an "Intuitive Healer"

Yesterday found me waiting half an hour outside the Surrey Central skytrain station for my sister to pick me up. I usually hate waiting for anything but it was a lovely, sunny day and there was shade to relax in. I had never been there before but I was curious about it because I have been hearing rumours that my office might move to this vicinity when looking for a new lease in 2 years. It would take an hour each way to get there but its doable. There's an office tower there, used partially for the Surrey campus of Simon Fraser University, that is architecturally interesting.

After telling me to meet me there, my sister went to the wrong station. Eventually she found me. She was taking me to see an "intuitive healer" who shares her office space, a man named Thomas J Moore who she has been raving about for months. He is an energy worker, who works with chakkras and channels spirit guides for medical advice. I'm not much of a follower of these types of alternative therapies but Western medicine hasn't offered me any insights into the cause of my muscular dystrophy or any treatment options since i was diagnosed over 13 years ago. It was worth a try--for $120.

Thomas was impressive, for his gentle, unpretentious manner. His ego doesn't get in the way of his healing as it does for many doctors who little at times to serve their clientele. The treatment was an hour and a half long and very pleasant. I felt better for it afterwards. When it was over, he felt certain that the cause of my muscle wasting was an imbalanced liver that has been producing too much uric acid over the years, causing my muscle cells to break down. If that is the cause it is encouraging as it would be both correctable and reversible. But now I am wondering why I haven't developed gout instead of muscular dystrophy, which is a common outcome of too much uric acid in one's body. I want to see a naturopath he has referred me to to get more answers. Meanwhile, I will start on milk thistle and dandelion extracts to strengthen my liver. That may be an important start even if it isn't the cure.

It is a motivating development. One could say it is exciting, but I won't let myself go there, at least not until I see solid results. I have gone there too many times, getting excited by treatments, only to be sorely disappointed. It would be nice though, so I'll do my best to walk that thin live between affirmation and expectation. I'll try to keep my emotions out of the process for now.

Thomas also shared other insights. He says my body is otherwise very healthy but advised me to take more magnesium, which I have just recently started doing. He says 2 personal spirit guides were present during my treatment, one being my grandfather on my father's side who I last saw when I was 4, and the other a French infantryman from the Napoleonic Wars. Thomas was able to describe his uniform.

He also said my lower chakkras were all closed. I mentioned that I have often had difficult opening my throat chakkra, and he said he had picked that up too. I asked if my throat had ever been slit in a past life. He said no, you were hung. He meant this in a bad way.

Alice in Government Land, Part 3 - Canada Day

Local management and employees are no longer allowed to create their own events. Bean counters in Ottawa, who don't really know the specifics of the work we do, decide if we can take our annual leave when we want to and if and when we are allowed to have staff meetings, usually denying us even when we are not busy--we've only been allowed one in the past 6 months.

They also plan our 'fun' events for us. But many of their planned events are incomplete or ill-planned because they haven't made it through all the many layers of approval and feedback and there are too many cautious reconsiderations and compromises along the way.

Of course, promoting Canada Day is a big one for the feds in Ottawa, who mistake it as a form of worship service of Ottawa and what the snivel serpents there are doing, whatever that is. So on Monday morning we all got this email about how to dress on Tuesday for Canada Day to win points for our teams. A combination of red or white gets 5 points, a Canada pin another 5 points and displays of our flag and other red and white consumer junk a further 5 points. Its all part of a contest called TAPS, which is not explained in any more detail.

It is frightfully dead at work at the moment so some of us got into it. I usually detest such silliness, but I was in a silly mood and was planning to wear white pants anyway so I put on my red shirt. I even found a Canada pin, but I wasn't going into the mall to the dollar store to buy useless crap with flags on it.

I was the only one on my team to make such an effort. I saw 3 or 4 others on other teams who had dressed up a little. Some who hadn't made an effort argued that their government-issued lanyards, which are red, and the attached security cards, which are white, which we are required to wear every day, were sufficient. It didn't really matter as no one was tallying points. Management was either absent or not "enrolled" in the game so those who made the effort were never acknowledged.

At one point teams were told to gather so that a team leader could take our group photos that would be sent to Ottawa so that someone there could revel in their accomplishment. I lost half my lunch break waiting for someone to take the friggin' photo. We never learned what the purpose of it was, and no one was ever told what "TAPS" stands for. ("Trick A Public Servant"?)

The real way to celebrate our 142nd birthday is doing what I will be doing today, taking a drive in the countryside with 2 new immigrant friends up the Fraser Valley to enjoy the sunshine and beauty of this land. Ottawa wouldn't understand.

An unsettling encounter

Something happened to me at the pub in Horseshoe Bay yesterday that I did not share with Winfried or Chris. After lunch I headed to the washroom to empty my bladder before the trip home. A man in his 40s entered the washroom in few metres in front of me. When I entered he was at one of two urinals fit tightly side by side at the far end of room. He glanced over his shoulder at me as I entered.

I assumed he might be pee-shy or or homophobic so I nodded at him and went into a toilet stall to give him his privacy. But from the urinal he tried to engage me in a conversation, not about the weather but suggesting in a teasing manner that I was a drug dealer because I was using the stall. I assured him I wasn't but he continued this line of joking, suggesting instead that perhaps I was a spy following him.

I an excellent at logic and math, except when it comes to equations of human psychology. I had given him no reason to feel he was being pursued or threatened. I tried adding the clues in various ways, but they left me with only one logical answer as to why he would engage a stranger while his dick was hanging out of his pants in a public washroom. He probably wanted me to sidle up to the urinal beside him. As flattering and exciting as that moment seemed, I knew my reaction would have been catatonic and embarrassed. I certainly wasn't ready to do anything with him there.

"Is it true that spies always walk with a limp?" he continued unexpectedly as we washed our hands at the sink.
"I wouldn't exactly call it a limp," I mumbled hesitantly.
"What is it then?"
"I have muscular dystrophy. I am losing my ability to walk so I have some problems with my balance."
He looked at me full on. I hadn't had the courage to analyze his face before then. He had greying hair but a handsome, masculine face. His eyes filled with compassion as his voice softened and lost its jovial manner. "I am sorry to hear that."

Instantly my heart felt naked and raw. I wanted to lay my head on his muscular chest and feel his strong arms around me. I felt a pang of regret as I imagined seeing and touching his cock at the urinal, but my lust was mixed with self-pity.

He asked me if my condition was degenerative and if there was a treatment, but all I had for him was bad news. He wished me luck as he left the room. He reached out to hold the door for me, but I beat him to it. I wanted to show him that at least I could do that much for him. Not that it mattered.

The feelings stayed with me. While I waited in the parking lot an hour at Whytecliffe Park for Winfried and Chris to climb on the rocks below, my mind churned up a toxic, indigestible stew of desire and self-loathing. I must find a solution to this ever-expanding Achilles heel, a way to keep physical and emotional desires at bay or a way to enjoy them without them tearing me apart in the process. Then, and only then, will I be at peace with my condition.

"Today is the first day of the rest of your life." - Advice given by sadistic doctors to cancer patients

Set free

For the past 3 days I have been hosting couch surfers Winfried and his girlfriend Chris from Cologne. They were wonderful guests, so enthusiastic, interested and respectful of my space. Winfried had contacted me in April to confirm the date. I knew he was anxious to come because of his subsequent e-mails and he had chosen me specifically because I was "interesting". I think that was because I was about their age (most couch surfers are 25 or under), gay, artistic and had traveled to Germany in my younger, more capable years.

Unfortunately, I was not as enthusiastic about their visit. I had already hosted friends and couch surfers 80% of April and May and almost 60% to that point of June to that point, and while all my guests in that period were wonderful, the overall loss of time, space and privacy was draining.

Winfried is very personable and full of questions, locking eyes over the rim of his spectacles while quizzing me on a variety of topics. Chris only spoke half a dozen words in English, equal to my knowledge of German, and was usually quiet as a mouse. After taking me to dinner on the first night I left them on their own the second day. They walked the new seawall by the convention centre and Coal Harbour before renting bicycles for a couple hours. The weather was cloudy but they enjoyed themselves.

Yesterday I took a vacation day so I could guide them around in a rented car. Winfried is not the most organized or best planned person and had not thought carefully about the logistics of how and when to rent cars while on Vancouver Island and traveling around BC next week before they leave on their Alaskan cruise. I had Googled and bookmarked a general website for car rentals in Vancouver Wednesday night but by Friday morning he had still not booked one, so most of Friday morning was spent doing that.

I took them first east to the Second Narrows Bridge and across to Deep Cove. From there I guided them to Lynn Canyon to see the suspension bridge, up through the highest streets against the mountains to get some hazy views of city and down to a pub in Horseshoe Bay for lunch. We visited Whytecliffe Park and took Marine Dr to the Lions Gate Bridge and then through Stanley Park's scenic drive on our way home to my place. I could have taken further, out to UBC and Spanish Banks, but they had seen enough and rush hour traffic was slowing us down.

The weather was excellent really, and I am sure they enjoyed themselves, but I spent much of the day waiting for them at the rented car while they climbed around terrain I would have had difficulty with: 10 minutes at Deep Cove, half an hour at Lynn Canyon, 10 minutes at the Cleveland Dam at Capilaino Lake, 20 minutes at Horseshoe Bay after lunch and nearly an hour at Whytecliffe Park. By the end of the day I had had enough. It seemed that Winfried had had enough too, as he often failed to comprehend simple navigation instructions I fed him. I am sure it was intellectually tiring to translate all day for Chris his questions to me and my responses and comments.

This morning was confused and disorganized as they tried to pack everything in the bags they had brought with them, but they did it and got away just on time to return the car and meet up with their next couch surfer who has a trailer near the ferry terminal in Tsawwassen. I headed off immediately to Joe's Diner for breakfast and a coffee. I could feel my stress and impatience melting away as I sat there.

I have no commitments for the rest of the month or for July, except that Mike from Fernie will be coming for 3 days from the 10th to the 12th. I want to focus on reviewing and editing the last pages of my novel I have written so far. I had set my 'availability' on the couch surfing website to "maybe" and have declined at least half a dozen requests to stay with me in the past week. This coming month will be for me, to honour and nurture myself ahead of any others for a change.

Changing couch surfers

All of the first week back from Utah I was struggling to catch up on my sleep. I thought I had caught up this past weekend but last night I could hardly get out of bed after almost 9 hrs of sleep. My waking dream was one where I kept thinking I was awake, knowing that it was time to get up, but when I struggled out of bed and down the long hallway to my bathroom the door handle wouldn’t open. Wait a minute, I don’t have a long hallway down to my bathroom and that’s not the right shape of the door handle. I’m still asleep.

And so it went over and over, each time starting over at the bed and doing everything I could to open my eyes. At one time I struggled out of bed in a panic because my eyelids, in spite of my best effort, refused to open. I was standing, leaning on my window sill telling myself not to panic, that the doctors would be able to do something, when I remembered that I do not have a window sill high enough to lean on. By the time I did get my eyelids to open, my heart was pounding like a drum and I was in a total sweat. I have to lay off the melatonin that makes me dream so much.

Fred and Eric (Ereek), my two French couch surfers moved out yesterday to make space for my next two visitors. Of course, living with me had become second nature as we got along so easily. They had lived with me 26 days in March/April and 14 days this month. Their presence had become habitual and although part of me wanted my space back, a large part of me wants them to stay forever. I can be an irritable, territorial cuss at times but then there are some people who I can never be angry with. I had become used to my kettle, iron and certain bowls being put away in new places and somehow that never bothered me. Their presence is more than calming. It seems to alter my very nature, like a stain that fades when constantly exposed to the sun. Even they lamented that the three of us could not find a larger place where we could live together permanently. I can’t receive a higher compliment than that.

They had to move by early afternoon because my next couch surfers were arriving at the airport at 3. I knew it wouldn’t be that easy as they were resisting the move. They had been working most days at the restaurant and yesterday they met with their manager to begin the process to apply for permanent resident papers. When they got home they were more concerned about finding an immigration lawyer than packing.

Their personal belongings had gradually spread to most corners of my condo and they had gradually been acquiring more things as time passed. Once they had their backpacks and other bags packed, I did a quick tour of the condo to gather up things they had forgotten. There were devices plugged into various sockets, hidden under the couch, hanging in the closet and food in the refrigerator and cupboards. Most of these they left behind, along with Fred’s guitar, because they already had more than they could carry. It was also raining heavily, heavier than I had seen it rain in a couple months.

Winfried and Chris, my new German couch surfers, arrived around 5:30. Their plane was late and it took them longer than expected to get through the baggage. The airline had required them to repack their bags to reduce the weight of one of the heavier bags.

That gave me more time to clean. I’m not sure if it was the act of cleaning, the emotions of saying goodbye to the boys or the stress of greeting and responding to new guests that exhausted me so much. It was 3am Cologne time when Winfried and Chris arrived but they seemed to be holding up well. They were excited and a bit confused by the change, but not too tired. After an hour and a half of relaxing and talking we headed out for a sushi dinner at Kadoya, my favourite sushi restaurant. It was a real treat.

I suggested a short walk up Davie St to give the tour of the neighbourhood after dinner, but the first block exhausted their remaining adrenaline and we had to return to the condo. I gave them my room for privacy and comfort while slept on the couch in the living room. Sometimes the noise of the traffic and hooligans on the sidewalks below keep me awake when I sleep there, but not last night!

JUNE 15 – the route home

We ate breakfast early, shortly after the restaurant next door opened at 7 am. Then, after a couple of shots of the Manti Temple, we headed north on Hwy 89 to Ephraim where we waited half an hour for our flat tire to be repaired.I didn’t plan this to be a day for taking pictures. I had researched various routes beforehand looking for the shortest way to get back to I-15 and north to Salt Lake City before noon so that we could relax and take it easy before our flight. I found a small side route that would reach the freeway in less than an hour, but Michal’s GPS told him the fastest route would be north on the bigger Hwy 89 to Spanish Fork Canyon which was clearly longer on the map, and it joined the freeway half an hour further north.

Michal scoffed at me for suggesting that I thought I knew more than his GPS. He said I was just like his uncle, who two days earlier he had described as incapable of adapting to changes around him, adding that it was best just to put up with him without trying, and that real societal change wouldn’t happen until his uncle’s generation (i.e. my generation) died off. I took his assessment as a personal insult and it really hurt.

He was pissed off at me too, for taking my role as navigator too seriously and teasing him for having an addiction to his GPS. We scarcely spoke to each other for the rest of the trip. It didn’t help that both the top end of Hwy 89 and Rte 6 through Spanish Fork Canyon were under construction with several points where we needed to stop and wait before proceeding. I said nothing but to reassure him that we still had plenty of time, but the real salt in his wound was a small pebble that broke our windshield at the end of the construction zone just before we reached the freeway. It’s a small star-shaped crack that might to fixable with a glue treatment but we won’t know the cost for couple more weeks.

We returned the jeep and caught the shuttle to the airport and made it through security in plenty of time. The first leg of our trip home was a flight to Phoenix where we had a 4 hr stopover. We shared two greasy mini-pizzas in the airport, the only food we had after our early breakfast that day. Michal left me to wander around the terminal while I read my novel. The flight to SeaTac arrived half an hour early and by 8:10pm we were speeding north on I-5 towards Vancouver.

I waited until we made it through the border before I tried to mend the hard feelings between us. I thanked him for watching over me and helping me whenever I needed help throughout the trip. I reminded him that I could never so such a trip on my own and that I was very grateful to him for making it possible. We exchanged a warm handshake as he dropped me off, his sole gesture of affection during the trip. As a parting chide, I asked him if he knew how to find his way back to his route home, a trip he has made dozens of times. Before he could answer I suggested he enter his home address into his GPS. That made him smile.

No one was home when I opened the door to my apartment. It was around 11pm. I hurriedly made some scrambled eggs and toast to settle my rumbling stomach.

PHOTO 1: Manti Temple
PHOTO 2: in Ephraim
PHOTO 3: Hwy 89 at Birdseye

JUNE 14 – Escalante to Manti

This was the big day that took us through the major national parks that inspired our trip at the beginning: Bryce Canyon and Zion National Parks. We also needed to come most of the way north to be within easy reach of the Salt Lake Airport the following morning. We got an earlier start after a breakfast at The Outfitter restaurant and gift shop. I had a rather severe headache from lack of food and coffee and very blurry vision from reading for hours while Michal slept. My first cup of coffee cured my headache but my blurry vision took longer. I accidentally bought an XL T-shirt for a friend instead of a medium size.

The morning sun behind us gave a warm glow to the hills around Henrieville and Tropic as we headed west on Hwy 12 towards Bryce Canyon. We would have stopped for photos at points but I was in a panic. My coffee was working for Roto-Router and shortly after we left Escalante I was in desperate need of a toilet. Michal did his best but there wasn’t much open in small Mormon towns on a Sunday morning. Finally we found a KOA Campground in Tropic that was open. Wheeewwww!!



Bryce Canyon NP starts just beyond Tropic. It’s not really a canyon: it’s the eroded edge of a huge mesa, eroded into an astonishing, uncountable number of hoodoos and other colourful, decorative formations. The panorama from the top of the cliffs is totally breath-taking. Similar coloured cliffs and formations are found throughout the region, even outside the state and national parks, but never as ornate or intense as at Bryce Canyon. Bryce was one of the first Mormon ranchers in the area. As he once said, it’s a hell of a place to lose a cow.

There was a $25 admission fee. We followed the scenic drive 18 miles south and back. By 1:30 we were headed west again through Red Canyon to Hwy 89, and from there south to Hwy 9, where we turned west to Zion National Park.

Zion is nothing like Bryce, except for the admission fee. Its main features are giant rock “kolobs” of red stone towering thousands of feet above the valley floor, like giant loaves of bread cut in half. Hwy 9 becomes a narrow red path squirming its way around red sandstone mounds and gullies across the south end of the park. Then it cascades in switchbacks into a lower valley. The Visitor Centre is near the west entrance. From there visitors can take a shuttle bus up the scenic Virgin River valley, but we didn’t have time for that. We stopped for lunch in Springdale just outside the park, a heavy prime rib dinner that threatened to put Michal to sleep.

We skirted around the south edge of the park and re-entered it at the NW corner where a short road climbs to a high viewpoint over a panorama of incredible kolobs. They face west so the afternoon sun lit them beautifully.
By then it was late afternoon and we were under the gun to reach Manti many miles to the north by nightfall. We passed Cedar Breaks National Monument while crossing the mountains back to the east. There we reached out highest point on our trip, 10,000 ft (3000m) and there were occasional patches of snow still lingering in the meadows. We sped downhill from there, past Panguitch Lake to the town of Panguitch where we reconnected with Hwy 89. We lost half an hour at a gas station there trying to get gas out of pumps that weren’t pumping properly. North of there Hwy 89 went through a series of narrow canyons as we chased storm clouds and gusty winds buffeted our jeep. The twilight faded to black in the closing miles coming into Manti.

The town was as dead as a cemetery that Sunday night but we did manage to find one convenience store open. I bought myself a stale ham and cheese sandwich that had survived the weekend and Michal bought corn chips and salsa. That was dinner. Our final hotel of the trip had a hot tub and two queen-sized beds, much to Michal’s relief. The hot tub was a disappointment as the water was lukewarm at best, but at least he had his own bed and Quasimodo was a safe distance away in the other bed.

PHOTO 1: Bryce Canyon, Sunset Point
PHOTO 2: Moi, and the Natural Arch, Bryce Canyon
PHOTO 3: tunnel in Red Canyon
PHOTO 4: Hwy 9 through Zion NP
PHOTO 5: Virgin R Valley, Zion NP
PHOTO 6: Michal & Kolobs, Zion NP north
PHOTO 7: Cedar Breaks National Monument