Ignorance is Bliss

I ended up taking a little trip down island this weekend. Gorgeous days, sunshine, warmth and friends what more could some one ask for? Well perhaps the drivers of the roads to be a bit more 'aware', concientious and to add a dash of selfless-ness to their ignorance.

My weekend of amazing drivers started with a van attempting to pass me in a non-passing section of one our more dangerous highways. This would have been fine if he had not been behind me when the passing lane that merged into a single. Once he saw that, he gunned it and passed me, just before it was too narrow to do. Well, again, it wouldn't have bothered me much if this person would have driven the speed limit after he so forcefully passed me just moments before. He attempted the same to a truck who had just witnessed his actions to me, but the truck wouldn't let me do it. Later, passing this #$%hole I found out his van is part of ICBC (our isurance company in British Columbia), and part of the collision experts of it. Irony...



There were other within the city limits. Too many to list.



The drive back was not to, too bad. Except for the small part that an ambulance was attempting to get through on the highway (sirens on everything). I got flipped off for attempting to move over, and honked at. Watching the ambulance attempting to weave the traffic I couldn't help but to think what would happen if I was who ever this ambulance was attempting to get to. I watched as cars refused to pull over, tailgated, honked, cursed and so on.

I found out this weekend, I have road rage. I know this is the second post in a row about cars.


"Those who are free of resentful thoughts surely find peace." - Buddha

The Car Crash

Life is such a precious and fragile thing. It's a like a rough gemstone being shined and buffed into a beautiful shinning stone. Each year is the gemstone's beauty being shinning and shimmer. As fragile as it is, once it slips out of our finger tips it wil shatter upon impact. Life is such a fragile and beautiful thing, such a precious thing.



Today I had my life flash before my eyes. I am only 20 years old and I witnessed all the things that I haven't and have done fly by me. Today, while driving to an 'outreach event' at a local High School, my coworker was hit by a car in the centre of an intersection by a car running a rubyred light. I was in the car behind her.



This morning went excellent, we had four/five new job postings with out online job bank and I had a radio interview with the local station here (The River). It was a beautiful sunny day, got too work on time, good cup of coffee, everything seemed to be doing well today. Yet, as the universe has shown me on timeless occasions that it needs balance, nothing can be too good without something devastating will happen to even the scales.


We decided to take separate cars and just rock paper scissors to see who was to go on their lunch first and since we'd be half to either of our houses. I pulled up behind her at a red light, and lent down to turn on the Air Conditioning (first day of beautiful sunshine and it was warm) and turned up the volume on the radio.


Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bright red brake lights turn off and sat back up, to get ready to pull through the intersection. I took my foot off of the Government Car's brake pedal and began to pull forward slightly. My peripherals caught a quick glimpse of a sharp blue flat and quickly slammed back on the break pedal. I watched as in slow motion this blue Pontiac Sunfire impacted with my coworkers car. Time slowed down so I could witness every small detail of his front end being crushed into itself and her silver Mazda's passenger side door being pushed inwards.


Shaking I put my car in park and turned the engine off. Staring blankly at the scene, my coworkers car pulled forward out of the intersection and parked just off on the continuation of the road. my hand began to shake as I shook off the shock and dialed those fearsome number 9-1-1. I described the accident to the operator on the other end. The car began to heat up sitting in the sun. Once snapped back to reality I realized I needed to get the car off the road, I backed up and off and quickly ran to my coworkers vehicle.


Her eyes were red from tears and she was shaking. There are a couple other people checking on her. She had said her arm and her back was sore. Fumbling with the phone, the police officers on site ushered us off to the side so the Paramedics could take a look at her. When all was said and done, the guy who ran the red light was taken on a stretcher into and ambulance. She was looked at and released to go to the hospital and get looked at.


We all see car crashes and accidents on TV and in the movies, but I will not lie, it is one of the scariest things to witness in real life. To all those who have not witnessed and accident I hope you never do, and never see some one you know get in one if you do.

The Hermit and His Castle

There was once a man, who isloated himself onto an island called Hornby. In his youth, he had worked as a Park Ranger for the forestry. As he aged his mind deteriorated, manifesting itself as a mental illness recognized as OCD(Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder) more specifically Hoarding.

His Kingdom, similar yet much broader and wider than those presented to us on that TLC show "Hoaders", was vast, thriving and lushuous. Like any good king he sat in on his throne, a lawn chair setup in the centre of his collection of memories, and watched over his 'subjects' (objects). A minstril in the shape of an old, wooden radio sits next to their king for entertainment.

As he regards his subjects with eager eyes, memories flood through every pipe of the brain, like a newly 'pumped' bath. He sits in the centre, watching each of the carefully carved trails through his memorial kingdom. The saying "One man's trash is another man's treasure" is not lost on him at all. Each piece of his so called 'junk' held a specific and special memory which kept this lonely king's soul alive.

His collection, his material memoire, cost him his princess and his queen. The life of a king amongst inanimate subjects took a toll on the royal family of his Island Kingdom. His method of coping was to keep more, and more, and more. His kingdom expanded and grew, like a roman general commanding a legion of men across Europe. He placed each object, each subject into its respected place. Old baby carriages with old baby carriages, tires there, coat hangers here...oh and over there an elephant lamp fraternizing with the lawn gnomes.

A soul tortured by his illness. He covered his house with his physical epic. He discovered upon the water front a place where he could bath, the rocks held the heat of the sun which warmed the salt water. His life held meaning within his objects, his objects showed him his worth. A king looks down at his subjects and the subjects kneel before their king.

Life continued on as normal, bathing in the ocean, resting upon his throne with his radio minstral playing. He looked out upon his empire, with a reminiscent gaze. Adoring, memorizing, organizing.

As history has shown every man, great or small, every glorified empire must tumble into rubble. Even those created out of the rubble of exiled objects. The sound of backhoes, bulldozers and excavators unvieled themselves at his door step. They began excavating his collection, burning his memoire, erasing the memories he held.

A warrent had been issued by the Island Counsil to clean up his property. Our king was arrested for attempting to stop the crew. He was held, and made to watch his world be crushed around him. His kingdom burned to the ground, and with it all everything he held dear, everything that was special (which was everything mind you) was tossed into the flames.

A man who was made to watch everything he owned being taken from him, having to watch his own world being destroyed before his eyes. A true story which happened to a man on Hornby Island, near my home town. He was an old fellow who was a legitimate 'hoader', his illness progressed over time and had caused his wife and daughter to leave him. He was a park ranger before retirement, smart and articulate. A lonely soul, who was not offered much compensation for this, except access and information on mental health services he can contact.

I thought I would share a rather breif story about this man. As when I had heard about this story from the police officer that had to arrest this poor man for interferance, I was taken back, a bit hurt and got rather worked up over the injustice of it. The officer, my mom's boyfriend, had a good and working relationship with the man and liked him very much, as he caused no trouble to no one. His only flaw was that he collected, sorted and hoarded objects of 'meaning' to him. There were some health issues with the property, so for that I can understand, yet I still can not help to feel terrible that my province, and that this has happened so close to my home.

This was the only thing that I could think of to do for him, was to share the story with those of you who do read my blog. I feel bad for the man and I could not imagine having to watch my world fall around me. Having my property invaded by judging others who hold their wealth and power over the heads of others.

Thank you for reading this, as it is stories like these that have influenced my studies in Psychology and my possible persuit into Law.

New Job

Okay, although I don't normally write blogs about my day but I want to try something new. I recently start a new job as a 'Youth Service Officer', working for Service Canada. I, essentially, just deal with youth/students (university included) and help them find work in my tiny town. At least that is the official job description.


Well to start some background, I use to work for Starbucks for about 2years, I am rounding up of course. Being a lowly 'barista' and constantly working with the public, as (I am sure) many of you know is an experience like none other. People are interesting creatures.


Now working for Starbucks, I saw my fair share of these interesting people and often wondered where they all came from. People pissed off about their day, people who had no clue what or where they were, people who just plain old had no clue, and some people who were just held a grudge with me because I said "Hi, how are you doing today?"


Now, I don't know about you all and where you are from but my home town of Campbell River houses some of the oddest and most 'interesting' people I have ever seen. Now, Campbell River (CR) is a small town that barely made it to call itself a city. It could be all small towns/cities, but I know for sure CR houses the most facinatingly interesting people.


As I stated above, I use to wonder where all these people had come from when they came to Starbucks. Now working in the public service, I wonder it even more. Our office opens up at 8:30 in the morning (as per most goverment workplaces, I think?).


Well, to start off this morning an astranged hippy walks in carrying nothing but a white slip of paper. Now I solely work with Youth, sadly have limited knowledge on our other services. Still this hippy appeared to be in a rush, as he dropped the paper on my table like desk. Before the paper even hit the desk he was moving out the door, yelling as he did "This is for (Hippy2)".


Needless to say, I had no idea what to do with this appearent white piece of paper. Turns out it was a doctors note. When the receptionist saw this, and/or heard this, she quickly picked up the piece of paper from my desk. Nearly spilling my coffee, with ninja like speed, my 60 something year old receptionist grab the guys shoulder and command he wait a second.


At the time, I was much too in shock to hold back a laugh much less brace myself for the quickness of the my near retired receptionist. I caught the cup coffee in time to hear Hippy Squared from her car (which had been running the entire time, as if she was the get away car during a Bank Robbery) yelling her Social Insurance Number out to her boyfriend (Hippy1) who was repeating it at an equal volume in the doorway.


Already by 9:30am, I was scared, confused, amazed, flustered, histerical, and nearly burned. This day continued on much the same way. The day continued to rise and fall with each client, much like a heart beat monitor. Bleep, Bleep. All that could good through my head "first week down, 3 more months to go."




"The truth about people lies not in the way they present themselves to you, but in the way they don't." - Authors Note 04

The Cherub and The Sinner

There is a room,

Locked behind a wooden door,

That lies long forgotten.

A nursery and a tomb

Silhouetted by shelves

A child and a skull sit opposite.

The child, born of innocence,

Thousand years of tolerance

Sat upon the dusty shelf.

A single star,

Silently swinging sorrow,

Like a spot light upon a stage.

The skull sits in silence,

Locked eternally with a smirk

The sin of eternity.

In the center,

A world spins like a top,

About to topple over.

The Cherub and the Sinner,

Place bets on the spilling souls,

Like sailors lost at sea.

There exists a single room,

Locked behind a forgotten door,

Where time places no tole

On the wicked

Nor upon the innocence,

She merely watches from above

Like a star singing sorrow.

"In each and every soul which wonders are fair earth there exists a soul of equal eloquence to them self. The issue lies not with their existence but with there location in relation to each other. It is our job not only acknowledge their existence but to find them and prove to ourself and them that they are that destiny." - Authors Note 55

Writersblock

Lately, being the past 2 months, my writing has been suffering from lack of inspiration and anything nothing to write about. Life still ticks away as if I were still able to write. It's a writersblock which masons stop and marvell at. It is like an ailment or illness which shows no sign of slowing down or curing itself anytime soon.

There is a black leather notebook which rests on my bed and torments the mind of a young writer. Every once and a while the pen and I resolve the differences between us and scribble some words in it. I start to wonder if inspiration is like the flame of a candle flickering, but once it has devoured the wick, the flame is no more. It seems to me that the tiny voice of the internal critic finds twice as many faults as their are words.

It is a sad story when a writer loses the elegant music of the squabbling of pen on paper. When the writer realizes the words he chooses are the same as the ones before, and before that. The meanings, the ideology, the criticism he offers to himself mean nothing more to the soul as the gray sky does to the earth below.

I began to wonder if there may exist a cure for this type of writersblock or if it is the punishment for an unconscious crime. It is hard to target the small clog in the clog in the circuts of the brain. Perhaps the coffee I drink every day has finally stopped the part of the brain that ignites when one gathers inspiration.

"Disillusion is a natural stage that follows the holding of an illusion."
- Susan Shaughnessy

I know I have neglected my blog, and I apologize to you few followers. I could give the excuses such as: I had exams and I was moving back home but no one likes excuses. So to hopefully make up for the sin of neglecting ones blog, so here are a few poems which I have wrote recently. Thank you.

Sounds of Life

The sounds of strings fill the silence

A being asleep within the emptiness

Swollen cavern, hollow emotions

Personal warfare, Breaking nature.

Violins playing the chorus of life

Guitars strumming the sorrow of death

Chelos echoing the truths of love

The beginning of the awakening.

Transformation of angst to anxiety

reason watching over impulse

Like parental intuition,

When the stones settle at the bottom

Our lives shift the tides of times

Melting the cubes of ice

As they wait for our lives to flow.

Heaven's Hell

There exists a small world

Twisted and torn

Like a child's toy

Kept from destruction

Under watchful eyes.

A world born without thought

Without rhyme or reason

Irrational impulses

As the blooming of blossoms

And the spinning of silken webs.

Walking the endless hallways

The maze of instinct

Encircling environment

The planetary hell

Sanctuary to abomination.

Words of wonder

Palace for forgotten entities

Creatures and deities

Life without hierarchy

All forgot, all for naught

There exists a small world

Twisted and torn

A where life thrives

A perfect imperfection

Welcome to heaven's hell.

Leather-Bound

Spin and Leather-bound

The minds of men

A collective consciousness

The awakening of the Celestine

Raining fire and brimstone

Words, phrases, strengthened manipulation

The sicken wisdom of manner

Dying like a polluted tree

Open the eyes of man

The islands which we live

Breathing the breath of man

Adopt adaptation

Wither the withering height

Embrace eternity

Walk face first into the light

Darkness blooms like leaves

Swallow the pride

Lay down, roll over, beg

It is a dogs life after all.