THE FOLKS BACK HOME WERE OK

Hanns F Skoutajan

When I saw pictures of Canada’s CF18s flying in formation from Cold Lake,

Alberta , eastward to Kuwait to join in the Middle East quagmire I was reminded

of the many who have left our shores to fight abroad. They all did so assured

that the folks back home were OK.

The only time that the sovereign soil of Canada was violated was 202 years ago.

Canada wasn’t all that sovereign at the time but a colony of Britain. On that

occasion, the Anglo-American war, 1812 - 1814, our neighbours to the south

invaded Upper and Lower Canada, as they were then named. For a time they

took York (Muddy York now Toronto). However, in each case what became the

Dominion of Canada remained intact. General Isaac Brock continues to look

down from his high pedestal at a united and intact nation.

Two years ago, the 200th anniversary of that war was celebrated in all the

various venues where fighting had occurred eg. Queenston Heights, Chrysler’s

Farm, Amherstberg and others. Actors in the military uniforms of that time faced

off in friendly combat with the America enemy. Not having been born in Canada

but having been received as an immigrant and refugee from the Nazi scourge in

1939 gives me a keen appreciation of this country, its history and hospitality.

Gwyn Dyer in his recent book: Canada in the Great Power Game, 1914 - 2014

gives an exciting account of our nation and its forces in the global conflicts of our

time. He begins with the role played by Canadian soldiers in the Boer War in

South Africa. Fourteen years later Canada once more answered the call of the

Mother Land to fight in one of the bloodiest conflicts misnamed The Great War.

What was so great about it is hard to discern except its human losses. In that

conflict , especially in the trenches of France and Belgium, Canadians made a

name for themselves and their country at the cost of thousands of lives. Our men

left our shores reasonably confident that the folks back home would be OK.

Twenty years later hostilities resumed and Britain unlike Canada was threatened

from the skies and from across the Channel. Canada came to the aid of Britain

and attacked the enemy on the sands of Africa, up the boot of Italy , across

France and into the German homeland.

That victory was achieved in the company of US tanks, planes and ships. The

USSR created an eastern front at tremendous loss of life, and eventually took

Berlin the capital. Canada was also involved in the battle against the Japanese

who had allied with Germany. That war ended with the detonation of the first

atomic bombs.

It was a tough war and victory was not always certain, especially not in the first 3

years when the Axis ruled from Egypt to North Cape, from the Pyrenees to the

outskirts of Moscow while Japan island hopped across the Pacific and south east

Asia.

Once again our military left to fight in the knowledge that the folks back home

were OK as they produced food, guns, tanks, planes and ships. Not all was quiet

on the home front. My wife who grew up in Prince Edward Island tells of the

blackouts that her father had to supervise. The siren for their small village was

located on the roof of their house and “was very scary.” She also reminded me of

the U boats that penetrated the Northumberland Straits and on one occasion a

torpedo flew over the prow of the ferry boat.

And there is more , in Korea in the 50s Canadian troops took part in the battle

between north and south, a struggle that ended in a stalemate even to our time.

But Canada also became involved in peacekeeping in a variety of venues.

In his history of that bloody century Dyer does not go beyond 2000 AD although

his title claims 2014 as the terminus. Since then Canadians have been involved

most notably in Afghanistan where they held the fort at Kandahar at the price of

life.

As I think about the history of war in which this country has been involved I am

impressed by the fact that the folks back home were OK. I am of course aware

that those folks back home suffered certain privations such as gas and tire

rationing, as well as using ration stamps to purchase sugar, cheese and meat

etc. My first bicycle purchased in 1944 had wooden pedals,and plastic handgrips.

There were few new cars manufactured and none had chrome embellishments.

It behooves us therefore to countenance the possibility that by declaring war as

we have recently done, we might well suffer an attack. In the last year and

particularly the last few days we have been made conscious of our own

vulnerability.

As those jets and soldiers left Canada for Kuwait to be involved in the battle

against ISIS, war is again at a distance. Our involvement shall be from the sky

and in training other troops and for six months only (?) Dare we wonder how long

our long standing inviolability can last? Are the attacks on members of our forces

in the Richelieu Valley of Quebec and in Ottawa at the War Memorial and under

the Peace Tower of a greater significance or are they but the acts of mentally

unstable individuals whose minds have been fired up by wars far away, who long

for some personal martyrdom?

When Jean Chretien, then prime minister, denied Canadian involvement in Iraq,

he made an important statement in favour of peacekeeping. It has been

questioned by our present prime minister who insists that Canada must be

“involved in the heavy lifting” as though peacekeeping was some light weight

stuff. Ask Romeo D’Allaire about that weight equation.

The world’s political situation is complex indeed. Undoubtedly wars cannot be

won from the skies only and certain roles require boots on the ground, yet I

believe in my heart that Canada should avoid being embroiled in endless war.

The time hopefully will come when forces will be required to stand between

enemies and “keep the peace” as we have done In Cyprus and other places on

behalf of the United Nations.

Dyer quotes Tony Burns who after a fifty year career of war fighting ,

peacekeeping and disarmament negotiations said, “the greatest threat to the

survival of democracy is no longer Russia or the Chinese or any other country

professing an anti-democratic ideology ( think ISIS) BUT WAR ITSELF.”

“The foes we might more readily see as ones genuinely worth fighting ... cannot

be fought militarily.” so McKay and Swift in Warrier Nation . “When ‘Flanders

Fields‘ asks us on Remembrance Day, to “take up the quarrel with the foe,” most

Canadians might be forgiven for wondering, “Which foe might that be?’.. The foe

we might more readily see as one genuinely worth fighting - world hunger,

injustice in the Middle East and the global South, planetary climate change,

capitalism itself, cannot be fought militarily. There is more to the idea of the

peaceable kingdom than mythmaking : it chimes with a good part of Canadian’s

past and present sense of reality”

MYQUEST Oct 26, 2014

For past stories : skoutajanh.blogspot.com

ASHES TO ASHES

Hanns F Skoutajan

Cobwebs, pumpkins and tombstones with the letters RIP (rest in peace) adorn

the lawns of our houses. Children and others not so young dressed in scary

costumes roam the streets knocking on the doors of homes begging for goodies.

“Trick or Treat” is the password of the night.

October 31 is Halloween, the eve of All Hallows, a time in the Christian calendar

when it has been customary to remember the dead, including “saints , martyrs,

and all faithful departed believers.” However, the traditional focus of All Hallows'

Eve revolves around the theme of using humor and ridicule to confront the power

of death.

A few days ago TV screens all across this wide country allowed people to

experience the funerals of Cpl. Nathan Cirillo and Warrant Officer Martin

Rouleau-Couture, and to witness the tears and respect which these two soldiers

elicited in fellow soldiers, dignitaries, friends and family.

On watching the funeral in Hamilton’s Christ Church Cathedral it recalled for me

the many times that I was called on to preside over this sober event. In my forty

years plus of ministry I have performed this ritual at least a thousand times, on

occasion three times in one week.

They were both large and small events. The largest took place in Kingston when

I was the student minister at a small clapboard church building on the north side

of town. The sanctuary could not contain all the mourners and the cars following

the hearse to the cemetery seemed to stretch the entire length of Princess

Street.

The undertaker, an elderly gentleman, had a very strong conviction that all

oncoming traffic should come to a halt in respect for the deceased. It was his

custom to take matters in his own hands by steering straight for the offending

motorists. There was at least one clergyman in the city who refused to drive with

him.

The undertaker always took a circuitous route through the Cataraqui Cemetery

that allowed him to pass the tomb of Sir. John A MacDonald whom he held in

highest esteem. It also lead him past the grave of his beloved wife. He would

always roll down his window, wave and call “Hi there sweetie!”

The smallest funeral took place in the chapel of the funeral establishment in

Toronto just kitty corner from my church. The director was a good friend of mine,

an elder in my congregation and a staunch Mason who made a valiant effort to

recruit me but with no success. He believed strongly that every funeral should

have the benefit of a clergyman. Thus on one occasion the only attendants were

the hearse driver, an estate lawyer, the mortician and me. All I knew about the

deceased who was not a member of my congregation or resident of the

community, was his gender, birth and date and nature of his decease.

On another unforgettable occasion our cortege had to proceed north to a

memorial garden. As we approached the airport where Highway 427 was under

construction I heard the funeral director let out a gasp. He had taken a wrong

turn and found himself leading the entire train of some forty cars through

“Departures,” how appropriate, and then back to the highway. On arriving at the

cemetery there were few straight faces in spite of the solemnity of the occasion.

I also vividly recall the funeral of four small children who had perished in a fire. In

my mind I still see their white coffins before the pulpit in the church. The entire

community was in shock and grief.

Undoubtedly the most significant funerals were those of my parents, ten years

apart. I conducted them because I felt I knew them best and could not

countenance listening to someone who scarcely knew them and whose narrative

might not be quite accurate. However, there was another reason, perhaps more

significant, speaking about them allowed me to unburden my feelings before our

friends.

From time to time we witness state funerals. Who will not forget seeing the lone

and black clad figure of Olivia Chow following on foot the casket of her late

husband Jack Layton to Roy Thomson Hall.

Funerals are for the living, we have heard it said. Unlike Catholics and some

Anglicans I believe that nothing is being done about the eternal fate of the

departed by these rituals. They do, however, reassure and comfort the bereft.

I recall standing by a graveside. The casket had been only partially lowered and

was suspended by strong cords when a soft breeze wafted across the grounds

causing the casket to gently sway. As I said the words of the committal “ Ashes to

ashes and dust to dust...” I had the thought that a loving Giver of All Life was

rocking the cradle of the beloved. Whether I believe it or not it was a source of

comfort to me that I shared with the bereaved.

Death is both a very private but also public phenomenon. The bereaved need

time to experience and express their feelings and receive comfort. The public

need to acknowledge that the deceased is one of us.

Doubtless the mass funerals are a sign of honour and respect but I cannot help

but wonder about the appropriateness of such huge and elaborate gatherings.

However, I needn’t worry, it won’t be happening for me.

Spirit Quest

Oct 31, 2014

more stories can be found at skoutajanh.blogsot.com

DARKNESS INTO LIGHT

Hanns F Skoutajan

“It was a dark and stormy night” - well, in fact, it wasn’t. The surface of the

Straits of Dover were as calm as a mirror. It’s surface reflected the starry sky

above. On either side of the ship, not too far away, lighthouse beams swiveled,

winking at each other in what seemed a friendly manner.

Of course, I was aware of the stormy history of this body of water that connects

the North Sea and the Atlantic Ocean, two continents, one might say. Nor was it

just the weather but politics that had often disturbed this sea.

As I stood on the deck taking in this nocturnal splendour I recalled that a little

more than ten years ago this was a no-man’s land, or sea to be more exact. It

was indeed a dark and stormy time. Britain and Nazi occupied Europe had made

this area a “no sail zone.” U boats, like eels, slunk through the murky depth

looking for their prey. Only occasionally refugees and Canadian airmen prisoners

of war, had managed to escape across in darkness to freedom. Then one day the

Channel teemed with ships and landing craft supported overhead by flights of

bombers and fighters invaded the Nazi fortress and eventually subjugated it.

However, now it was September 1956 and all was still. I was returning to

Germany for the first time to study Christian Social Ethics at the University of

Muenster. I was to delve into the writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Karl Barth and

Helmuth Thielliche. I was, of course, also excited to meet my relatives, those

who had managed to survive the war and their subsequent deportation.

This scene from the deck of the good ship Seven Seas has played on my mind

as I watch, read and hear about the turbulence that is engulfing many parts of the

world , particularly the Middle East. It is the home of the three monotheistic

religions who have peace as their theme.

Thinking about those beacons of friendship from the opposite shores leaves me

wondering if and when peace will descend on those areas of conflict as it had in

Europe. It seems far from possible at times. What will it take to be accomplished?

I am a pacifist at heart but also very conscious that there are limitations to that

ideology. But I have grave doubts, and I emphasize the word “grave,” about the

efficacy of weapons to bring peace to our world. The recent examples of military

action in Iraq, Afghanistan and Libya have demonstrated the futility of war to

bring peace.

We are not alone in our craving for peace. There are people all over the world

and in every age and of every faith who are harkening to the leadership of people

like Albert Einstein, “Peace cannot be kept by force, it can only be achieved by

understanding,” and Martin Luther King “Peace is not merely a distant goal which

we seek but a means by which we arrive at the goal.” These and others refused

to give up on peaceful actions to bring about change often by their own sacrifice.

Don’t argue with me, listen to them.

In a few days time people in this country and abroad will gather at war memorials

to pay tribute to the many who had been robbed of their lives in the dreadful

conflicts of the last 100 years. Prayers will be said and hopefully we will also

petition for an end to all hostilities wherever.

Our world is beset by many problems: epidemics, climate change and its impact

on the environment, food and water scarcity, homelessness and much, much

more, all of them exacerbated by warfare. Nations seem only too ready to spend

vast sums on arms and bomb each other into some primal state leaving millions

starving in refugee camps.

Sorry, I have few answers, but I insist that answers must be found if humanity is

to survive on this planet, and if the resources of Earth are to be equitably shared.

We of the affluent West can’t seem very genuine to those who struggle to survive

on $2 a day while we indulge in ever more frivolous ways of spending our money.

Call me naive but I do not believe that wars will cease until the disparities among

the people of the world are alleviated. The front is not just “out there” in the

deserts and mountains far away. It is here among us. It is not enough to pray for

peace as a cessation of bloodshed, we must also pray for the end of poverty and

for the integrity of creation, else it will be “a dark stormy night” not just out there

but right here among us all.

Spirit Quest

22/09/2014

for more MYQUESTS : skoutajanh.blogspot.com

OH FOR A CUPPA!

Hanns F Skoutajan

My mother nursed me for a long time. Then almost overnight I migrated from the breast to the cup - the coffee cup that is. 

I have had a love/hate relationship with this beverage. There are times when I can scarcely tolerate the drink. But after a short abstinence I am back to it again.

I live in an area of Ottawa where there is a plethora of coffee outlets within easy walking distance and have been informed that there are more to come. Our main street is to undergo the construction of several new buildings  - condos, offices with stores on ground level. It seems that each of them will house a coffee outlet. Undoubtedly all of them will do well.

I grew up - the first ten year of my life - in a city in Czechoslovakia in those halcyon days before the war broke out. It was the custom of my mother to take me downtown to the market square to shop. This excursion usually concluded with a visit to the Kafe Falk .

Those familiar with the European culture will appreciate that cafes are very special places serving not only coffee, not in mugs but in cup and saucer, along with a variety of luscious pastries. Kafe Falk was no exception. Mother ordered Kafe mit Schlag, that is coffee with a large dollop of whipped cream on top. The waiter properly attired in a black suit also brought a platter of Viennese pastries from which I was allowed to select one, usually a cream puff or a Sacher Torte.

The Kafe Falk also offered a variety of picture magazines for us to peruse while we enjoyed this respite from our shopping. In the afternoon there was usually a string trio and piano performing beautiful music, making for a very relaxing and addictive atmosphere. Given those circumstances it is surprising that I did not become a fat kid but only a spoiled brat.

All this came to a sudden end when we were forced to flee the invading German army.

We found refuge in Scotland where they only drank tea with scones or biscuits that in no way measured up to what I had been accustomed.

After coming to Canada with the outbreak of war coffee became a rather scarce commodity and unaffordable for us poor settlers. Mother brewed a drink made with barley and chicory roots that bore some vague resemblance to coffee. It was cheap and hot but I acquired no taste for it. Only after the war and migrating east did we revert to drinking real coffee. However, cafes such as I recalled from “back home” were only found in the big city and even there were rather scarce. I missed them greatly.

At college I frequented the student coffee shop which had decent coffee but was also a place for good discussions and a venue for making dates.

I wrote this piece sitting in the bay window of one of my favourite coffee emporia. It too is a place for conversation and I have made many new friends in this pleasant environment.

Most of my drinking companions prefer organic coffee and like to support shops that offer “fair trade” products. Having visited Costa Rica on several occasions I became informed that the best coffee comes from beans grown in the shade. Those plantations are usually small and family run. However, much of the arable land is used for growing large crops of coffee, cash crops that are bought by large American corporations. It is a huge industry of great economic importance for that small and beautiful country.

My son spent two years in Ethiopia which is reputedly the birthplace of coffee. My spouse visited him and was honoured at several coffee ceremonies by local people which take a good deal of time. The beans were ground, roasted and brewed in her presence with flower petals strewn about.  The brew is very strong and rather overwhelming for her who is not a coffee drinker, pity! 

The coffee drinking public in this country has acquired some specialized tastes for drinks such as latte, cappuccino and  espresso etc. Plain java is no longer good enough. Have you ever noticed how much sugar people shovel into their “double double?” It becomes a coffee flavoured syrup.

As I sit and enjoy my cuppa I recall my early experiences with coffee drinking. For me to enjoy my coffee respite there are other factors of importance that impinge, not the least of which is ambiance. It is a total experience, olfactory, the aroma of brewing coffee, comfort of the the venue, the sounds and of course the company of friends. But there are also times when I long for a quiet place to drink where I can indulge my thoughts and memories and write them down. Thus another blog! 

So I lift my cup to you. Enjoy! Meet me here sometime. I’ll treat you if you don’t mind listening to my tales. 

Spirit Quest 18’10/2014       

H A R V E S T H O M E !

Hanns F Skoutajan

“We plough the fields and scatter,

the good seed o’er the land,

but what comes up we know not,

it’s never what we planned.”

This spoof on the well-known Thanksgiving hymn has more than a grain of truth in it.

Farming entails a gamble. It is hedged by many factors not the least of which is the

weather. A promising crop one day may turn from hope to despair by a night of frost,

rain or as recently in Calgary, a snow storm. A bumper crop also has its nemesis as the

price of the produce plummets at the elevator. Years ago farmers banded together to

form co-ops to market their produce and thus to some extent control the price. Thus the

Wheat Pool of Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta came into being. They also set up

a Wheat Board, now scuttled by a pro business, corporation-loving government.

No, farming is not for the faint of heart. Today more and more crop production is in the

hands of large companies who are able to amass huge tracts of land, pay the ever

rising insurance rates and finance expensive farm machinery. The so-called family farm

where all members of the family were involved in its operation is quickly disappearing.

Children doing chores is condemned as exploitative and cheap labour.

My own experience with agriculture was thankfully short although I do not regret one

moment of it. By the time I was 11 years of age I was able to milk cows, harness horses,

drive them and ride bareback. We couldn’t afford a saddle. I was even growing some

muscles from tasks such as cleaning the barn and picking stones from the fields.

My parents and I along with several hundred refugees from the German invasion of our

homeland were settled on very marginal land in north-western Saskatchewan,100 miles

north of North Battleford. Another group of similar size was sent to the Peace River area

near Dawson Creek in British Columbia. We were settled on abandoned homesteads

and soon discovered why they had been abandoned in the depression. However, this

was the condition of our admission to this land of refuge.

Our farms were small, 160 acres, a quarter section. Mixed farming is what they called

it. Father preferred “ mixed-up farming” to better describe our furtive efforts. We started

with two cows, a team of horses, two pigs in high hope of procreation and 25 chicken,

housed in a tumbledown barn. Every four farms were supplied with basic farm

implements, second hand of course and needy of repair always at crucial times.

I recall a real feeling of envy when years later I visited Upper Canada Village near

Morrisburg, Ontario and beheld what our predecessors of the 19th and early 20th

century had to work with.

We lasted barely 3 years. Our final harvest was a disaster. The crop yield was 11

bushels to the acre of wheat. Even more devastating was the presence of wild oats,

little black kernels among the “golden wheat.”

In the turmoil of thrashing, the noise of the tractor and the roar of the thrashing

machine , the coming and going of the wagons from the fields loaded with sheaves, I

saw a boy arrive on a bicycle. He looked around and then came to me and showed me

a letter and asked me whether I knew the man with the funny name. It was a telegram

for my father. After handing it over to him the lad mounted his bike and rode off 15 miles

to the village, the terminal of the rail line, and as far as we were concerned, the end of

civilization.

Father opened the telegram from his friend and former colleague in the field of

journalism who was visiting Toronto from Britain. He urged my father to drop everything

and come to the big city where he had contacts for employment in the growing war

industry.

My father didn’t need much persuasion. The handwriting was on the wall. A few days

later we saw him off on the 4 day rail journey to the capitol of Ontario. The train ticket

used up most of the profits from our harvest. Mother and I continued on the farm

liquidating the live stock and all other possessions. It was the end of our farming

experience. Four months later we joined him in Toronto.

However, there were some success stories. In 2007, while with a film crew visiting the

area of our misadventure, I encountered a farmer who had done quite well.

Our crew stood at the intersection of two roads contemplating a dilapidated shack that

had once upon a time housed one of our immigrant families. Presently a truck churned

its way through the Saskatchewan gumbo, it was spring, and came to a halt. The driver

turned out to be a man who had been part of our group back in 1939. He was my age

and I had known him well. His parents had done reasonably well and remained on the

land while many of our fellow would-be farmers had fled to the city. He bought and

rented land from the new refugees which was, of course, dirt cheap. With much hard

work and luck he made a go of it. He expanded his operation and then turned it over to

his son who was standing with me on this muddy intersection, who had in turn

bequeathed the farm to his two sons. Theirs is now one of the best farm operations in

the district. There are several other success stories.

It is harvest time across this vast land. By the time you read this story “the sheaves will

have been gathered in, hopefully before the winter’s storms begin.” Canadians and

indeed all the people of the world are dependent on the fruits of the land and of the sea.

At a recent church service that I attended the ministers and their lay assistants sought

to demonstrate the biblical reference to bread, “I am the bread of life.” ( John 6 : 35.)

While the service was progressing, the readings, the prayers and hymns, the minister

made bread, mixing the ingredients and preparing the yeast. Members of the

congregation took turns kneading the dough. It was then taken to the church kitchen

and placed in the oven. Next Sunday the bread was shared with all the congregation. It

was a very memorable teaching occasion. The Word became alive and nurturing.

On Thanksgiving Sunday the chancel of churches will be adorned with corn stalks,

pumpkins, squash and other colourful fruit of the land. We will be reminded that our

food comes from the land and the sea, and requires farmers and fishermen involved in

often risky ventures to replenish our tables. 

Thus:

Come ye thankful people, come,

Sing the song of harvest home.

Spirit Quest 10/10/2014

BEFORE WE FLY AWAY

Hanns F Skoutajan

“Aging is not for sissies,” we have often been told by those who are well

into the process or have been keen observers of such times. Being familiar

with the aging process I can only agree.

“The days of your life are three score years and ten (70) or if by reason of

strength they are four score (80)” (Pslam 90) writes the wise old man in that

portion of the Old Testament known as the Wisdom Literature.

Opening the door of the medicine cabinet in our bathroom I recognize it for

what it is, a space for jars filled with ointment to make a tired skin less old,

of vials of prescription drugs and pills to cope with a variety of ailments, of

vitamins and minerals and other remedies to make these times of aging

more tolerable. Our calendar is dotted with appointments with specialists

and therapists.

That psalmist of long ago comments that these latter days are “only toil and

trouble,” obviously not for sissies, and then comforts us “that they are soon

gone and we fly away.” Aging is entering upon the final boarding process

of this journey of life. He goes on to advise us “to so number our days that

we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

As we accumulate mileage on the tires of our tired bodies we spend time

contemplating where we have arrived. Since birth we have been involved

in the process of “increasing in wisdom and stature” and hopefully, “in

favour with God and man.” (Luke 2: 52)

On special occasions such as birthdays we are made acutely aware of

what we have become. We are not always content and wish that we had

done more, travelled more extensively, been more diligent in aquiring other

languages, many friends we know have done so, learning to play the piano,

guitar or other musical instrument.I admire those who did. I regret that I

have not written and spoken out more forcefully and wisely on matters of

justice, peace and the health of this planet.

My partner and I have but one grandchild, and are very much aware how

important it is for us to know that our DNA has not been frustrated but will

be passed on to others. It is thrilling to discover in the evidence of her

appearance, manners and attitudes, that there is something of ourselves

alive in her. Both my spouse and I are only children and sometimes wish

that we had had siblings with whom to share the joys and sorrows of living.

We are not alone in this aging process. The world too is changing from the

picture of that beautiful blue ball with white swirls that those first astronauts

beheld not that long ago. Now we see a graying planet, less distinct giving

evidence of the use and abuse of this terrestrial home. Scientists are

involved in the possibility of making a foothold on some other, yet unvisited

planet (we think), to start a new colony, to escape from a ravaged planet

where resources are running low. We have recently been informed that

since that first space journey the number of wild animals on Earth has

halved in the past 40 years according to a new report from the World

Wildlife Fund (WWF) and the Zoological Society of London (ZSL).

On the surface of the world there is much discord among the residents, an

interminable conflict in the Middle East, international discord as in western

Europe ( Russia and the Ukraine), in the streets of Hong Kong , while ebola

ravages the people of western Africa.

In our more fortunate countries, Europe, North America and Australia the

rich make strides to become ever richer using up resources that ought to

be shared with all of human kind. Many others seem stagnated in their

search for a better life. Extraction rather than conservation is the dominant

activity propagated by the powerful corporation of our the world.

Eckhart Tolle, a spiritual teacher who is not aligned with any particular

religion or tradition, conveys a simple yet profound message. In his

lectures and books, particularly in A New Earth: Awakening to Life’s

Purpose he focuses on Being rather than Becoming, enjoying the Power of

the Now. When thinking about gaining a heart of wisdom I can think of no

better primer to help us conquer the ego individually and globally. He gently

and in very practical terns leads us to a new consciousness to experience

who we truly are without regrets.

Not long ago we gathered in our daughter’s beautiful garden with many

friends and family to celebrate the four score milestone of my spouse. We

did a lot of reminiscing. We had travelled many miles together and

experienced events with many of them “ in sickness and in health.” Now we

rejoiced in this time of an arrival.

Hopefully there will be more years ahead to do things that need to be done,

blogs to be written, friendships to be enjoyed, our Being to be cherished

until we too “shall fly away.”

Spirit Quest 07/10/2014

IT’S GREED, INDEED!

Hanns F Skoutajan

“There is strength in numbers.” That was the message that the Sunday

School teacher illustrated to the children at a recent service.

About a dozen or more youngsters gathered around her on the chancel

steps in the presence of the congregation. I often feel that the parents and

other worshippers, let alone the children, learn more from this “teaching

moment” than they do from the sermon to follow.

On this occasion the teacher reached into a bag and brought out a pencil.

She handed the pencil to one of the younger children and asked her to

break it. The child looked a bit startled, she was usually admonished not to

do this destructive deed. Nevertheless, with all her strength she bent and

broke it into two pieces. Once more the teacher reached into her bag and

this time brought out a bundle of six pencils held together by an elastic. The

teacher now gave the pencils to an older, bigger, stronger child. He applied

his power to the task but try as he might he could not break the collected

pencils. The combined pencils successfully resisted him.

It was, of course, a simple illustration that there is strength in numbers -

simple but not simplistic. It is a lesson that will be well remembered by all.

The news that day had to do with the massive protest marches that were

taking place in New York, Toronto, Vancouver and many other places

throughout the world. Their message was loud and clear calling on

governments and industry to curb the activities that cause global warming.

The huge rally in Manhattan came auspiciously a day before the UN

Climate Summit, a gathering that our own prime minister decided not to

attend. Instead he sent Leona Aglukkaq, minister for the environment in the

Harper cabinet who spoke to a sparse audience at the UN and never

mentioned the word “oil.”

There was a time when Canadians could point accusingly at other

countries for their infractions of human rights, the production of weapons of

mass destruction and invasion of sovereign territory of neighouring states

as well as environmental pollution. Evil was always remote from our

borders. Today the citizens of this Peaceable Kingdom no longer have that

luxury inasmuch as we have become the producers of significant amounts

of greenhouse gases. We, courtesy of Fort MacMurray, are now in the big

league of polluters. Not only the mining but the transporting of the bitumen,

is a risky business. At the end of the line this fossil fuel is sold to be burned

to produce energy and thus add further to the smog that hangs over such

countries as China and India. The once beautiful Gaia that the first

astronauts beheld from outer space has become besmirched with pollution.

Numerous pipelines are on the planning boards to be built to transport

Alberta’s bitumen south via the Keystone XL conduit, awaiting Obama’s

approval, or west over the mountains by way of the Northern Gateway to

Kitimat from whence it is to be shipped by supertankers through the

precarious passages to the Pacific ocean. The construction of this pipeline

has been vigorously opposed by First Nation People who feel that their

native lands are being violated. Oil spills would have devastating affects on

the pristine wilderness.

I have recently been reading This Changes Everything in which Naomi

Klein Illustrates and makes the case against the corporate invasion of the

world’s ecology. She documents the assault being made on this globe, and

it is, indeed, global in extent. Bill McKibben whom she quotes frequently,

who is one of the most outspoke leaders against global ecological

degradation, made the point that the petroleum industry has enormous

financial resources but the people have the numbers as has been shown in

recent demonstrations.

Our prime minister prides himself on the free trade deals that he has been

able to sign, with Europe and the Orient. This, he maintains, will bring

significant investments to Canada which will translate into jobs and wealth

that will make Canada a truly extractive giant.

Free trade agreements beginning with NAFTA and the MAI have included

what is known as Chapter 11, a provision that allows corporations to sue

foreign governments that dare to pass legislation to protect their

environment to the detriment of the investors. It is a totally undemocratic

arrangement inasmuch as it rudely overruns the wishes of citizens in favour

of the multinational corporations. The judicial process is carried out in

courts over which the country affected has no control.

We may recall the Doomsday Clock, a count down to a possible politically

related global catastrophe, such as a nuclear war that would bring

civilization to an end. However, today, there is a different doomsday threat

as the amount of CO2 emissions climbs ever higher moving the world ever

closer to a point of no return at which global warming takes on a life of its

own and human technology no longer has the power to reverse it. Already

we are witnessing changing weather patterns, to wit: storms, drought,

flooding and other unusual climate experienced also in our own country.

Unfortunately there are still those who remain unconvinced by the

testimony of scientists, who prefer not to believe that which stands in the

way of their ability to make more profits, simply put, their greed.

Yet, as is evident, all over the world more and more people are deeply

concerned where this “economic development” is leading us. It is

undoubtedly the most important issue facing the people of the world. Ban

Ki-moon, the Secretary General of the United Nations, has stated that,

“Climate change is the defining issue of our time. It is not a distant threat. It

is coming and approaching much, much faster than we may think.” As I

looked at the assembled children at church I could not help but wonder

about their future.

It has been stated that there is No Second Chance. Once having destroyed

Nature it is difficult if not impossible to rebuild. Nature can do without us but

we cannot do without it. Nature is not our enemy, although we often treat it

as an entity to be subdued. Rather, we need to treat it as a friend.

Remember the Children’s Moment at my church - individually we can be

broken but together we are strong to resist the forces of greed. The

catchword of our time is: UNITE!

Spirit Quest 28/09/2014

PS: This just in and Three Cheers!

BERLIN, Sept 25 (Reuters) - Germany will not sign a trade pact

between Canada and the European Union unless an investment

protection clause allowing companies to take cross-border legal action

against governments is scrapped, Germany's economy minister said

on Thursday.