Australia I

One curious thing that I've noticed, the more I've seen cities in the developed world, is how darned similar they are to one another. There's always a "St Lawrence Market", a "Bay Street", a "Yonge Street", a "Richmond Street", the "gaybourhood", a "Yorkville", etc etc etc... it's a bit disconcerting. Admittedly, here in Brisbane, it's not exactly a tourist destination by any stretch of the imagination (it is, however, a hub to get to other beach and surf destinations on the North coast, and is also home to Steve Irwin's Zoo, which I will NOT be going to... crikey!). It is very much, a city for locals to live and work in, I guess like a Hamilton, or a Windsor.
Another curious thing here: apparently all of Australia does not participate in Daylight Savings Time (there was previously a big debate about it, but people were concerned about confusing the cows, so they opted not to change it(??) ). So, in the midst of the summer, the sun is down by 7pm(!), but up by 5am(!!!), which makes it a bit hard to sleep in, when the kookaburras are already singing by 4:30 in the morning (kind of reminds me of the roosters in Mizoram...)

Beam me up, Scottie

Could someone puh-leeeeese make me a Star Trek Transporter? I completely don't understand how people regularly make the trek between Toronto and Hong Kong... it's enough to make one go mad. Certainly, small graces, like being transferred to an aisle seat in the bulkhead (yes! Possibly one of the most comfortable trans-Pacific crossings I've done, though it's not actually saying much, since I still wasn't horizontal) made things a little bit more tolerable, but it's still quite something, sitting still for 15+ hrs, trying to prevent DVTs like mad...
Have seen some bats and ibises, but not much else, as I'm trying to get accustomed to the hour still...

Urbana

So, those smart folk from Urbana have already got some AV streaming from the conference... boy, have I got envy, but good envy! So happy for Francis, Jimmy, Eileen, Steph, etc etc etc who are over there! Go kids go!

An Xmas Carol

You know, I got all teary-eyed hearing the CBC's narration of A Christmas Carol on the radio this year (not such a great thing to do when one is driving), but I can't shake the vague "Scrooginess" that I get every Christmas. Maybe it's because there's no snow. Maybe it's because Jesus was born in the summertime, and Saturnalia is really not a festival we should be appropriating. Maybe it's because I want to vomit any time I get near a mall for the whole month of December (and most of November). Maybe it's because every symbol that we hold dear at this sentimental time of year, really has nothing to do with the Magnificent, Terrible and Awesome Event that occurred. It has nothing to do with getting together with family (with +/- squabbling), eating way more than is necessary, gift-giving, beautiful trees (though I do like them very very much), big fat elves, rampant consumerism and debt, running around trying to 'see' everybody that you're supposed to over the holidays, drinking too much, too much chocolate, reindeer with sleighbells and red noses, roasted chestnuts, and the whole sentimentality of going 'home for the holidays'.... The Holy Family were actually homeless shortly after they came together....
How did all this mess that we call Christmas come from a dirty, smelly manger of an apparent bastard, refugee child, born in manure, surrounded by illiterate shepherds and foreign, non-Jewish religious men, yet having the heavens singing and dancing for joy for the Saviour had been born? How did we become so syncretistic?
Certainly, I LOVE Christmas trees, and I quite like chocolate, and wine, for that matter (and eating, and parties, and the cocooning we do this time of year). But I wonder: Why do I run like mad, trying to achieve I'm-not-entirely-sure-what, when really, I miss Advent entirely year after year, and the Event that makes the season is -almost- (note I say almost, not is) secondary to the rest? Why do I not fall down and worship in the manure and the hay, and say, The Anointed One, The Ancient of Days, YHWH Himself has brought Himself here, and lament and love the fact that He has chosen to lie, squalling in a feedpen, as wretched as we? Isn't that what Christmas is all about?

The great Q

So, it's finally over now: the hour long commutes, the amazing and gifted speakers, the piles of homework (OK, that's not completely done yet, but it's happening)... but it was totally worth it! Enough so that we'll do it again next fall! Holy cannolli, I am convinced that we could start a small earthquake if we do it again downtown, so downtown we shall go! Warning to all thinking and sentient beings, as I am sure that you need to come along too!

FFT

I'm not sure where she found the poem, but I just thought I'd link it; impressive work from such a young man...
http://lisachildofgod.blogspot.com/2006/11/stand-people-of-west.html

Representin'...

So I was talking with some friends about the Disney Princesses line. One girl, in fact, STILL loves the Princesses line. You know, the whole Snow White, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella are all friends thing, so that little girls everywhere will buy all the purses/underwear/dresses/toys/DVDs/etc etc etc that Disney can possible push out of China...
At any rate, we realized some discrepancies... certainly, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella are the highest echelon princesses, the triumvirate, the ultimate trinity of princessdom... but then you throw in Ariel (The Little Mermaid) and Belle (Beauty and the Beast) and it starts looking a little whitewash, if you ask me....
We did concede the fact that Disney has wisely thrown in Mulan, Pocahontas and Princess Jasmine to represent the yellow people, the aboriginal peoples and the brown people, but a black friend of mine wisely pointed out, "And who do they have to represent the black people? All I've got is Nala, and she's a LION!!!! I've got no representation!"
So, hence the problem: Five white girls, one from each other minority group, and the black people represented by an animal... is there something here that nobody else has noticed?

Look both ways before crossing the street...

Again, I think safety sometimes is highly over-rated. Case in point: just got a big lecture of why would I consider going to the Middle East, if I'm just going to get bombed/kidnapped/raped, or all three at the same time? That would certainly put a damper on any trip, I am sure. "You know, that time in Bagdhad? Remember the way we were pistol-whipped and blindfolded and left out in the desert? Yeah, that kind of sucked... but at least the falafels were good... "
However, if we are convicted that people are lost, and there's only One Way to help them out of the quagmire, then safety should not be our greatest concern, nor our greatest goal.
Now, this is partially sheer bellicosity on my part, as I myself lack great courage and great conviction and quite like the common Western comforts of home. As CT Studd once said, "Some wish to live within the sound of a chapel bell, I wish to run a rescue mission within a yard of hell." Wow.
I know some well-meaning people try to make me feel comfortable in my skin, saying it's OK to be blessed by God and it's OK to appreciate His massive blessings as long as I use them wisely, but I wonder how much of that, in our drowsiness and spiritual stupor, is simply us drinking at Belshazzar's feast, awaiting the writing on the wall?

Bookworms

OK, I just measured the stack of books that I've bought, just over the past few months: it now stands over a metre high....

Jerks, and other pieces of excrement...

People often wonder why I'm not totally psyched about my job, waking up each morning (that I actually go to work) thinking, "Gee whiz! I'm going to work! How excited I am in being in the midst of God's will for my life!", that I seem a bit non-committal, or less than enthused, about the nature of my job.
The reasons are manifold, and not necessarily just because I don't like my work; that's not actually true at all.
However, case in point: Got threatened with a lawsuit (again!) because someone had a cold and I refused (in my medical opinion) to give him the antibiotics he craved; was told I was a "clown" and "not worth my medical degree", and that, if he shows up in clinic tomorrow still sick, then I will be looking at the commencement of a lawsuit, which, makes me mad, but also makes me roll my eyes, since there's really nothing that holds water.
Or my colleague, when dealing with a patient who didn't agree with her diagnosis, questioned her along the lines of, "Your medical education is worthless! Where'd you get it? China?" which (I don't blame her; she's normally a very nice girl) made her blow her top.
Or the fact that I had to call CAS (again!) for idiotic parents who have no right to be raising children, shouldn't even be allowed the privilege to have any, should be publicly sterilized and sent away to some penal colony where they will always leave children alone, and can never inflict themselves on children ever again.
All in one day; it wrecks all the other lovely people and interactions that happen the rest of the day...

Though there is always light at the end of the tunnel...

You know what is truly tragic? When there are folks who love each other a helluva lot, but, for whatever reason(s), just aren't able to make things work this side of eternity...

Bread, not circuses

It's kind of nice when someone understands your point of view and doesn't think you're a total Scrooge for being anti-OCC. But, hey, anti-OCC I am, and in discussion with said understanding-type person, I think I've refined my reasoning for being so, so for that, I am grateful.

The dance card

You know, having to turn down a chef is almost heart-breaking, when you think of all the potentially delicious things that could be made for you to be eaten... bah

Prophecies and lies...

There has recently been a lot of discussion around the issue of same sex marriage lately; whether it's good or bad for society, whether we should or shouldn't be bringing it back to the House for another round of talks, whether or not the sky has fallen, as some had surely predicted, since the legislation has passed...
I remember also having several relatively heated discussions at the last election as to my electoral preferences, as, for some, the election was a one horse issue, mainly having to do with sexual morality. Forget climate change, forget child care, forget education or health care: the issue was that of sexual mores.
So, having been brought back to the fore again, it just makes me shake my head.
I think the issue that really is at core is that of reactivity vs proactivity. Personally, I think that we should've been proactive twenty, thirty years ago, as it was an issue already germinating and percolating around that point in time. How much more of an impact can we make in changing and shaping culture, rather than simply reacting to it, reacting to something that was already there, and is simply doing its logical dénouement?
I am not surprised that evangelicals, especially on the fundamentalist side of things, are losing ground to some of the more loosey-goosey teaching. It really is too bad, surely, as it seems that there is a shift to what 'tickles men's ears', rather than solidly standing on the Word. However, in not being responsive to society, in keeping blinkers on and not seeing where culture is going, where it is at, how can we respond in hope and compassion? If we cannot be relevant, how can we legitimately have a voice?
I would like to shape culture, to envision and change the course the history, rather than wait for something to happen and have a tantrum that I didn't see it coming... anybody with me?

Sugared plum dreams...

Walking through the bookstore, and, surprisingly/stunningly not emerging with a new book in hand, I realized I could probably start listing some wishes... this is completely self-serving, and not meant to be taken seriously, especially as I'm not much of a believer in the allegorical value of Christmas presents...

Anton Conbijn's U2 & i (what a big surprise; no need to list any of the other relatively new books on the market, as I've already bought them all, sheepishly)
Martha Stewart's (are you serious? Yes!) Baking Handbook
Stephen Lewis' Race against Time
John Stackhouse's Finally Feminist

Well, those are all I can think of in this moment...

Let them eat cake...

I'm never really quite sure how comfortable I should be with being too bourgeois. Case in point: went to the Royal Horse Show the other day, which encompasses harness racing and show jumping, all jodphurs and jingles. Went in formal dress too, because we were asked to. Felt a bit silly doing so, until I noticed that everyone in our section was completely decked out. But then felt a bit silly again, when realizing we were basically the only minority peoples in the whole stadium.
It felt, I don't know, bourgeois. Like all tea and crumpets and God save the Queen and tut tut and opera glasses and tiaras and oh darling, look at the poor plebecites and all that. Though it was really cool to watch the horses jump around and do all that stuff, it was a bit strange trying to reconcile whether it was right. Certainly, admiring the ability of man to demonstrate dominion over these beautiful beasts is one thing, however, the inherent undemocracy (is that even a word?) of the sport left us scratching our heads a bit.

seeking the welfare of that belle ville...

I couldn't quite put a finger on it, until someone pointed out to me: There is an oppressiveness palpable in the streets of Montreal. I think one can see it in the despair of the eastern stretch of St Catherine, which boasts even more sex shops than even Yonge St could even handle. The "someone" is a missionary friend of mine who works in city of Montreal, having been called there years ago due to the appalling lack of light. He says when he gets the opportunity to come home to Toronto, which isn't often, he can feel the blessing that "Toronto the Good" has, which refreshes him and helps him go back into the battlefield. I think I could understand and relate to that, listening to his perspective on the spiritual barrenness of that province... it calls for more 'knee-mail'...

FFT

(Though it's a film-based, not a text-based, FFT.)
http://www.sermonspice.com/search/%22heart+of+God%22/all/1/
Watch the first one. Though I'm sure the other one is just fine too. :)

... and I feel (kinda) fine...

So it's official: Fish scientists confirm that, at the rate that we are going, global fish stocks will collapse (ie. no more sushi anymore, ever) by 2048. Climatologists state that we have, at the very latest, until 2050 before irreversible changes in our atmosphere occur, if we are not almost there yet. Population growth academics believe we will hit 7 billion people on this planet by about 2020. This fact seems a bit strange to me, considering HIV scientists speak of the plague and scourge of HIV/AIDS, killing tens of thousands by the day, infecting thousands around the planet daily. Most secular scientists now agree that we are heading towards irreversible destruction and possible extinction, likely within our (but not the baby boomers, who happen to be most of the scientists, and thus, won't be around, the lucky punks) lifetimes.
On the plus side, missiologists speak of how we are very close to telling the good news to all nations, also possibly within our lifetimes (whether we shall catch up with the millions infected with HIV/AIDS to be able to speak hope into their lives is a completely other issue). This is amazing (and admittedly scary) news.
Personally, I think this points to several obvious conclusions, though it is odd: speaking to some sisters the other day, one vehemently disagreed with me... which left me scratching my head...

FFT

There is no instance of an Apostle being driven abroad under the compulsion of a bald command. Each one went as a lover to his betrothed on his appointed errand. It was all instinctive and natural. They were equally controlled by the common vision, but they had severally personal visions which drew them whither they were needed. In the first days of Christianity, there is an absence of the calculating spirit. Most of the Apostles died outside of Palestine, though human logic would have forbidden them to leave the country until it had been Christianized. The calculating instinct is death to faith, and had the Apostles allowed it to control their motives and actions, they would have said: “The need in Jerusalem is so profound, our responsibilities to people of our own blood so obvious, that we must live up to the principle that charity begins at home. After we have won the people of Jerusalem, of Judea and of the Holy Land in general, then it will be time enough to go abroad; but our problems, political, moral and religious, are so unsolved here in this one spot that it is manifestly absurd to bend our shoulder to a new load.”
-Charles Brent

of de Beauvoir and Loren... (ick...)

A friend of mine has been trying to challenge me on my relatively conservative view of women and femininity. Heck, he's (note: it's a -he-) a pretty radical feminist from a Church perspective, all things considered. Though I think his viewpoint deserves merit, I must admit that I carry a fairly stereotypical traditionally Protestant viewpoint of women, which, I must also admit, is not likely to be the best viewpoint. However, in light of these stats, I can understand why perhaps many in the church, myself included, must change, or at least modify, our understanding of these matters... 'Women make up 35% of the world's paid labour force, head up 33% of all households, make up 95% of all nurses, perform 62% of all work hours, yet receive 10% of the world's income, own 1% of the world's properties, make up 70% of the poor, 66% of illiterates, 80% of refugees, 75% of the sick...'

FoodSharing

Certainly, I'd like feedback from others who were there, but I think the inaugural dinner/salon/soiree was a relative success. Sincerely, the meeting of such interesting, fascinating minds and hearts did me good. Discussions ranging from creation stewardship, to missional strategy, to the role of prophesy, to speaking healing into people's lives, to politics... Wow! I am humbled by the brilliance and the diversity of His children.
Certainly, we shall do this again, hopefully, with a few more bottles of Riesling and Shiraz to go around... :)

Paradigm shifts (groan, how uninspiring...)

Running on the theme that's been running through school lately, I realize there are "eras" that come and go. I am also aware, to a certain extent, at how powerful culture is at dictating our actions and functions in the world. At various points in different "eras", I've revisited that concept... I think I'm coming to a breakthrough of yet another "era" of culturality, and how one moves in (or, really, through, or beyond) that... I think that might be a good thing... The trappings of culture sometimes become just that: a trap... I cannot advocate for homogeneity, but neither can I endorse or accept cultural values that are simply wrong... I think the breakthrough might be that I don't have to explain or rationalize wrong cultural values so that I can make sense of the world, that I can begin to rationalize the actions of others, but that it's OK to state that they are wrong, they are broken, they need fixing, and not to have to apologize or rationalize that...

The Plague of the 21st Century?

I suspect I shall probably end up writing some more about this topic at other times, seeing as it's so huge, and I would've written sooner, but I've been swamped lately.
I started doing some volunteer clinical work at one of the major HIV/AIDS clinics in Toronto, to get my hands wet again. It's surprising at how much has changed, even over the span of my relatively short career. I feel like a bit of a medical student again, as I no longer remember (well, mainly cause they didn't exist at the time) medications and treatment regimens.
I am also surprised (though I really shouldn't be, as I knew it as 'fact' in my head) at the profile of the people that I meet: old (even very old, with new diagnoses in their 70s) and young, gay and straight, white and non-white, married and not, immigrant and Canadian-born, drug users or clean. I am further astonished at how relatively well, even downright healthy, HIV carriers look here in Canada. I had kind of forgotten that people no longer really die of AIDS here anymore, as I still remember vividly people dying of AIDS in front of me in Africa.
I think it's that last statement that strikes me most. Some patients are able to body-build here and get good nutrition, so you would not recognize the face of HIV walking the streets of Toronto. It is a far cry from the gaunt, emaciated, lethargic half-corpses that die lying on some mattress in an African hospital hallway... that's the injustice that cries out for me...

Ask, and it shall be given unto you

OK, so yesterday we're praying that my folks are safe overseas, and guess what happens today? An EARTHQUAKE, for crying out loud! What the....?
Though, to be honest, I think that's humbling: What a silly, greedy, selfish thing to ask, that my folks stay SAFE. Safety is highly over-rated. I suppose I should rather be asking that they would be kept under His shadow, and that should be enough for me, even if they do fall into a large volcanic crater due to the sheer force of the tectonic plates shifting and melt in the piping hot lava bursting up in the clefts.... :P

There's Nothing to fear but Fear Itself...

One of the things that really bugs me about myself (amongst the many things) is fear. Which stymies me: how can I dare be afraid when One has told me, "It is I! Do not be afraid!". But it's crazy at how much stuff I'm afraid of; really, it's crazy how much stuff we're all afraid of, at the end of the day, isn't it?

As Charlie Brown would say....

AAAAUUUUGGGGHHH!!!!! Snow!!!! And it fell on my nose and eyelashes!

Whoever dies with the most toys.... dies...

It's been a while since I've read something truly jaw-dropping... but this week, the newspapers have been writing about how doctors make soooo much money.... and certainly, looking at the numbers, I was SHOCKED!... apparently, 224 family doctors in our province (now, to be fair, there are several tens of thousands, if not in the hundreds of thousands of family physicians in Ontario, so it IS a very small minority, and, also to be fair, every other category of physician makes wayyyy more than the average family doc) made an average of $627,000 last year. Each! I had to do some calculations in my head.... for me to earn that much in a year, I'd have to work about 21-22 days a WEEK! Full time! With overtime! It completely boggled my mind how it was even humanly possible to earn that much as a family doctor...
Which brings it back to the money issue... I think, inevitably, the gift of giving is one that almost automatically belongs to me, and I have (usually, and hopefully, very infrequently) few problems with that issue... but sometimes I find it's hard with the added expectation that that comes with... that people come to me, directly or indirectly, with their hand open, with excellent reasons and pitches, as to why I have to help fill that hand...
Now, to be sure, all the excellent people and organizations that I am supporting are well deserving and are wise stewards in what they are given, and they all participate fruitfully in what they do. Blessings on all of that. But it seems strange to be stuck with the assumption that I'm an eternal fount of cash flow, perhaps even forgetting that I have other gifts and skills that also can be used and developed and nutured...
Yes, yes, I also hear the detractors out there saying, oh poor you, sucks to be you with so much money.... I even know which ones you'd be...

Here we go again...

Oh dear, when it rains, it pours. So, another one of my women comes in this morning, with a week to go, and I am afraid to tell her I think her baby's dead. Send her to the hospital, where instead, they can tell her so, and prove it to her by showing her the heart's no longer beating (was desperately hoping, hoping, hoping, I was wrong... though I knew I wasn't...).
This, of course, gets no easier (see posting from February 22nd, 2006)... I suspect I will be the one to deliver her, as I'm conveniently in the hospital this weekend. Which I suppose is appropriate; I diagnosed death, I should bring it to completion.

R.I.P.

For f&$#'s sake, I am tired of women (and men, actually) being under the impression that having a baby is this lovely, safe thing, all perfume and roses, 'cause that's just a bunch of shit, really.
I've had many patients die on me before, but this is MY first. My OWN patient that I was taking care of, who I'd been following during her pregnancy. Died over the weekend, and, due to some communication snafus, I only found out about this morning, since I'd stopped by the hospital. I cried and cried and cried in my car on the way to the clinic.
Cause she didn't have to die. Oh dear God. Baby's got no mommy now. Fuck this; I am so tired of people thinking it's all lovely, to be pregnant and all, that they pay no mind to the matter that pregnancy and childbirth are some of the most dangerous undertakings a woman can take...

There's no taste like home...

Remember those old Foodland Ontario commercials from when we were kids? At any rate, I spent some time with a family I know who are apple farmers and was helping them bring in the harvest from among their 17,000 trees (them's a lot of apples)... it's quite something, fruit harvesting. Much more labour intensive then you'd imagine, as each apple has to be individually hand picked from the tree, being careful not to damage the tree, so it can produce again next year, carefully looking over the whole fruit to see if it's 'supermarket grade' or not (you keep the 'non-perfect looking' apples for personal use, which ends up being quite a few of them), and then accumulating them in your bag so that you don't bang them up too hard, so that they cease being supermarket grade. This is on top of a spring of re-grafting and preparing the ground and a whole summer of pruning and carefully tending the orchard every single day (except Sunday). Throw on top of that those terrible storms we had in August (causing one to lose 600 trees for harvest), and what do you get? A lousy 50 cents a kg of apples. And that's in a good year. I think that's appalling. For a whole year's worth of work.
This highlights the general difficulties farmers in our country have. Being undercut by the Chinese (BTW, most of the apple juice sold in Canada is actually from Chinese apples.. Boo!, not our own, not even the USA's), and other imports makes it hard for our farmers to compete. ("But they're so cheap, buying apples from New Zealand..." I hear people saying, "Why should I pay $1.30/lb of Ontario apples when I can buy them for $0.90/lb from NZ or Chile???") I mean, other people have talked about carbon emissions as part of the equation as well (can you imagine having to fly several tonnes of apples all the way from New Zealand?), as well as the freshness factor (again, can you imagine having to fly several tonnes of apples all the way from New Zealand?).
I brought some of the 'seconds' apples to some friends yesterday, and even they could admit the apples were delicious... but of course: They were picked within 24 hours, and only about 80 km away from where they stood....
I'm encouraging us, as much as possible, to support our farmers and to think about food consumption patterns (what a big surprise that that's the big conclusion I come to :P )...

Happy Christmas (War is Over)

I've been mulling over the thoughts of pacifism and, I guess, un-pacifism over the past week.
In the space of less than two days: A discussion about why pacifism is the 'right' way of thinking about engagement in world affairs, the example of Dirk Willems, the discussion over rice rolls of why engagement of oppressors in a Ghandi/Martin Luther King Jr. type manner is the only truly effective method of ceasing strife and promoting shalom. Followed by a rally to support UN resolutions to send troops into the Sudan (OK, so those resolutions have been there for over a year now, but still...)... ironic in that many many many young, impressionable student-types were there, raising their fists in the air and yelling at the appropriate times without thinking, "Hey, troops means warfare means possible (gasp!) Western casualties means possibly people I know means possibly (oh my!) me"... despite Sen Dallaire's skirting around the issue that involvement in Darfur would require sacrifice, would require manpower and troops, would require Western deaths (despite the fact that we have already let half a million Darfurians die, but that's another matter, I suppose some would say)... again, discussing this over herbal tea afterwards, the realization that perhaps pacifism is an easy stance to take in the West, that perhaps when God demands that we defend the defenceless, He means it, that perhaps the assumption that we hold that the corpses in the West hold more value than corpses in the developing world (which we prove over and over again... see Somalia, see Rwanda, see Vietnam, see the teetering in Iraq and Afghanistan...) prevents us from really administering justice. That perhaps pacifism tries to split that 'mean, Old Testament YHWH' from the 'gracious and merciful Jesus', which denies God His dignity, His wrath and His righteousness... That perhaps fear, and categorization of others as "them", and us as "we" makes it easier for "us" to shun the other... This was furthermore followed the same day with the centrality of Jesus, and then, the next day, a discussion with a mission-minded friend about how we poorly prioritize our lives (I owe a huge, long-deferred debt of respect and admiration to this man... yeah, you know who you are...)
Which brings up a larger question: many who think globally consider themselves "global citizens" (sometimes, in my moments of conceit, I would like to think that of myself as well), though it brings back the question: Do we truly consider ourselves fellow brothers with those in the South, in the East? Is it as easy to, say, pay some more taxes to help out more Canadians or volunteer at a local soup kitchen, as it is to actually go and help those who actually starve and are tortured? It shakes me to the core when we, as sophisticated, urban, educated professionals, consider ourselves so enlightened, so engaged, so politically savvy, yet, like the mandarins, sit with our hands folded and nod our heads ever so slightly to demonstrate that we care, that we want to make a difference, while the rice paddy farmers starve and die....

Sanctus, sanctus

I am thinking that somehow I'm gradually becoming the patron saint of teenage pregnancies of Brampton. Which is so weird, as I'm trying very hard to find something redemptive in that. But it's quite difficult, looking down the barrel of what the future holds for BOTH children (mom and babe inclusive). I suppose also that there is some cosmic irony in there too, which I find amusing, but it still does not bode well for the future of our nation...

Thinking about Noam Chomsky, oddly...

One of the things that I do when I meet new patients is to ask them their ethnicity. Not only is that important in helping delineate certain diseases that they may be more susceptible to, but also, I'm just interested in knowing where people are from, or how they identify themselves. And it's quite wonderful: I have people in my practice spanning the globe, from Jamaica, Trinidad, Mexico, El Salvador, Ghana, Nigeria, Iran, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, China, The Phillipines, France, Romania... it's quite something. There are several things that I find very interesting (or disturbing, depending on how I look at it on any given day). One is, Newfoundlanders see themselves as a distinct ethnic group, which always makes me smile. Secondly, I find that white people, unless they are recent immigrants themselves, don't understand the concept of ethnicity. Most of them look at me blankly, always asking me to clarify what I just said. When they understand, they tell me that they are 'Canadian'. When I push further, ie. Do you have Scottish/English/Irish/German blood in you? most have no idea, and insist that they are 'Canadian', and nothing more.
This makes me ponder: Canadian in what way? Are us hypenated Canadians less Canadian because of that? Do 'Canadians' consider us less Canadian than they are, then, by extension? Do the 'ethnics' hold on too tightly to their culture? Do the white people not hold tightly enough?
The lines around nationalistic pride do need to be watched carefully, that being said. Nationalism, at its extreme, whether your adopted or inherited nation, certainly is very dangerous. To find full identity in where the 'motherland' is is also a dangerous thing. It certainly contributes to a feeling of 'us' vs. 'them'.
Is there perhaps a middle ground? To segregate, to differentiate, to exclude or include based on some conception of where 'you' are from, being different from my roots, is problematic. However, to blankly not recognize them either, to gloss over and deny the variant nuances, denies the richness of who we, as people, are...

FFT

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God; But only he who sees,
takes off his shoes - The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

(Thanks Bob!)

FFT

That God does not exist, I cannot deny. That my whole being cries out for God, I cannot forget.
-Jean Paul Sartre

...how it gently lifts me...

One of the wonderful qualities of the people of God is the tangibility of their prayers. Some prayers feel like gossamer wings, some feel like shields of steel, others feel like shafts of light coming through the clouds, some like strong towers... Even others feel like wailings in the night, others shake like belly-dancers, and others leap over buildings in a single bound... It is humbling; humbling to hear, humbling to sense, humbling to know.
I hope, in some small way, that my prayers are heard in the Most High, even if they are made of styrofoam, or are the size of a sandcastle... to become a true prayer warrior, to be a regular sender and recipient of knee-mail (thanks Q), is, I think, a tremendous goal... now praying that I might have the fortitude to take that as my own...

Big, bouncy baby boy!

Hooray! Hooray! A chunky-monkey boogaloo! At 8lbs 6oz! Hooray! Love you all!!!

Excuse me, but are you Sook-Yin Lee?

I have always failed to understand the interest, verging on obsession, in celebrities (that being said, when I get holed up in the middle of Bruce County in a snowstorm, I like flipping through old issues of People as much as the next person).
Case in point, as we are currently in the TIFF. Admittedly, I was wearing Shiz's earrings, with my hair flipped and sunglasses on, but come on now! That doesn't mean that I automatically am someone famous.... walked into the Bay/Bloor Indigo, and was stopped SIX times in less than ten minutes by sales clerks in the store... when the heck do you get offered any help in an Indigo? Asking if I wanted help, was I sure, did I want something to drink (???what??).... I was thinking to myself that perhaps they were all blind or something, as I didn't have a little puppy dog sticking out of my purse, and my shirt, though linen, was kind of wrinkly... oh well, I suppose it's nice to think that I was vaguely fashionable on a Toronto weekend...

Things that make you go 'hm'...

Is it just me, or is there something contradictory about how Jack Layton wants Canada to have troops in Lebanon, but wants our troops out of Afghanistan? The way that our troops have been labelled 'terrorists' by the NDP (now since retracted)? The way that our soldiers fight to defend something that they believe in, yet we want to suppress their valour and bravery? That Canadians get all hyper that five of our guys die, but hardly bat an eyelash when hundreds of 'them' do? I find it very strange, that even with the all the discussion, all the rhetoric, even all the warnings from Romeo Dallaire, we, the elite who can comfortably sit at home and criticize, without even having all the facts, can simply make sweeping statements about who and who should not die. Which mainly draws the lines around 'we' should not die, and 'they' can simply go f*#^ themselves...

... and crisp apple strudel...

Things I am quite enjoying lately (not that I haven't before, just that I've been particularly enamoured of some foods of late): Fair Trade mint chocolate, apple crumble yogurt, pesto made with ingredients from my backyard, goat cheese, artichoke and asiago dip, hand-picked berries, portobello mushrooms, Ontario lamb from the farm next door to the dining room (super yum!), Tina's apple pie with apples from her orchard, fresh Ontario corn and peaches.... yum....

FFT

If you faint in the day of adversity, your strength being small;
if you hold back from rescuing those taken away to death, those who go staggering to the slaughter;
if you say, "Look, we did not know this" - does not He who weighs the heart perceive it?
Does not He who keeps watch over your soul know it? And will He not repay all according to their deeds?
Proverbs 24: 10-12

The boredom of anticipation

So, this is my third day of 24-hour call in the past four. I'm a little bit bleary-eyed, not so much b/c I've been run off my feet, per se, but, I think, b/c of the erratic bouts of sleep. And, I think, there's a component of cabin fever, when you're stuck wandering hospital corridors for that much time in a row. Especially when nothing in particular is going on, and one is sitting around, waiting for disaster to strike...

The Great Wall causes division...

OK, seriously now, what the hell is wrong with Chinese people? I haven't been able to figure it out, frankly. This is truly getting beyond ridiculous...
Compare: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20060824.wxchina24/BNStory/International/home
to:
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20060824.wchinactivist0824/BNStory/International/home

FFT

It is curious how people take it for granted that they have a right to preach to you and pray over you as soon as your income falls below a certain level.
-George Orwell

Rock-a-bye baby

You know, there is something about the non-drug-induced stupor that a good Mennonite bed, fresh country air and cooking, and being gently awoken by the lowing of cattle that lets you go on and on like a Sleeping Beauty....

East or West, left or right?

I think musing on the diversity of the 'faith spectrum' has taken up my thoughts of late. I often wonder how Jesus did it. Besides the fact that He's God and could see in to the heart of man and know what he thinks. And the fact that He's omniscient and omnipotent. And that He's God. I think if I had X-ray vision like that, instead of seeing life in all its glorious messiness, it might just be incredibly despairing. But I digress.
Where are our lines drawn? Is it right to draw them? Is that Biblical? Certainly, lines drawn in indelible ink cannot be so. However, lines in the sand, that shift and change to acquiesce to everyone, in the hopes that each has some of the 'Truth' in them, that also cannot be so. The road is straight and narrow. I don't think it is easy, with paved asphalt and good signage, but I don't think it is also so obscured that anybody and everybody has some sort of toe-hold on it. I sometimes worry that in the West, in our good-hearted desire to love everyone in grace and mercy, we forget that our God is also a God of righteousness and holiness. Do we then become agents of God's wrath on others when we don't clarify and teach others about God? How will we stand in front of Him if we lead others to think that they are merrily skipping down the same road as we?

FFT

When I was in my first year of medical school, one of my relatives approached me with a health problem. In this I know I'm not alone; every medical student has been in a similar position, and it continues after graduation. In my case it was my sister who sought my advice, and I learned from the episode to never give casual medical advice, no matter how harmless it seems.
My sister came to me with a concern about her son. She told me that he went to bed with terrible headaches, headaches so severe he couldn't get to sleep unless his mother was nearby. He would also complain of headaches at other times, like when he was being disciplined or during meals. She told me that she had been to her pediatrician several times, but that each time she was just given reassurance, that the pediatrician didn't think tests were necessary. She asked me a simple question: Do you think anything is going on?
I then did what to me now is unthinkable: I urged her to return to her pediatrician and insist on a CT scan. I said I do think something is going on.
What on earth was I thinking of? I had just finished studying anatomy and metabolism, there were five more units that year to go, I had never touched a kid in a professional manner, I had no pediatric training or even inclination. Even so, I felt qualified to interfere. I probably amplified my sister's anxiety by a factor of ten, and I potentionally compromised the future care that my nephew would receive. My sister would always have a voice in her head telling her something was probably the matter with her child, and that voice would be mine.
Looking back, I recognize that my nephew was just acting out. The pediatrician's advice was wise, and mine foolish, perhaps reprehensible. Later I heard from my sister that she pushed the doctor to order a CT scan and the report came back normal. When she gave me the news, she actually thanked me for my advice. I don't think she knew what I had put her and her son through.
I simply don't do it anymore. I don't offer advice to friends or family - for the reason that, based on the evidence, I am spectacularly bad at it. I feel that if I were to say anything that would contradict what they would hear from their treating physician, then that dissonance would taint any future care they might receive. Well, that's not what my nephew/brother/son, a doctor, said, they might think.
Sometimes my gentle refusal becomes a firm refusal. Some people want an explanation for their symptoms, they feel I'm qualified to give it, and they don't understand when I say no. So they ask again, or they rephrase. To them I say no again and in a different way. I am always careful to advise them to speak to their own physician about such matters.
I know that people make their decisions based on a variety of influences and I don't mean to overstate my own importance. I know that a few casual words would, in most cases, not harm anyone. But primum non nocere is our code and without a physical exam, without followup, without the necessary objectivity, a lot of harm could potentially be done. I could inflict a diagnosis or a prognosis on an acquaintance or a loved one at a party or picnic, oblivious of the consequences and context, and setting up their own physician in the process.
I save my doctoring for the office.
-Dr. Ursus

Life is a highway...

I must say, riding round these roads, the dynamism and change that is inherent in a city that is alive, that breathes, is palpable. That being said, the difficulty fraught in a city this large also leads to homogeneity and urban despair.
Cases in point: have recently gone by a childhood church, and saw that it was completely gone. An overgrown plot, surrounded by chain-link fence, awaiting re-development into a townhouse complex. Sad. Stood clinging to the fence for a while, peering into my imagined church, remembering learning how to use the stairs there and awaiting retreat buses...
Another friend actually has bought a place just steps from where I grew up. Haven't walked by there for years, perhaps even well over a decade. Going by and pointing out where we used to play hopscotch and imagined that we were pirates and pioneers was something...
On the other hand, recently drove from Brampton to Markham along Highway 7. Now, -that- is a loooong pit of despair. Mile after mile of Mr. Subs, Mr. Lubes, Esso stations, HBSC banks, McDonalds and Pizza Pizzas over and over and over and over again, without remittance and without pity... This, I thought, is supposed to be the epitome of civilization? This is what we aspire to achieve? This is supposed to be called 'progress'?
Also was trying to kill a couple of hours the other day, so went with some friends to a nearby mall. We nearly died of boredom (to be fair, none of us had gone there specifically to purchase/consume anything, thus completely defeating the purpose of going to the mall in the first place). Ambling up and down the hexagonal/triangular/oblong-shaped units, the sheer homogeneity of the place was staggering. We could've been in any mall in the city, in any mall in the country, in any mall in the Western world, and we would not have known. Aisle after aisle of clothing and shoes... the palpable pressure of looking good/fashionable/sexy and keeping up with what -they- think we should look like... bah.
But on the third hand, I have been caught up in the middle of a miracle. That's always cool. Watching a church grow, develop, bloom... seeing its brickwork and beams come together for something that is far greater than simply a Sunday building... now that is progress...

FFT

I haven't been able to get this idea out of my head, and have been ruminating on it for weeks... and now with everything else that's going on in the world... though I suspect someone's going to read this and call for jihad on this guy's head...

The underlying problem for the West is not Islamic fundamentalism. It is Islam, a different civilization whose people are convinced of the superiority of their culture and are obsessed with the inferiority of their power.
-Samuel Huntington

Not for the faint of heart

Is it possible to be racist against ear wax? I mean, I have to deal with a surpringly large amount of it on a weekly basis, and I must say, I am not particularly fond of dealing with certain ethnicities' ear wax... I don't think this is exactly the place to explain exactly -what- is so distasteful about some people's ear wax compared to others, as I think my reasonings would probably turn some readers' stomachs... But what I am particularly wondering: Is racism fundamentally not wanting to associate, or be affiliated with, certain ethnicities or people groups because of certain unchangeable attributes of that group? If so, am I being racist if I don't particularly relish, and in fact, am quite reluctant to, clean out certain people groups' ears?

Greetings from Satan

Sometimes, I cannot believe the conceit of the West.... actually, likely most of the time I cannot believe our conceit.... for really, why do we count our lives as so terribly valuable? That's the paradox... our lives mean very little to nothing at all at the end of the day, yet we are (why? That is an infinite mystery...) infinitely valuable. However, our lives really do mean little more than our fellow Sudanese, our fellow Lebanese, our fellow Somalians, our fellow Cambodians, our fellow Shiite Muslims from Afghanistan... yet HOW did we become so conceited as to believe we as the West are more important? That we have a greater right to live? How have we been so coddled, so dulled, so indoctrinated in the life of ease and leisure (would someone PLEASE shoot all Christians in the West who talk about how they are being 'persecuted' for their faith, how they are 'suffering'????) that we somehow think that is what we are OWED?
Certainly, I fall faaaarrrrr short of this. I too, at the end of the day, don't want to be gang-raped, have my tongue cut off so I won't scream, hacked to pieces starting with my limbs and then ending with my head, and have my corpse being eaten by dogs (well, actually, that last bit doesn't actually bother me very much). I too, would like to live in a cozy nook, with a cup of tea and a good book, surrounded by adorable grandchildren at my hearth, telling me where I left my glasses. However, the conceit, the conceit, the conceit.... the selfish abandon with which we pursue such things... under the guise that they are 'blessings from God'...

Happy birthday to the Pole

That's all I really had to say...

Working, 9 to 5....

You know, all I really want to do (well, at least just work-wise, and at least just for now) is just go to work, have some fun for the day and not want to pull out my hair or scream (much), and then come home. Is that really too much to ask?
I don't go to work so I can deal with politics and pettiness and money grubbing and power struggles and stuff like that; in fact, I PAY MONEY so I DON'T have to deal with that kind of stuff.... why is it chasing me down and stuffing me into its gullet?
I can't figure it out; is it because I'm fairly low maintenance? Is it because people get greedy? Is it because I'm not paying enough money to get people to please stop complaining? Is it because I'm part of the problem? Part of the 'man', the 'system'?
Bah. I think it is in the nature of man to complain. I think also, different things irk different people at different intensities. I mean, I am all for being treated fairly and being compensated fairly for work one does and all, but I think also that there are some things that are probably not worth getting all riled up about.
Bah.

Patmosian paradise

Do you suppose that this is the beginning of the end? That the cities of Tyre and Sidon are again overtaking the Israelites, that the cows of Bashan are going to try to take back what is theirs? Certainly, if the mutterings of Syria and Iran, let alone the rest of the Arab world is any indication, then perhaps, just perhaps... If so, despite how lukewarm and spittable I might be, maranatha....

Worst-Case Scenario Handbook

So the government's sent me this HUGE package in the mail to my house, containing, gowns, gloves, face masks, antiseptics, and who knows what else, in case of an "outbreak".... now, tell me if I'm wrong, but SARS was about four years ago now.... (now who says government isn't efficient?!? Yippee for civil servants... they obviously know how to respond to the pulse of the population... they are SO SMART! I can't stand it! ) ... also, I am not entirely sure what exactly I'm going to do with them in the house... We could wrap the plants, deck them out in gowns and gloves, or maybe some of the furniture, but heck, this house will be prepared in case an outbreak of disease X should occur.... perhaps I should consider adding it to my everyday wardrobe, to protect against overblown diseases like West Nile... or bubonic plague... or Ebola virus...

Italian Patient

OK, so another two stories to add to the pile... and people wonder why I'm so terribly cynical...

It's all a big conspiracy!!!

Hmm, it's difficult, the choice between acne or suicide... it's not as clear as it looks...

Iron Chef Changimoto

After an eight year hiatus, grand master Chang regaled us with meat! Not burnt! Well made! (Of course, we think of most of it stems from his lovely assistant...)
We now look forward to the innovation involved in pastry within the next decade...

FFT

Western Christianity is no more than the religionization of capitalistic culture.
Emile Durkheim

Another Vietnamese cliche

Where is my Absalom?

E, I, E, I, Oooooo

So finally, FINALLY, made it out to The Farm. Mulched to my heart's content, admired the rare-breed chickens and pure-bred cows freely grazing in the fields, ate beef for the first time in almost two years (knowing who the cow was, who the farmer was and who the butcher was) which completely underwhelmed me, ate from the bounty of the fields, was philosophically challenged in an adobe hut about the nature of faith and belief when worldviews clash; in total, feeling like perhaps I was living a little slice of heaven...

The Madness of Genius

Seriously, if one more person says I'm "brilliant", "insightful", "a genius", "an eloquent speaker", or some other thing like that anymore, I think I'm going to scream...

Eulogy for Gabriel

Oh tiny little perfect one, a little nubbin for a nose, fine small eyelashes, hoped for so desperately, loved so deeply, treasured, held, sung to. A million dreams, all in one little soul. Who suffered, was loved, and will be missed, much more than many could dream of in a lifetime.
Oh mommy, who cradled and dreamt of this little one since he was no bigger than a pea. Who hears the echoes of her heart in the caverns of her womb. Who feels the throbbing in her veins rather than the acrobatics of his feet. Who sings for joy, and for grief.
Oh daddy, always, always, so strong and so able (has always been that way). So strong, carrying the family. Grief that is loving and brave. Hope for strength and a sure foundation. Hope for healing, hope for tomorrow.
I love you all very much.

Blue Suede Shoes

OK, saw this brilliant video a week ago, and finally found out where it actually is sourced from:
www.evolutionofdance.com ... I'm sure some of you have already seen it, but check it out! Lemme know what you think!

Query

OK, I must say, most months, I really love reading Dr. Ursus. Sometimes I wish that some of my colleagues would read him more...

Q&A

I was reflecting today, you know, when it kind of strikes you, facts about people, or new insights that you never thought of before... and I thought: brilliant, brilliant blessings... ones who have 'awoken the sleeping giant'... like Gandalf commanding King Theoden to breathe the free air again... like in The Secret Garden when Mary and Dickon bring Colin there and start encouraging him to start to learn to walk again... and, of course, friends... maybe I should tell them...

Sheep or goat? Sheep or goat? Sheep or goat?

Curiously, one person (who shall remain nameless, as per his request) thought that male sheep were called goats. Had thought so his whole life. Was surprised to find out, in fact, male sheep are rams, female sheep are ewes, and baby sheep are lambs. Goats are an entire other species.
This, of course, leads to very interesting (though irreverant) theology: Were sheep female, and goats male, then Jesus' separation of the sheep and goats, with the sheep being welcomed to the Kingdom and the goats being relegated to weeping and gnashing of teeth, would actually be pretty funny....

James' fan club

So, two dear friends surprised me with LOTR tickets, which was all the more surprising considering that they actually humoured me in getting the synopsis of The Hobbit, and all three LOTRs before the show started.
Now, I'm no theatre critic (food critic, perhaps, but no theatre critic), and I know it's gotten some very luke warm reviews, but I liked it pretty OK, notwithstanding my bias. Certainly, there were elements that I think would be inevitably compared to the films, but I think they did quite well considering the limitations of the stage, without the benefits of digital imaging, special effects and casts of thousands. I think I appreciated the way that they did try to make it distinctly different, though still a bit familiar. I also appreciate how they stuck to the real storyline, rather than adding in elements that weren't even in the book. I also appreciate how they mentioned Tom Bombadil!
I must say that their most daunting challenge was that they had to compress several hundreds of pages (or 14 hours of film- which, even then, still couldn't do the book justice) into less than 3 1/2 hours of musical.
Overall, particularly if being a bit of a 'classic fantasy' freak like myself, this would be a nice show to go watch. I think if you have no clue at all what the story's about, I think it would be rather hard to follow, as the story moves at a very fast clip; it becomes even incomprehensible at times - and I actually -know- what the story's about. It doesn't have the time to go into the richness of the history, geography, politics, or legends of Middle Earth. Certainly, that takes away from the appreciation of the story. But, the set design and costumes were very good; I was particularly impressed with how they did the Balrog, Shelob, and the Nazgul. The songs were not terribly memorable, but then I figure I've got to give the singers a bit of a break; they had just done a matinee just prior...

Apocalypse Now

The Nightmares still persist....

Ambidexterity?

So I managed to meet up with a Greenpeace activist, attend a lecture about Millenium Development Goals and the value of our role in Afghanistan, AND get prepped for election to a non-profit organization's Board of Directors, all in one evening... I'm still not totally psyched yet, like I would've been a few years ago (a sarcastic grazie for that...)... I'm actually shocked that I had the energy level to actually do all that without wanting to keel over... I am not sure where this is all going, but I hope it's pointing towards the Kingdom...

60 year plan needs a makeover

So, yet again, I was trying to explain the 60 year plan to some people. Being an audience that was more sympathetic to my views made it much easier than usual to explain my rationale. However, they helped me realize it wasn't particularly vegetarianism, nor even veganism, per se, that I'm trying to accomplish. But I realize that there isn't a term that I'm aware of, to describe my eventual desired modality of diet. Factory Farm Fetishist (FFF)? Meatrixism? Organic Omnivore? Sustainable Snacker? Ecological Eater? Any suggestions?
I suspect at some time I should make some manifesto about how I feel particularly about this issue. I realize of course that I also am not currently in the optimal situation to be properly dealing with it either.

Alice in Wonderland

The big news today is that Qlong is in Canada. I think celebrations of gruel are in order... hee hee hee

Ten Little Indians

So, one of my creatures has already been decapitated, within two days of being brought home. That leaves me with ten now... what kind of steward am I?... we shall see how the war shall be waged... 4 days down, 68 to go.... Perhaps I shall invest in electrical fencing, if only for the shock value har har har...

FFT - literally

The Pleasures of Eating - by Wendell Berry
Many times, after I have finished a lecture on the decline of American farming and rural life, someone in the audience has asked, "What can city people do?"
"Eat responsibly," I have usually answered. Of course, I have tried to explain what I meant by that, but afterwards I have invariably felt that there was more to be said than I had been able to say. Now I would like to attempt a better explanation.
I begin with the proposition that eating is an agricultural act. Eating ends the annual drama of the food economy that begins with planting and birth. Most eaters, however, are no longer aware that this is true. They think of food as an agricultural product, perhaps, but they do not think of themselves as participants in agriculture. They think of themselves as "consumers". If they think beyond that, they recognize that they are passive consumers. They buy what they want - or what they have been persuaded to want - within the limits of what they can get. They pay, mostly without protest, what they are charged. And they mostly ignore certain critical questions about the quality and the cost of what they are sold: How fresh is it? How pure or clean is it, how free of dangerous chemicals? How far was is transported, and what did transportation add to the cost? How much did manufacturing or packaging or advertising add to the cost? When the food product has been manufactured or "processed" or "precooked", how has that affected its quality or price or nutritional value?
Most urban shoppers would tell you that food is produced on farms. But most of them do not know what farms, or what kind of farms, or where the farms are, or what knowledge or skills are involved in farming. They apparently have little doubt that farms will continue to produce, but they do not know how or over what obstacles. For them, then, food is pretty much an abstract idea - something they do not know or imagine - until it appears on the grocery shelf or on the table.
When food, in the minds of eaters, is not longer associated with farming and with the land, then the eaters are suffering a kind of cultural amnesia that is misleading and dangerous. The passive American consumer, sitting down to a meal or pre-prepared or fast food, confronts a platter covered with inert, anonymous substances that have been processed, dyed, breaded, sauced, gravied, ground, pulped, strained, blended, prettified, and sanitized beyond resemblance to any part of any creature that ever lived. The products of nature and agriculture have been made, to all appearances, the products of industry. Both eater and eaten are thus in exile from biological reality. And the result is a kind of solitude, unprecendented in human experience, in which the eater may think of eating as, first, a purely commerical transaction between him and a supplier and then as a purely appetitive transaction between him and his food.
And this peculiar specialization of the act of eating is, again, of obvious benefit to the food industry, which has good reasons to obscure the connection between food and farming. It would not do for the consumer to know that the hamburger she is eating came from a steer who spent much of his life standing deep in his own excrement in a feedlot, helping to pollute the local streams, or that the calf that yielded the veal cutlet on her plate spent its life in a box in which it did not have room to turn around. And, though her sympathy for the slaw might be less tender, she should not be encouraged to meditate on the hygienic and biological implications of mile-square fields of cabbage, for vegetables grown in huge monocultures are dependent on toxic chemicals - just as animals in close confinement are dependent on antibiotics and other drugs.
The consumer, that is to say, must be kept from discovering that, in the food industry - as in any other industry - the overriding concerns are not quality and health, but volume and price. For decades now the entire industrial food economy, from the large farms and feedlots to the chains of supermarkets and fast-food restaurants, has been obsessed with volume. It has relentlessly increased scale in order to increase volume in order (presumably) to reduce costs. But as scale increases, diversity declines; as diversity declines, so does health; as health declines, the dependence on drugs and chemicals necessarily increases. As capital replaces labour, it does so by substituting machines, drugs, and chemicals for human workers and for the natural health and fertility of the soil. The food is produced by any means or any shortcut that will increase profits. And the business of the cosmeticians of advertising is to persuade the consumer that food so produced is good, tasty, healthful, and a guarantee of marital fidelity and long life.
Eaters must understand that eating takes place inescapably in the world, that it is inescapably an agricultural act, and that how we eat determines, to a considerable extent, how the world is used. This is a simple way of describing a relationship that is inexpressibly complex. To eat responsibly is to understand and enact, so far as one can, this complex relationship. What can one do? Here is a list, probably not definitive:
Participate in food production to the extent that you can. If you have a yard or even just a porch box or a pot in a sunny window, grow something to eat in it. Make a little compost of your kitchen scraps and use it for fertilizer. Only by growing some food for yourself can you become acquainted with the beautiful energy cycle that revolves from soil to seed to flower to fruit to food to offal to decay, and around again. You will be fully responsible for any food that you grow yourself, and you will know all about it. You will appreciate it fully, having known it all its life.
Prepare your own food. This means reviving in your own mind and life the arts of kitchen and household. This should enable you to eat more cheaply, and it will give you a measure of "quality control": you will have some reliable knowledge of what has been added to the food you eat.
Learn the origins of the food you buy, and buy the food that is produced closest to your home. The idea that every locality should be, as much as possible, the source of its own food makes several kinds of sense. The locally produced food supply is the most secure, the freshest, and the easiest for local consumers to know about and to influence.
Whenever possible, deal directly with a local farmer, gardener, or orchardist. All the reasons lists for the previous suggestion apply here. In addition, by such dealing you eliminate the whole pack of merchants, transporters, processors, packagers, and advertisers who thrive at the expense of both producers and consumers.
Learn, in self-defence, as much as you can of the economy and technology of industrial food production. What is added to food that is not food, and what do you pay for these additions?
Learn what is involved in the best farming and gardening.
Learn as much as you can, by direct observation and experience if possible, of the life histories of the food species.
The last suggestion seems particularly important to me. Many people are now as much estranged from the lives of domestic plants and animals (except for flowers and dogs and cats) as they are from the lives of the wild ones. This is regrettable, for these domestic creatures are in diverse ways attractive; there is much pleasure in knowing them. And farming, animal husbandry, horticulture, and gardening, at their best, are complex and comely arts; there is much pleasure in knowing them, too.
The pleasure of eating should be an extensive pleasure, not that of the mere gourmet. People who know the garden in which their vegetables have grown and know that the garden is healthy will remember the beauty of the growing plants, perhaps in the dewy first light of morning when gardens are at their best. Such a memory involves itself with the food and is one of the pleasures of eating. The knowledge of the good health of the garden relieves and free and comforts the eater. The same goes for eating meat. The thought of the good pasture and of the calf contentedly grazing flavours the steak. Some, I know, will think it bloodthirsty or worse to eat a fellow creature you have known all its life. On the contrary, I think it means that you eat with understanding and with gratitude. A significant part of the pleasure of eating is in one's accurate consciousness of the lives and the world from which food comes. The pleasure of eating, then, may be the best available standard of our health. And this pleasure, I think, is pretty fully available to the urban consumer who will make the necessary effort.
Eating with the fullest pleasure - pleasure, that is, that does not depend on ignorance - is perhaps the profoundest enactment of our connection with the world. In this pleasure we experience and celebrate our dependence and our gratitude, for we are living from mystery, from creatures we did not make and powers we cannot comprehend.

Sheherazade

What do you suppose a room full of 40 and 50-something year old nurses and doctors look like when they're belly-dancing? Shimmying and shaking, hip thrusting, veil-wearing, tassels jangling, good old belly-dancing. I've always been told that it's much more challenging than it looks. And, if you're trying really hard not to look like a washing machine on overdrive, or like you have a severe movement disorder, it is. I've also been told that it doesn't matter how old you are, or what body shape you have, you can still look damn sexy doing it. Which is also true.

German Patient

Adultery count is at nine... at least this guy had the decency to marry the woman first before taking her beauty and her womanliness from her. On the other hand, he then left her with two kids, when he decided he was no longer 'called' to be with her, and was 'called' to pursue someone else...

Baywatch Beauty

How does one move from being an umpire to becoming a lifeguard? Moving from facemask, cleats and whatever that thing they wear to the freedom of a tank top and some swimming trunks? I think there's quite an allegory in there that I have to work on; blessings to CEMC for that.
Speaking of Beauties, I've had the privilege of meeting an amazing woman in the last few weeks: working on the Big Picture, moving on down the Narrow Road, following the Great Commander into the unreached places. Wow! I think I've been blessed by that too... it's been a bit complicated, as there are some mitigating factors that have been mentioned several times before in this blog in various enigmatic (or maybe not so enigmatic) ways... I think maybe because I see myself, what I would have been, what I -am-, what I have been, what I continue to actually be at the heart of things, what I could have been, what I should have been, had my road been a little bit different than it has been over the past few years... which is bittersweet: I have been humbled and amazed by a passionate Beauty, but in that mirroring, I see my pale reflection from the past that is ?lost ?unrecoverable ?stolen by a thief who has no interest in giving it back?

ATLS need not apply

I watched someone die today. It's been a while since someone has died in front of me for non-traumatic reasons. Usually, I get called in after the fact in order to register their death with the government. However, today, they just happened to die while I was there. And I stood there, and did nothing. Nothing, while her daughter held her hand and said goodbye; nothing, while the nurse stroked her head and told her to stop fighting and let go; nothing at all. Gasping and grasping at her last breaths over the course of about twenty minutes, we all stood there, watching her die. Slowly, inevitably, crawling towards death.
And, I must confess, I felt very little. What is it about the medical machine that removes emotionality? Is it I, or the system, or something other, that has carefully dissected away my heart from my head?

Zap! Bang! Kaboom! Splat!

So, in conclusion to the conversation earlier this week: Lois Lane is the DUMBEST of all the romantic-interests-of-superheroes-who-have-secret-identities.
Cases in point: I don't know if The Hulk has a romantic interest or not, but if he did, she could not be blamed if, seeing him in Hulk form, she couldn't figure out who he was, being all huge and green and and angry and all. Spiderman, of course, is the smartest by completely covering his face in that spandexy material, so Mary Jane can't figure out his other identity. Batman really only has a half mask, thus still exposing jaw, mouth and stubble. You'd think Vicky Vale might be able to figure it out after a while, but, I guess having his entire scalp and his upper face covered, she could be excused... maybe...
However, Lois Lane somehow gets entirely mystified when Clark Kent takes off his glasses and puts a little cowlick in his hair. Now if a girl can't figure -that- one out, then she really is a post... on the other hand, non-fictional men have gone for equally dumb women...

FFT

"Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment, but you humans do not.
You move to an area, and you multiply, and multiply, until every natural resource is consumed. The only way you can survive is to spread to another area.
There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet, you are a plague..."

True statement, that. Guess who said it?
Sadly, Agent Smith, The Matrix

FFT

I believe that I shall see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait on the LORD, be strong and let your heart take courage; wait on the LORD.
Psalm 27:13-14

Mona Lisa

Isn't it funny how there are some faces that you see that will trigger memories? Just people passing you on the subway or on the street, who just cause your heart to lurch right out of your chest, or make you want to weep? Who remind you of children long dead, tragically lost friends, haunted pasts, broken hearts or those you had tried to save? I know that parents in their grief, despair when they believe that they see their little ones in someone else's buggy. Isn't it amazing how a face: a nose, two eyes and ears and a mouth (and, sometimes, not even that), can do that to the human heart? How a few features can bring to the surface guts, knives and tears? That long-lost memory quickly runs through synapses to bring back in full Technicolour things that had been buried and mourned in ages past?
We are fearfully and wonderfully made; and even though memory is an attribute of the Divine, we, in our imperfection, have marred the gift of memory such that, many a time, it is a curse....

Fraternite, egalite, liberte

I'd like to believe that I fundamentally believe in the equality of all under the law. No, not in the Christian sense that we're all sinners yadda yadda, and not in the sense that we completely ignore the individual differences in people, but that, irrespective of gender, race, age, ethnicity, disability/ability etc, being all equally -human-, that there are certain niceties and privileges belonging to all who belong to the human club. That perhaps, though stereotypes or previous experiences may play a role in how I may perceive, or interact, with people, that ultimately, I would proffer respect to all.
But sometimes, I'm not sure if I'm as respectable as that. Sometimes, I'm not sure that we, living in possibly the best democracy in the world (which, I know, is a fairly saaaaad statement to make), are truly as egalitarian as we think we are....
I had some examples as to why I started thinking about this, but I don't think I'll write about them here, today...

Unfinished piece

Faith, fear, grief, obedience, hope, despair... I think perhaps maybe I mull too much on archetypes... Maybe I should concentrate on vacuous things, as other people do...

Ghetto quiz

OK kids, it's time to play: What's more ghetto (you know who you are!)?
Creme brulee or body shampoo?
Napkin rings or tea cozies?
Knitting or croquet?
Pistachios or kite-flying?
Hamsters or mittens?
Campfire singalongs or garden gnomes?
Mashimaro coin purses or gelato?
Daffodils or throw cushions with tassels?
Bundt cakes or bird watching?
Porch swings or cobblestone?
Filet O'Fish or Filet Mignon?
Hee hee hee...

Snowbirds hitting the fan

What is with these people?? Canadians often wonder why our health care appears to be going to hell in a handbasket and/or why family doctors appear to run their clinics late; I am coming to the conclusion that those who ponder such thoughts are usually the ones that cause the problem. Cases in point:
1. I had a patient, who I had never met, repeatedly call the clinic and harass the secretaries to speak to me... from FRANCE. Finally, not being able to take it anymore, they pulled me out of my clinic to speak to this patient. Appears he was on vacation, and had gone to a French emergency room, where they ALREADY had diagnosed and managed a problem that he had. However, he insisted that he needed to talk to his doctor to find out whether he should insist on being medevac'd home to be seen in the family medicine office (?!?!? Yeah, I'm sure his insurance company would be thrilled on sending a paramedic team to France just to get a guy to his doctor's appointment...), as he wasn't sure whether that was good enough care... in FRANCE.
2. I had another guy, who I had also never met before, repeatedly harass my secretaries again... from ENGLAND. Same scenario, but this guy says, "Hey, I'm on vacation in ENGLAND. I'm feeling naseous... do you think I'm having a stroke?" (I nearly had a stroke. Firstly, for calling freaking long distance while on vacation in a country with perfectly excellent health care, secondly, for asking me to falsely reassure him, never having met the man, or knowing anything about his medical history so that he could assuage his own conscience and not bother to interrupt his precious vacation time by going to see a doctor, after which he would then die and then I'd get sued for providing poor medical advice?? Who the heck did he think he was?) After explaining nausea could also be a symptom of pregnancy, I told him if he was concerned, he should go seek medical attention.
3. A telephone message left for me (these cases are all the more perplexing when you consider the fact that talking to patients on the phone, when it is not an emergency takes precious time away from patients who have actually bothered to come in, who DESERVE to have their appointments kept on time): I collapsed a few days ago. Do you think I'm sick? (What? What am I supposed to do with that? Why the heck didn't he go to the emergency department at the time?)
4. Another message left for me: I'm back from vacation, and I was constipated the whole time (and this is my problem, exactly, why???)
5. Another message left for me: I'm in Ottawa for the week, and I think I've got a yeast infection: Could you please phone in a prescription to this pharmacy in Ottawa? (Excuse me? Who do you think you are? Why the hell would I prescribe a medication for someone I have never seen for a disease I haven't even diagnosed? There are things called walk-in clinics that could see you if you really wanted to see a doctor, and, guess what? You can buy that stuff over the counter, idiot who has a drug plan...)
I cannot believe the self-centredness and sense of entitlement that plagues city people...

French Patient

Now the adultery count is at seven and eight, though these were completely unprovoked revelations. It's quite sad, how it rips people's lives apart. Number seven was particularly poignant, as this one involved a child, who no longer knows (well, who never knew) their biological parents, sadly. And who will never know their biological father, as he's the one who fled the situation (unsurprisingly and non-shockingly), leaving the biological mother with very little choice. And whose existence has caused a bittersweet aching on their grandparents' hearts for their lost grandchild. The injustice of all these situations involving these supposedly God-fearing men continues to baffle me. I am convinced that God is a God of justice, and He is One who controls all for good, though it takes faith the size of a mustard seed to believe that He will see His justice done, if not now, amongst current circumstance, then in that hazy future that's called trust.
I really hope I don't have to go through the whole European continent...

Short stuff idol

Thanks to Anni, we have now found a suitable karaoke partner for some people... I think I ended up watching this a dozen times in a row... I know, this is totally NOT the forum just to put various clips that I find amusing here, so I apologize... it very likely won't happen again...
http://youtube.com/watch?v=kCvImnD32os&search=cute%20lil%20girl
What I totally don't understand is: How on earth did the person videotaping this not die laughing while recording?

FFT

The Christian is the one whose imagination should fly beyond the stars.
- Francis Schaeffer

FFT

Our greatest blessings come to us by way of madness.
-Socrates

Escaping Empire

Brian, look! I think I've escaped empire! It would have to be empire with a little 'e', as I don't think it is possible to escape the shadow of the Empire. But I think that I've unharnessed myself. For definition, empire metaphorically refers to any oppressive regime, whether institution or individual. The proof will be in the pudding, however. We shall see how the slave shall deal with new-found freedom...

American-style

This week, I received my (I think) first direct-mail advertising from a private clinic in the USA. I'm not sure if I should be puzzled, grateful, or deeply insulted. A nice, slick brochure, explaining the services offered there, that might meet the needs of my Canadian patients, who may not be able to access such care in a timely manner here. It looks like a nice place. Certainly, people who can afford care do already indeed head south for quicker service. However, I wonder at the ethics about directly sending me information to share with my patients. Doesn't this start undermining my belief in the Canadian system (well, such as my belief is)? Is that my job, to push people south when they can't access care in a timely manner here? Certainly, I've had (obviously) rich people, who, for relatively minor complaints, weren't happy with the suggestion that they may have to wait several months to see someone; instead, they inform me that they will hop a plane the next day and go down to the States to get the care that they want, not the care that they may need, or is warranted under the circumstances. However, that becomes their perogative, not my suggestion.
Strange thoughts that come in the mail...

FFT

"Jesus promised His disciples three things - that they would be completely fearless, absurdly happy, and in constant trouble."
-G.K. Chesterton
Well, at least I've got 1.5 of them...

Maybe I've got osteoporosis

Is it possible to injure someone pretty bad after giving them a bear hug? In one of those hugs that half lift you off the ground? I don't understand how it happened, but my shoulder's been half-dislocated, and my ribs are killing me ever since; I can't breathe deeply, I can't push myself off the floor without collapsing again... very strange... I can't even really stand up straight... it's almost contrary to what I'd expect to see in my patients... and, thinking about what I'd advise them in the same situation, I haven't even bothered doing any of it... O Physician, heal thyself...
Interesting thoughts from the other day re: missions, role of nationals, generosity and control of funds. Too numerous to count, though I think, folks, maybe it is an issue of control or lack of trust. Or maybe it's wisdom gleaned from years of experience. I'd like to imagine it's the latter.... though I will rethink it some more...

FFT

I think this has been, for a long while, one of my.... "favorite" songs would be a wrong word. Certainly one that holds much truth and reinforces truth for me. Generally also a song that makes me weep, though for different reasons than the previous one. Sang this one this morning at church; made me think about truth again....

Blessed be your name
In the land that is plentiful
Where the streams of abundance flow
Blessed be your name

Blessed be your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be your name

Every blessing you pour out,
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say...
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your glorious name

Blessed be your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's all as it should be
Blessed be your name

Blessed be your name
On the road marked with suffering
When there's pain in the offering
Blessed be your name

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, Blessed be your name

FFT

This song makes me physicially weep every single time I hear it. I had forgotten it was on my iPod.... How desperately humanity needs hope... How desperately I need hope....

Dear God,
Hope you got the letter,
I pray you can make it better down here.
I don’t mean a big reduction in the price of beer,
But all the people that you made in your image,
See them starving on their feet,
’cause they don’t get enough to eat
From God,
I can’t believe in you.

Dear God,
Sorry to disturb you,
But I feel that I should be heard loud and clear.
We all need a big reduction in amount of tears,
And all the people that you made in your image,
See them fighting in the street,
’cause they can’t make opinions meet,
About God,
I can’t believe in you.

Did you make disease, and the diamond blue?
Did you make mankind after we made you?
And the devil too!

Dear God,
Don’t know if you noticed,
But your name is on a lot of quotes in this book.
Us crazy humans wrote it, you should take a look,
And all the people that you made in your image,
Still believing that junk is true.
Well I know it ain’t and so do you,
Dear God,
I can’t believe in,
I don’t believe in,

I won’t believe in heaven and hell.
No saints, no sinners,
No devil as well.
No pearly gates, no thorny crown.
You’re always letting us humans down.
The wars you bring, the babes you drown.
Those lost at sea and never found,
And it’s the same the whole world ’round.
The hurt I see helps to compound,
That the father, son and holy ghost,
Is just somebody’s unholy hoax,
And if you’re up there you’ll perceive,
That my heart’s here upon my sleeve.
If there’s one thing I don’t believe in...

It’s you,
Dear God.

The English Patient

I realize I have been very erratic and jumping all over the place in terms of communicating lately, more so than I usually do. On the other hand, I suppose I usually communicate in an erratic fashion, at best, anyways (which, of course, was a huge critique that I heard many, many, many, many times from the same individual over and over and over again). Certainly, it's unfortunate if it's been hard to keep up with me and my babbling.
The adultery count is now at six. I suppose misery loves company. It is foolishness and unrighteousness all over the place.

Forget choosing yellow vs green

Dead babies never get any easier. There's something inherently awful in the knowing that the baby you're carrying inside is dead; this little one only had three weeks to go, and now he is dead. There is tragedy in helping a woman bring forth something dead and rotting from her womb. Somehow, I am not surprised that this is happening on my shift at this juncture. They never get any easier to do. Death instead of life; grief instead of joy; ironic juxtapositions of a shell-game-like switcheroo...

Random babbling

I've been thinking about the inherent issue of death and decay; I suppose since I see it enough. The futility of healing, the elusiveness of cure. You know, one thinks about making this world a better place, but it sometimes becomes difficult to see that happening. The difference between sympathy and empathy has always lain a little too closely, and I am not sure if I have run dry of both, leaving little left for anything else. Maybe I'm not meant for medicine....

Profuse apologies

I am considering the fact that this blog's raison d'etre is perhaps starting to get a bit murky... I'm considering starting another one... for those of you interested in the new address, please let me know... I haven't fully decided yet...

Temporary alternative track

What I find heartening is that there are 44,000 national Indian missionaries, all trying to reach their own people. That's more than Canada sends out altogether. That is encouraging news. It is encouraging that, despite our own bloated, self-centred, and little lives in the West, God still works. And that He, in fact, can reach more people, more effectively and with more fruit, than we think we can. For I still contend that God has forsaken us in the West, that the glory of the LORD has departed our lands, that our civilization and culture are on the decline, and that, like all Empires, we are in the twilight of its age. (Wars for water aside....)... OK, maybe I'm trying too hard to write on an alternative track... obviously, I'm not right in the head...

Porphyria

Some have expressed concern that I am going mad; perhaps I am. They say I make little sense, that I'm incoherent at best, pedantic at worst. I suppose blogging in the middle of the night stuff that doesn't make sense to most is a sign.
What I find curious are decision making trees. How do they happen? Are they rabbits in hats, or do they actually make sense? It is also funny what kinds of decisions people make, despite the cautions and the prohibitions others older and wiser warn of. I certainly know of decisions that I have made that were wrong, even though 'older and wisers' told to me to choose otherwise.
And what about people that make you feel icky? People that just make you want to crawl out of your skin and scream? I haven't felt that way in a long while, but it just happened a few days ago; I think my fuse is shorter now than it used to be; I see aspects of myself that have been lost over these past few years that others have warned of and saw happening in real time. It's like I emulated questionable characteristics of the other that changed me (I see them), and I don't know where mine have gone (where are they?). I've been told that people want me back, that they haven't seen me for a long time as I seem to have disappeared under expectations, fear, demands and judgement. Is it possible to find yourself in madness? After years of being buried and suffocated? Does joy in the morning return as brightly as it once did, or does it remain a sickly hue after years of smog? Perhaps I am going mad....

Aphorisms

There are many cliche truisms, several of which I have heard repeated over the last little while. One is, when it rains, it pours. In this week alone, I have encountered five people struggling with (previous and present) adulterous partners, two very ill little children, a miscarriage, and someone who needs neurosurgery (and this doesn't include patients, cause that's not fair; including patients would staggeringly increase the number of sorrowing people all the time). I suppose it's to give me a bit of perspective on myself, to tell me that other people have experiences similar to mine, though for me, it simply increases the grandeur of sorrow and pain.
The second is, life is not fair. I don't know how many millions of billions of times I've heard that said. Though it may be a truism, that is no reason that we should resign ourselves to such things, for He has overcome the world.
For though there is much I do not know about God, one thing I know for certain: that He is indeed a God of justice. That though things may not appear fair, for now, they will be retributed and redistributed in due time. There is great comfort in that; that the oppressor will be brought low, that the weak and the sorrowing will overcome the mighty and the powerful- those with 'hand'. That ultimately, those that hurt, maim, wreak havoc on others, destroy, will indeed be brought to justice.
I try not to be overly joyful in that; facing the wrath of God cannot be a picnic. And certainly, I recognize all of us, in some measure, will indeed face the wrath of God; I think just being a wealthy Westerner alone will cause God to come down hard on me, let alone my other myriads of faults and shortcomings. Yes, I have been trying not to rejoice too heartily in that vengeance belongs to the LORD, and that He shall repay in His own time, for I know I myself shall repay. However, missing part of my very flesh will eventually demand a pound of its own, despite Shylock's protestations. It's not meant in anger; simply a statement of fact. Certainly, some had suggested various legal and medical methods of exacting my own vengeance, though thoughts that are entertaining to consider, and, perhaps in due time, may be pursued in their own way, are probably wrong.

Mirroring

I realize, of course, that the entries that I put in over this next little while will definitely be seen as histrionic by those who won't particularly give a flying shit, and that really, I should just shut up and put up - and, of course, will get very angry that I would dare say so. That's fine, as I suppose people can have their own opinions, as misguided or incorrect that they might be. As I suppose I may be deluded/misguided into assuming that my opinions are histrionic. (Boy, I can really feel the anger now... if there is at least one positive thing I must say in all this, I can say that I am glad that I am free from living in oppression and fear of rage and violence...)
However (despite their distaste for such), I think there is some value in living 'in' the moment. I suppose I am a typical Romantic that way, as opposed to Enlightened. Perhaps it would have been best to be some mad genius (not that I'm not in some senses already - perhaps therein lay the fatal flaw - some people just cannot handle wit, and would rather have dullness and insipidity), locked in some garrett, producing my oeuvres by candlelight and weeping over the dramatic losses and perils of the world, while planning my ultimate demise by drowning in absinthe.
But I still contend there are those who do not give a flying shit. On the other hand, I've been told, neither should I... that's a bit harder as that's not in my nature....

The Stick-'Em-Up

I just had someone I deeply respect make me question my veracity, my trustworthiness. It gets to be a bit much when those you have confidence in undermine your own. I think I feel even more stripped of my defence, like kneeling at the feet of Jesus, trembling, while being thrown there by the Pharisees, ready with the stones. Except for Jesus isn't there, and no one is around to question or defend, and so the pelting begins...

A sea of granite and marble

What is a curious phenomenon is how people define sorrow, or, at least, perceive how they emphathize with others' pain. I think it is honestly difficult to understand where another is coming from, particularly when they are lost and swirling in the depths of despair, but I also note that, for some, it becomes an opportunity for counter-transference, to bring to mind issues that plague their own minds as well. Isn't that curious? It turns the table on those who are dying; they, instead of receiving life sustenance and nourishment, must bring succour to the medic. It is selfish in nature. Certainly, it demonstrates to me that when I do the same, that I must bring healing to the hurt, and not bring my own wounds into the picture. It's strange how certainly I would never dare do this in my clinical work, but, thinking back, perhaps I have been guilty of this phenomenon myself. Particularly where I am both the healer and the one who caused the wound.
If I am the one to cause injury, who am I to dwell on my own wounds? If I struck a blow at my loved one, who am I to then talk of all the thrashing that I've received from other sources? Do I weep for myself, or for my beloved (beloved being either gender)? I think if I do that, then I steal from my beloved, I demonstrate my lack of compassion and mercy, I kill their dignity and their soul, and live the lie that they are cared for. It is not a life-affirming manner of dealing with loved ones, but I suppose if I am demonstrating the lie that they are cared for, then I suppose affirming life isn't exactly one of my priorities for them... I'll have to ponder about this some more...

and flits with its wings

I know it's the middle of the night, but the Seas of Sadness are, I think, lapping at the shoreline.
Death of hope is a terrible thing. Loss of 'family' is too. I'm not sure which is worse. 'Family' being not just blood, but people who are so near and dear, that even if the biologicals are far away, you still feel like you belong, that they are a part of your home and hearth, that you have significance, that you might actually mean something.
Loss of 'family', using that definition, feels like losing a limb. You still 'feel' the limb for the rest of your life, but it is no longer there. A part of you, completely gone, but its part in the whole very poignantly missed, irreplaceable, in fact. I think that's the kicker; family cannot be replaced. Hope can rise again like the phoenix, but family members can't.
It really is a tragic thing. I can't even write properly, really, being overwhelmed with that...

OK Computer

I've also been thinking more about the inherent alienation that occurs in our place and time. I realized, thinking back with some other people, that it's hard for us to remember how we 'functioned' without email, without instant messaging, without cell phones. Which, to be honest, wasn't that long ago; basically high school for most of us. And I must confess, I don't remember how my friends and I found each other, or planned to do things. But I do remember that it worked, somehow.
I somehow get the suspicion that as our 'connectivity' has increased, our 'connections' have decreased. A few friends that I have not seen for long while and I realized that we could've easily maintained our 'relationship' at the 'occasional email' level, and been able to go the rest of our lives without laying eyes on one another, and yet, still kind of called each other 'friends'. I think also the lack of responsibility or accountability by simply sending a few sentences by email demonstrates our lack of committment. Um, that doesn't quite make sense: I think I was mulling and expounding on this a bit further a few days ago, but I think to write it here would turn it into a mini-essay....
I think I am starting to rebel against the 'email conversation' (unless, by virtue of vast distances - more than just Mississauga to Scarborough- or business, makes that necessary). I think it is possible to start a new revolution of people actually speaking to one another. Perhaps even revolutionary hand-written letters (and postcards!). I am tired of group semi-spam with 'conversations' that only a few respond to that no one listens to. I am tired of not listening enough, and of not being heard. I think in the cacophony of the city, one's own small voice disappears amongst ring tones and beeps and firewalls.
Of course, I recognize the inherent irony of making that kind of announcement in a semi-anonymous medium as a blog...

Chang geum, or, my parents have lost it...

OK, so I know it's kind of past the 'trendy' mark for Chinese people, but my parents have finally discovered the joys of Korean chapter movies... though, at least, they're watching it in the original Korean. It's really nice, and kind of funny, to see them just plain old liking these movies as least as much as Chinese people that I know. However, my parents have this idea that if I sit and watch with them, I'll somehow learn more Korean by osmosis. Firstly, there's no subtitles on the discs we have. Secondly, they're obsessed; they're watching 5-7 episodes a DAY.
This is the usual attempt that occurs when they ask me to watch with them:
I oblige and sit down, and begin to watch a movie that I understand very little to nothing about what is going on.
Me: "Hey, what just happened there? I just heard something about the king..."
Them: "Shush! You're interrupting the movie! Just listen to the movie!"
Me: "But I don't understand what they're talking about! I'm listening, but no comprehension is occurring...."
Them: "Shhhhh!"
Me: "This is ridiculous. I don't understand what's going on. I'm going upstairs...."
Them: "Hey! Where are you going? How are you going to learn Korean if you don't watch the movie? This is part of your culture! Hey! Hey..... oh, wait, something's happening"... and then their attention rivets back to the screen. It really is quite funny. This has occurred on several attempts since I've been back, so now they're way too engrossed to barely even acknowledge when I return home :) . I've been relegated to asking Chinese people what happens in these movies so I know what the plot line basically is... :)
Next time, we've got to get something with English subtitles.

Blinded, you lost your way...

I had the opportunity to meet with a very dear old friend, and, in finding him, also found that he has lost faith. Though, I must admit, I am not entirely sure in what. It's a curious thing, the gift of faith. Faith moves mountains and shakes the heart of man, but yet, begins as a tiny seed, almost invisible and intangible, a small miracle.
And yet, in what should be a time of despair and grief (which, indeed, it is - that drew a stake through the heart of me), I also see hope. Despite everything that's occurred, there are a few things that I know to be true, and one is that God does not abandon His children, no matter if they can no longer accept their kinship nor no longer want to be a part of His family.
I think I see a small reflection of my own heart, as well as many of our hearts, in this as well... more on this thought later...