the Refuge, but the day before you showed up at my doorstep, you said you couldn't stay, but you texted me before you and Amaris came to the café." "What the hell is going on?" says Erik. Turning to Tron, Kenny says, "Who Are you exactly.  I do remember you, but that was a dream, or a whole series of dreams? But on the other hand you are Also Kim Fletcher's adopted son, and you used to, and still are doing bike deliveries for the florist shop we run together Duncan. We have known each other since you were thirteen. and your name is really Ethan." "It is all still real, but not real in the sense that you have been used to", answers Ethan, because right now he is more Ethan than Tron. "Where were you just now", says Carl. "why I was taking a piss. Your sister makes excellent coffee."  He is laughing. "But you are an angel.  Yes?" says Carl. "Oh if you insist.  Okay, either it's all a hallucination, or it's all real.  It is all equally both." "I only know you as Ethan angel", says Kenny. "I am actually very human.  Not nephilim like Stella or Sven, and not angel, like Lan. And also Ethan, theology studies dropout, age twenty-eight" "Even though you were martyred almost two thousand years ago under the Roman emperor Diocletian." "You were kibble for the lions", says Carl with a snicker.  "I was crucified.  Like our young lord before me.  when I  was received into glory I was given the noble task of intercession and warfare against the dragon.  Like our lord I can walk among you but in my resurrected, glorified form.  I am still very human." "Even though yuou ar still our twenty-eight year old foster kid." "Which is why you also have to pee", says Carl, passing him the bag of chocolate chips. "And eat chocolate too", he says laughing just before tossing some chocolate into his eagerly waiting mouth.

1960

"Where do you think you're  going, Carl?" say I as I see him getting up to follow Tron. He pauses theatrically, then says, "Funny, I thought I just heard my sister."  He slinks back into his chair, then gets up again, goes to the desk and pulls open the bottom drawer.  "I knew they'd be in here."  There is an unopened club pack of President's Choice semi sweet chocolate chips in his hand. With his free left hand he pulls open an upper drawer from which he extracts a large pair of utility scissors with bright orange handles.  After cutting the bag open, he pours himself a handful of chocolate chips, then hands me the bag.  "It wouldn't be the same without the sacrament", he muses grinning. "My phone is vibrating", say I. "Turn it off." "It's Francois.  Probably important.  Hi." "are you guys alright?" "So far.  We are back in the upper room, Carl, Kenny , Erik and I, and Carl has just found us some more chocolate chips." "You can stop worrying about the house in New West.  We have already taken occupancy."  And now I have  put him on speaker phone for all to hear. "You mean to say?" "Christopher", he says tactfully, "I know about as much as the rest of you.  When we arrived at your place I got an anonymous text telling me the house is all ready.  And you should see the place now. The furniture is exquisite.  We were expecting basic Ikea, but now the place looks like a palace. and feels like a home." "What exactly happened?" "Apparently we took care of everything last week." "Last week?" exclaims Carl.  "Someone somewhere has some explainin' to do."  And now Tron, as Ethan, is entering the room...

1959

Then what happened to him?" say I. "They gave him refuge, for a long period of time.  He recomitted to the Catholic faith of his childhood and eventually took vows as a monk, but abandoned the place shortly after his novitiate was completed.  Then he found refuge with the Stolo nation where he became involved with Naomi's aunt.  He maintained a connection with the monastery and became great friends with the abbot, and then he apprenticed and trained as a shoe repairman.  He also was in contact with your father, Carl, and kept trying to persuade him to do something about the bodies entombed underneath the house, and Jan steadfastly refused.  In the meantime, I and other guardians are caring for this place.  Some of you have met some of us. "At the southern magnolia when we saw the peacock.  And one of you was communicating with Francois." "I was present.  And now I must leave you for now." "Has Melissa shown you your room?" But Tron does not reply, as he gets up and like a large beautiful cat, slips out through the door.

1958

What became of the others?" asks Kenny.  "The two women, Lydia and Rhona, were the first to leave.  Lydia was finished with Cosme, and returned immediately to Montreal.  Rhona had issues pending with the immigration authorities, and went back to Seattle.  That left Cosme and I.  He was distraught, confused, and totally lost, so he was basically under my care as I took on the task of closing down the house.  Then, in his car, we drove to the Benedictine monastery where I left him on their doorstep.  Over the years I have taken care to track him....

1956

"What really happened?", say I to Tron, for now, clearly he is no longer Ethan, random bike dude.  His glory keeps seeping out like the sun's corona from behind the shadow of the moon during a solar eclipse. "Cosme, Lydia and Rhona were using a lot of LSD.  I alone abstained, and none of them was able to distinguish between the visible real, the hallucinatory and the spiritual reality.  It all became blended together, plus not one of them was able to process the horror that had spread itself before their very eyes.." "What he wrote in his journal was all hallucinatory", says Carl. "Not entirely.  They were all wearing white robes", (And here I am imagining Douglas draped in a bedsheet toga when the police were taking him away from here in their car.  I wonder where he is or if they have found him?)..."And they were carrying torches and marching in a spiral formation.  But they did not disappear into the ground.  And they were also all high on acid.   It was Phillip, who alone was in his right mind, since he did not use drugs himself, but expertly employed them in order to manipulate and control his followers.  They had formed their spiral around him  as their centre or as their trans dimensional vortex as he prefered to be called.  We all marched back to the house.  There is a door leading to the basement, long overgrown by bushes now.  He ordered Cosme and I to stand as eternal stewards at their portal of transition into the other dimension.  They filed in one by one.  Then Phillip gave each one killer doses of sleeping pills, and then he swallowed some himself.  They all lay down on the floor in spiral formation.  Just before he lost consciousness he ordered us to close and seal the door...." "That makes you accessories", says Carl, clearly perturbed.  How interesting that now we have no club pack of chocolate chips to share among us.  This is one serious meeting. "It makes Cosme an accessory." "But you are also culpable." "I was simply under obedience.  As I have always been, as I now am." "But doesn't that also oblige you to confess?" "I cannot confess to whom can neither see or hear me." "Which means..." "All of you here can see me because you knew me in the refuge.  I cannot be made manifest to those who cannot see." I am half expecting to see Ethan transform again into the incandescent glory that is Tron, but see only Ethan, random bike dude, seated in our midst. "Cosme will also be acquitted for lack of evidence, plus inability to remember anything clearly.  But he does know where the bodies are buried...."

The Peacock 1955

Erik says, "You can't be older than me, in fact, you look even younger.  If you are that old then you must be at least eighty." "I am older than that."  And Tron, now not Ethan, looks at us all solemnly and authoritatively.  "My name then was Theo." "You were mentioned in Cosme's diary", say I. "I was appointed to oversee the end of this cult, before any more lives were destroyed.  I could only persuade Cosme and both women, Lydia and Rhona to leave.  All the others..." "How did they die?" says Carl. "They all had a stockpile of sleeping medication.  They all filed, one by one, into a room in the basement of this house.  On the orders of the leader, Phillip, Cosme and I shut and sealed the door behind them.  They were all dead within minutes....

1954

We have found refuge in the meeting room up in the garrett. Tron, still in his guise of handsome random bike dude, is in the chair near a window, and Kenny and I are flanking him, I am on his left, and Erik, and Carl has just come in with a stuffed black travelbag. "Sorry I'm late, you guys.  There were some more things I wanted to take back with me, clothes and a few books." "Are there really human remains here?" asks Erik. "They're about as human as they come, Erik", says Tron with baritone authority. "A couple of weeks ago, with help from a couple of Spanish speakers who unfortunately are not available", says Carl, "We were able to learn of this particularly bizarre cult that used to occupy this place during the sixties." "Cosme is not to be trusted", says Tron.  Many of those pages were written under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs, such as were very freely available here during that time." "You know that because...", say I. "I know that because I was here.  Living among them..."

1953

"Wait a minute", say I, "Kenny, you're staying with me, so what are we going to do?" "Plus", snorts Sheila, "You´ve forgotten Glen." "Wait a minute", says Carl. "Text from Maureen. She can take three. Glen, Mel, how about Maureen's for the time being?" "That works", says Melissa. "Glen?" "No problem." "So then", says Melissa, picking up Tron's plate and balancing two mugs on her fingers, "Let's get this show on the road..."

1952

"The apartment has two bedrooms", says Erik.  "I used to sleep there" "I wasn't thinking", say I.  "Yes, we can do it, if the ladies can help out." "Yes, Carol can", says Melissa.  "Sarah is returning to Maureen's tomorrow and she can take two.  She seems particularly interested in taking in Sheila, because of her age, and because she just said she likes her tremendously, and Michael, because she wanted mother and son to be together." "We still have to wait for Maureen", says Sheila. "Yer staying' with us, Mel", announces Carl.  "And there's room for Matthew. you can both fight over which room you get, or maybe one of you could stay in the apartment with George and Jeffrey." "I volunteer", says Matthew.  "They're both lots of fun." "How about transportation?" says Glen. "Not a problem", says Melissa.  "We can all go in my car." "And...Ethan?" says Carl. "I'm okay. I will be staying for the investigation." "but you can't sleep here", says the ever pragmatic Melissa  No one can." "I have made other arrangements", he replies, spooning half melted ice cream and cake into his mouth... 

1951

But the revelation of divine splendour is less than  momentary and again, in our presence, a handsome twenty something dude in T shirt and shorts is seated among us.  It also appears that for now we are all opting for collective denial, and together, despite where we have been in the past twenty-four hours, all we see is some random stranger named Ethan who has just sought our hospitality. "The question remains, " says Melissa, "Of where we are all going to sleep after tonight should the remains be discovered." "Oh my god", groans Carl, "Why didn't I think of that before.  Look, the house is almost ready, but there are no beds, not a stick of furniture.  We can't get everything in just a few hours.  We have to think." "I'm texting Carol right now", says Melissa, "She has a couple of extra bedrooms." "Wait a minute", say I, "what about Maureen?  They were taking possession of her house today and she has extra room." "I am texting her right now", says Carl.  "How about you, Chris?" "George and Jeffrey are still in the apartment as far as I know, and Jesús has returned to Colombia, so that frees up one room anyway, because Erik will be staying with us, but, there is also an extra room with a bed in the basement"

1951

"The truth about what?" says Sheila, as Matthew returns with two  coffees, one of which sets before her. "What!  No coffee for me?" says Michael in partial mock indignation. "My third arm got amputated because of gangrene.  Move your ass, kiddo, it's self serve around here",  says Matthew. "Yes Mom", says Michael, getting up slowly and reluctantly. "Ahem", snorts Sheila, trying not successfully to sound offended. "Oh just listen to the competition", sneers her son, glancing and winking her way. Sheila looks at Tron and says in a challenge, "How do you know all this?" "How can I not know", he replies as she stares dumbfounded at him, and I can tell that Sheila, and likely the others, are also seeing Tron in the glory of his glistening green and golden robes, because that is precisely what I happen to be seeing.

1950

"What were you three just talking about in the kitchen?" wonders Matthew, as he gets up to pour some coffee from the sideboard. "Stuff", says Carl, following him there. "And?" "Is there any part of none of your business you don't understand?" "We were talking about the police investigation and the search here tomorrow morning", says Melissa flatly. "There are human remains concealed under this house", says Tron. "I beg your pardon?" "Everyone here is exonerated. And you do not have to worry about our father. Naomi was telling the truth..."

1949

It is only natural that given Tron's incandescent good looks, and both Michael and Matthew being gay, that they would certainly notice him, but here they appear fixated and also captured in a thrall of holy awe.  They seem already to have guessed who he is, and even if they do both have a clear memory of meeting him, or that their visit to the Refuge was anything but a strange dream...yes, on some level they're going to know...they must know... but here, now, and to all of us, Tron is Ethan, a random young dude lost in the toolies on his mountain bike. "Very glad to meet you", says Matthew in a reverant whisper, but not approaching to shake his hand. "The pleasure is mine", says Tron, smiling beneficently.. Melissa brings out a dish, one of the crimson and gold art nouveau plates, with an extra large portion of chocolate orange cake smothered in an excess of melting ice cream.  "Ethan, I'm sorry to have forgotten to ask, but have you had dinner.  We still have tons of leftover vegetarian shepherd's pie...I hope you don't mind it's vegetarian, she adds demurely, "but it contains lots of lentils and a mixture of Jaarlesberg and Parmesan cheese..."  and, is she nervously fussing over him?  I have never known Melissa to do that, not with anybody.   "Thank you for asking, Melissa, that is very kind of you, but I did stop to eat something on the way over, and besides...we don't want the ice cream to melt..."

1948

"I imagine that Naomi knows about him?" wonders Carl. "She doesn't just know about him", says his sister.  "He happens to be her uncle." "You don't say!" "Naomi's mom is his de facto sister in law." "That really seems to complicate things", say I. "Don't it though", retorts Carl. "I imagine we should check up on the others", says Melissa. "Yeah, they might think we're talking about them", says Carl. "and vice versa.." Everyone seems very snug and cozy, and the conversation appears rather relaxed and listless.  Tron is at the head of the table, silently watching over the others.  Melissa says, "I just made a big pot full of coffee.  Any takers?" "Is there any more of that splendid cake left?" says Tron. I could bring you a dish right now.  Ice cream too?" "Thanks, that would be great." "Any others?" "We're all pretty full", says Sheila. "Oh speak for yourself, Mumsy", and the voice belongs to her son Michael who has just come in with Matthew from outside. "You guys know where the dishes are, and Ethan is having some more", says Melissa. "Ethan", echoes Matthew, and Melissa vaguely gestures towards our guest..

1947

"Naomi would have the answer for that", says Mel. "Then we should ask her.  Will she be here tomorrow?" "There is one little complication.  She ain't telling.  I was going to ask her then she totally shut up and backed off, like she knows more, maybe a lot more than she's gonna say." "Do you think someone from the Stolo Nation did it?"  I ask. "Oh I'm sure they know", says Melissa, "I'm sure they already know." "Do you reckon Sven Lindstrom might be the one." "Oh poor Mr Lindstrom", says Melissa, sighing, "Always the easiest target in the universe, and now there is no way we can reach him, and that holy adolescent sure ain't gonna let him out of his sight." "Nor us, but yes, he is, as it were, under special custody.  What about Cosme?" Whose name I once borrowed, "Where does he fit in?" "According to our half sister, Cosme, who is now eighty-one, has long enjoyed a friendship with the Stolo nation, including a lengthy common-law arrangement with a woman there by whom he has fathered three kids.  He has voluntarily given himself up to the authorities, and apparently there is a lot he knows that is not in the diary."

1946

"Okay." "Yesterday I was chatting with our half-sister Naomi, who came over for coffee between her nursing rounds. Can you guess what she told me?" "Only if you are so kind as to enlighten me ." "As I'm sure you are also worried, like me. that one day they would find his body back there, trace everything to us and then the shit would really hit the fan." "It's been a recurring nightmare, Mel." "If Naomi is telling the truth and I have no reason not to believe her, then from now on we can both stop worrying." "You mean?" "Just after you and I left, basically running for our little lives, Carl, people from the Stolo Nation came, dug up the body and moved it to an undisclosed location." "You mean..." "I mean that we are off the hook. For now anyway. But that also complicates things." "By the way, Mel, where did you get this coffee, it is just wonderful" "There's a new coffee roaster and café in Chilliwack. It is their house blend. Now if we could remain on topic." "So what else is new?" "There is some question, according to Naomi, who has some pretty good sources with the band, that the remains they are wanting to track are going to be here, in this house..or should I say, under the house." "Huh." "And that Spanish guy who left that journal here in Spanish? He is the principal suspect, they have found and detained him for questioning, and he has agreed to help in the search tomorrow." "And", say I, "There is also the question of how did people in the Stolo Nation know that your dad was buried here..."

1945

I did not see this coming, and bodily I am instinctively backing away from the table while still remaining in the chair.  "What do you mean?" "Did Carl tell you that years ago, when we found our dad lying dead with a bullet wound in his head out in the back, did he tell you that we buried him there, him and I?" "Yes, he did." Melissa takes a premeditated sip of coffee, then, turning her face to the door, shouts, "Carl.  Get in here at once." It isn't long before her brother appears at the table.  "You bellowed?" he merely says, a quirky little smile adorning his face as he seats himself at the end of the table.  She gets up and without asking first brings him a cup of coffee, to which she has added cream and a spoon. "Table service from none other", he comments, pulling toward him the mug and beginning to stir. "You're welcome" she says flatly, seating herself. "Thanks Mel.  To what purpose have I been summoned?" "I just heard from Christopher that you told him you and I buried dad...no, don't worry, you're not getting scolded, but there is something i was meaning to tell you, and I couldn't do it on the phone, so now you are here, but so far, only Christopher needs to know, so we can talk about it right now..."  She is speaking rapidly, with quiet urgency...

1940

There is a loud persistent knocking on the front door.  Carl gets up.  "That couldn't be the cops already", mutters Sheila. ,"They're coming in the morning". mumbles Melissa, getting up and stacking together all our dirty dessert dishes.  "Christopher is going to help me with the dishes.  Just as I am getting up to follow her into the kitchen, Carl comes in with Tron at his side, only he is not dressed in robes, but a bright green T shirt and golden beige coloured shorts and sneakers. "Hey everyone", says Carl, "This is Ethan.  We saw him riding  his bike on the road.  He is going to be an overnight guest." "Offer him some cake", says Melissa. "Thank you", says Tron, or Ethan, sitting down with Carl. Before following Melissa into the kitchen, I lean down and whisper to our guest, "Does anyone else know you as Tron?"" "They will find out soon enough", he says with a small knowing smile.  And to you and Kenny I am Ethan.  Now I believe you are needed elsewhere." I cross glances with Kenny, who reveals to me nothing  but changes his seat to put himself right next to Ethan.  They are just entering into a discreet conversation as I turn my back and head into the kitchen...

1944

As she brings the coffee pot and fills our mugs at the table Melissa sits down across from me.  "We both prefer our brew black and bitter", say I. "Like life", she quips but without even a meek suggestion of a grin.  "We both have synesthesia.  Do you know what that means?" "That we're both a little bit unusual?" "Besides that", she snaps. "I'm not sure what you're getting at." "Synesthetes are both highly sensitive and highly aware, highly conscious, it's like we can never quite reach  our off switch.  Do you have trouble staying asleep, dream vividly? ""Yes, and yes." "Greta Thunberg, the environmental activist, is not neurotypical and she calls her asperger's a superpower.  See what I'm getting at?" "Yes", and now this needs no further explaining, and yes, now suddenly, it is like being an archeologist and finally discovering the key to Linear A script and unlocking all the secrets of Ancient Crete... I did not see this coming, and bodily I am instinctively backing away from the table while still remaining in the chair.  "What do you mean?" "Did Carl tell you that years ago, when we found our dad lying dead with a bullet wound in his head out in the back, did he tell you that we buried him there, him and I?" "Yes, he did." Melissa takes a premeditated sip of coffee, then, turning her face to the door, shouts, "Carl.  Get in here at once." It isn't long before her brother appears at the table.  "You bellowed?" he merely says, a quirky little smile adorning his face as he seats himself at the end of the table.  She gets up and without asking first brings him a cup of coffee, to which she has added cream and a spoon. "Table service from none other", he comments, pulling toward him the mug and beginning to stir. "You're welcome" she says flatly, seating herself. "Thanks Mel.  To what purpose have I been summoned?" "I just heard from Christopher that you told him you and I buried dad...no, don't worry, you're not getting scolded, but there is something i was meaning to tell you, and I couldn't do it on the phone, so now you are here, but so far, only Christopher needs to know, so we can talk about it right now..."  She is speaking rapidly, with quiet urgency... "Okay." "Yesterday I was chatting with our half-sister Naomi, who came over for coffee between her nursing rounds. Can you guess what she told me?" "Only if you are so kind as to enlighten me ." "As I'm sure you are also worried, like me. that one day they would find his body back there, trace everything to us and then the shit would really hit the fan." "It's been a recurring nightmare, Mel." "If Naomi is telling the truth and I have no reason not to believe her, then from now on we can both stop worrying." "You mean?" "Just after you and I left, basically running for our little lives, Carl, people from the Stolo Nation came, dug up the body and moved it to an undisclosed location." "You mean..." "I mean that we are off the hook. For now anyway. But that also complicates things." "By the way, Mel, where did you get this coffee, it is just wonderful" "There's a new coffee roaster and café in Chilliwack. It is their house blend. Now if we could remain on topic." "So what else is new?" "There is some question, according to Naomi, who has some pretty good sources with the band, that the remains they are wanting to track are going to be here, in this house..or should I say, under the house." "Huh." "And that Spanish guy who left that journal here in Spanish? He is the principal suspect, they have found and detained him for questioning, and he has agreed to help in the search tomorrow." "And", say I, "There is also the question of how did people in the Stolo Nation know that your dad was buried here..." "Naomi would have the answer for that", says Mel. "Then we should ask her.  Will she be here tomorrow?" "There is one little complication.  She ain't telling.  I was going to ask her then she totally shut up and backed off, like she knows more, maybe a lot more than she's gonna say." "Do you think someone from the Stolo Nation did it?"  I ask. "Oh I'm sure they know", says Melissa, "I'm sure they already know." "Do you reckon Sven Lindstrom might be the one." "Oh poor Mr Lindstrom", says Melissa, sighing, "Always the easiest target in the universe, and now there is no way we can reach him, and that holy adolescent sure ain't gonna let him out of his sight." "Nor us, but yes, he is, as it were, under special custody.  What about Cosme?" Whose name I once borrowed, "Where does he fit in?" "According to our half sister, Cosme, who is now eighty-one, has long enjoyed a friendship with the Stolo nation, including a lengthy common-law arrangement with a woman there by whom he has fathered three kids.  He has voluntarily given himself up to the authorities, and apparently there is a lot he knows that is not in the diary."