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...