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...