Kevin O'Leary is a Canadian Businessman, Investor, and all around douche in my opinion. Remember that a douche is a purely useless and unnecessary product that increases infection from within. When asked to comment on the fact that the wealth of the world's 85 richest people is equal to the 3.5 billion poorest people, he said he thought it was fantastic because it inspires people, gets them motivated to want better for themselves. To me, that fact shows blatant inequality ... so I guess O'Leary is fine with that.
Watch that clip HERE
Now when I first heard him say this, I was choked. I tried to vocalize to my hunny beside me, but as I tried to formulate a sentence ... the words were just not there. They kept changing and crumbling away like crumbs from a cookie as I tried desperately to figure out and put into words, exactly what is wrong with O'Leary's opinion. I guess he likely has some kind of degree that gives him much more credit than I hold, but I have one thing he doesn't have. The experience of starting over from very very little. I was discharged from my bankruptcy about two years ago and am now finally re-building my credit. I've been in this process for about a year now, and still am not at a place deemed acceptable for prime rates. This is after putting $1100 down on a GIC to secure my credit card! For Kevin O'Leary to imply that it is somehow something that anyone can easily do, just shows a clear and vivid disconnect from reality.
I've said this before, why are the people making the big decisions always rich? Rich and poor see the world differently. I've been both ... rich by my standards, and poor by many. I am different today because I spent a few years without credit. I put the time in keeping my eyes peeled for spare change on the street, cramming napkins in my purse for TP, and stealing butter pads from work to fry my Rice-a-Roni in! Those days saw me absolutely broke until my assistance check came in. There's a whole psychology experiment O'Leary should look into before he speaks on this again; the psychology of desperation that one very quickly feels when on social assistance aka Welfare. I worked two jobs on Queen's campus and barely made ends meet. And ... let's just say that it sometimes felt as though the workers at the office were simply playing fish as they would snail-mail me pages upon pages of bullshit instead of sending me the assistance I was entitled and promised. Not important enough to call on the phone. Not important at all.
In 2014 more than ever, it takes money to make money because it takes money to borrow money. I know there are success stories. I worked with one; a young Asian man lands in Ontario and with very broken English asks a restaurant owner for a job. Now some thirty years later, he is head chef at that same restaurant, owns several rental homes in the city, and grows some of the most exquisite orchids you'll ever see. But that is not happening today. O'Leary would be quite surprised to hear how many new hires are unable to afford a proper uniform before that first paycheck even. Ten years ago I worked for $12.50 an hour arranging the import of cars into Ontario. Today that job would be strictly minimum wage, yet rent is easily $250 more expensive than it was back then.
I also don't hold any kind of degree in psychology in order to express the lunacy in O'Leary's thinking from a clinical standpoint. But once again, what I have is even better. I have the experience of wrestling the inner voice telling me I suck. Cyclical thinking drowned me in a mantra about how ineffective, incapable, and worthless I was. How could I look up to the 1% and aspire to be like them, when every cell in my body believed me incapable of even the most menial of tasks. And why on earth would I feel this way? Because I have no real schooling in any one field, I have experience but not really successes, and I hold no accreditation to hang on any wall. I should shouldn't I? My high school reunion tells me I'm an underachiever. I have nothing tangible to show for my experiences, only short precis phrases on my tired resume.
I am the average minimum-wage worker in Canada. And with so many positions to fill, I should have my choice right? Perhaps, if one is willing to turn a blind eye to an employer's disregard for our Country's employment standards, but I for one am not. I could give you example after example of employers in this very city who break code on the daily. Another common view these days is seeing middle-aged university and college graduates selling clothing in the mall.
As O'Leary and his kind look down upon the 3.5 billion poorest, they see programs and opportunities abound. And for those looking up at the 1% all they can see are restrictions and guidelines that they don't meet. Employment requires education and education requires money. O'Leary's opinion is outdated and a bleary-eyed drunken-with-wealth view of someone else's reality. It's not logical. And it's not truth. Why the hell is he up there on a pedestal as though he speaks truth???
A final question for the douche: How can you have an educated and complete understanding of the world from that strictly near-sighted and antiquated viewpoint?
Friday, 24 January 2014
Tuesday, 21 January 2014
Spotlight on the Canadian Designated Grower.
We've heard about it happening, we all know someone it's happened to. Do you know what happens to a person when a drastic change occurs in their life? Any change affects us, but a change where daily practices, routines, and habits are ceased, is especially difficult. It matters not whether you're trading stocks for a portfolio of clients or making daily meals and snacks for your child, when the need for this routine suddenly disappears, it's life-changing.
Here's an example. Amy has a six year old daughter named Riley with special needs that has delayed her speech and cognition. Amy has built her life around Riley with every waking moment planned and prepared for. Riley's special health needs lowered her life expectancy and she suddenly passed last year, and Amy is still stuck in transition. All she sees are the things she doesn't need to do anymore, and the little angel she doesn't have to do it for. Can you imagine having that go through your mind several times a day for a year? Moving on is hard to do? Ya .. they don't know the half of it!
Here's another. My 62 year old neighbor decided to take an early retirement package from work and check out early. His whole family was excited for him, as was he. They talked about possible trips and projects. But when it happened it was like an avalanche came down around him, sucking out all of the air. As he lay in bed not hearing the alarm that went off every single day for the last 42 years, he could think of absolutely no reason to get up. Usefulness is not an intangible thing, it's a feeling yes, but a feeling that corresponds with self-esteem and purpose. Kids are overflowing with this usually, this drive to do, to learn, to make. But Cliff could think of nothing now for his routine was gone, his life simply unimportant.
I've heard of widows who make lists each night to preemptively protect themselves from the possibility of having nothing to do the next day. Some quilt and knit for others, some bake and donate to the needy, and some find volunteer positions to fill the empty days. And of course humans can be highly adaptable, but drastic changes to the basic framework of a person's day, takes more than some of us are equipped with. I've said it before, we are biologically resilient and mentally fragile ... even the best of us.
So what point am I trying to make here? Well at the risk of being called a broken record, here I go again bringing yet another blog post around to the plant. There are some 4200 designated growers in Canada as of November 2013. These are simply green-thumbed compassionate gardeners who have agreed to grow medicine for other legal medical marijuana card-holders. Many of them are also legal medical marijuana patients who cannot work due to their own chronic pain and health problems. The exchange of monetary compensation is decided between the two consenting adults as well as the strain of plants grown, usually based on individual medical need. And alas a partnership is born.
As many of us know, the whole program has been re-vamped. Some designated growers have already gotten their pink slip from Health Canada. But unlike Cliff they're not given a package, or even reimbursed for the expensive equipment they bought or made in order to grow this medicine. They are simply told that their assistance is no longer needed, and they are to cease production and destroy all product immediately. In other words, a crushingly drastic change occurs sucking out all the air and burying them under. Like both Amy and Cliff, it didn't matter that they knew this was coming. One cannot prepare for some things.
I fear for every single designated grower in Canada. Having battled with the black dog of depression brought on by sudden unemployment, I know what they will feel. These are people who spend hours and hours every single day with those plants. These are gardening geniuses. These are Canadians who have built their lives around those plants and the pride they feel by helping others. Is pride intangible? I can feel it so I guess not. What are they going to with their days? The hours now left unoccupied because their assistance is no longer needed.
The transition occurring right now in this Government-run program is great fodder for a blog. So many aspects to write about. This one is simply shining a spotlight on those green-thumbed compassionate gardening geniuses whose lives are going to drastically change in April. How many will suffocate under that avalanche? How many will be able to adapt? And finally how long will that take?
Power and respect to lawyer John Conroy from British Columbia who is planning an injunction to stop this drastic change. If this short spotlight has you fearful for your fellow earthlings too, then please speak out and spread the word. Growing is therapy, it is purpose, it is pride, and it is someone's everything.
It's just a plant ... let us grow it.
Here's an example. Amy has a six year old daughter named Riley with special needs that has delayed her speech and cognition. Amy has built her life around Riley with every waking moment planned and prepared for. Riley's special health needs lowered her life expectancy and she suddenly passed last year, and Amy is still stuck in transition. All she sees are the things she doesn't need to do anymore, and the little angel she doesn't have to do it for. Can you imagine having that go through your mind several times a day for a year? Moving on is hard to do? Ya .. they don't know the half of it!
Here's another. My 62 year old neighbor decided to take an early retirement package from work and check out early. His whole family was excited for him, as was he. They talked about possible trips and projects. But when it happened it was like an avalanche came down around him, sucking out all of the air. As he lay in bed not hearing the alarm that went off every single day for the last 42 years, he could think of absolutely no reason to get up. Usefulness is not an intangible thing, it's a feeling yes, but a feeling that corresponds with self-esteem and purpose. Kids are overflowing with this usually, this drive to do, to learn, to make. But Cliff could think of nothing now for his routine was gone, his life simply unimportant.
I've heard of widows who make lists each night to preemptively protect themselves from the possibility of having nothing to do the next day. Some quilt and knit for others, some bake and donate to the needy, and some find volunteer positions to fill the empty days. And of course humans can be highly adaptable, but drastic changes to the basic framework of a person's day, takes more than some of us are equipped with. I've said it before, we are biologically resilient and mentally fragile ... even the best of us.
So what point am I trying to make here? Well at the risk of being called a broken record, here I go again bringing yet another blog post around to the plant. There are some 4200 designated growers in Canada as of November 2013. These are simply green-thumbed compassionate gardeners who have agreed to grow medicine for other legal medical marijuana card-holders. Many of them are also legal medical marijuana patients who cannot work due to their own chronic pain and health problems. The exchange of monetary compensation is decided between the two consenting adults as well as the strain of plants grown, usually based on individual medical need. And alas a partnership is born.
As many of us know, the whole program has been re-vamped. Some designated growers have already gotten their pink slip from Health Canada. But unlike Cliff they're not given a package, or even reimbursed for the expensive equipment they bought or made in order to grow this medicine. They are simply told that their assistance is no longer needed, and they are to cease production and destroy all product immediately. In other words, a crushingly drastic change occurs sucking out all the air and burying them under. Like both Amy and Cliff, it didn't matter that they knew this was coming. One cannot prepare for some things.
I fear for every single designated grower in Canada. Having battled with the black dog of depression brought on by sudden unemployment, I know what they will feel. These are people who spend hours and hours every single day with those plants. These are gardening geniuses. These are Canadians who have built their lives around those plants and the pride they feel by helping others. Is pride intangible? I can feel it so I guess not. What are they going to with their days? The hours now left unoccupied because their assistance is no longer needed.
The transition occurring right now in this Government-run program is great fodder for a blog. So many aspects to write about. This one is simply shining a spotlight on those green-thumbed compassionate gardening geniuses whose lives are going to drastically change in April. How many will suffocate under that avalanche? How many will be able to adapt? And finally how long will that take?
Power and respect to lawyer John Conroy from British Columbia who is planning an injunction to stop this drastic change. If this short spotlight has you fearful for your fellow earthlings too, then please speak out and spread the word. Growing is therapy, it is purpose, it is pride, and it is someone's everything.
It's just a plant ... let us grow it.
Sunday, 19 January 2014
Gardening Genius
There really are a million ways to be. I've said this before, Cat Stephens' tune just says it all but for me, the way to BE must be in combination with nature in some way, shape, or form. The word "amazing" can mean so many different things to different people. To many, that might be a musician, an actor, an athlete. But to me, an "amazing" person is someone who can take the root of a plant and make a medicine out of it; someone who can look at a plant or an animal, and know its ailment and its need; someone who can predict weather patterns like he has a direct line to the weather-maker in the sky. Amazing is making everything you need in life with your own two hands. That's what amazing means to me.
Perhaps I'm judging with a bit of confirmation bias here though, because my parents are such people. My whole upbringing was immersed with those values and practices. Nature taken for granted as partner through the seasons. They still have a full garden every summer. And eat the proceeds of that great effort all winter long. My mom has effectively bartered many haircuts--human and canine--and computer repairs for priceless jars of her well-preserved bounty. She has a process for every Mason jar that even my niece Madelyn adheres to like it was her job. As a child, I never knew what canned green beans tasted like, or canned potatoes, or powdered potatoes... ugh ... what a sacrilege for an Irish! I went home recently to get re-calibrated again and it's gotten even more amazing around there! Mom just made her own bug spray with apple cider vinegar and hot peppers from the garden, and at the moment she is in the planning stages of making a tincture with the neighbor's Echinacea crop with a safe and edible solvent.
I guess this is why I feel so much amazement when I read about the people who grow that controversial plant known as Cannabis. We're talking mad-scientist meets tree-hugger. I remember this one patient grower I met on a gardening forum who made his own fertilizer as many of us do. But he took it all a bit further by urinating on his outdoor compost heap. He did this only so often, and only if he hadn't consumed any prescriptions or medicine recently. He took it even further than that by only using his urine if he were sure that all the food he had eaten was organically grown, and that the meat he had consumed was raised eating organically grown grass and grains. He'd let the mixture ripen in the sun--active in its micro-biology and teaming with usable nutrients--and make a tea for his medicinal ladies. He swore they loved it and the pics I saw were glorious trees of medicine. Urine Therapy is a common practice in humans in many other countries actually. Talk about your "OG", that is the epitome of organic growing!
There are gardeners who play music for their girls, always wondering which genre yields the densest flowers. Does photosynthesis like the brass horns of Chicago or the funky guitar groove of Jamiroqai? Others stroke them lovingly as though the contact can woo the medicinal properties into those flower buds. These are people who, like my folks, know that the proceeds from these efforts will come in handy all winter long--handy to say the least. There are those who meditate with, to, and for their plants as if the Goddess herself resides therein. And every single one of these people mourn the loss of even one of those plants, those girls, those green goddesses.
Imagine owning something that gives you flowers that contain medicine. Sounds like a fairy tale doesn't it? But it sort of reminds me of India's love and uber respect for the cow, knowing that alive she gives so much. She gives life and sustenance as though her very existence is for the benefit of mankind.
But is all of this just nonsense, or all in vain as they say? Is the fertilizer more powerful because it was made with love? Or are these gardeners simply seeing what they want to see? We know for a fact that nature has a calming effect on the human, it's been proven time and time again. But do these eccentric and quirky gardening practices really benefit the plant? Well get this, it's been studied extensively. I recently read one such study from Austria on the effect of verbal contact on common marigolds. As it turns out, if you diss your plants and treat them with negative thoughts and words, they'll be a mess of disease and aphid infestation with very few flowers. Our thoughts and our intentions have power. We can affect our surroundings. And so we do ... oftentimes without even knowing it. Yes positivity has a profound strength to it, but much more affective for all living things is the profundity of the negative. It's simply easier for some of us to see, show, and share the negative instead of showing happiness. A part of what we call the human condition?
Taking part in the creation of life is a life-changing thing. Do it on the daily and you will reap the rewards of less stress, better mental clarity, and better sleep just to name a few. There is now a whole field of medicine called Horticultural Therapy. No pill can create the ease of stress and mental well-being that seeing your effort manifest from dormant to living, can create. Pride in yourself and your accomplishments is medicine in itself. My folks do it every single year in both vegetable gardens and flower gardens, as do so many of their neighbors. The magic of life takes place each February in windowsills and under spare light bulbs in the Northern Hemisphere all across this globe; and on front steps, roof-tops, and community garden plots in the rest of the world. For that moment the earth, sun, and moon come together with You, a seed, and the Spirit ... to grow life.
Now that's a team I'd like to be on! Who wants to join me?
This is my Daddy ... the Gardening Genius in my life. Just look at those Lilies !!
Perhaps I'm judging with a bit of confirmation bias here though, because my parents are such people. My whole upbringing was immersed with those values and practices. Nature taken for granted as partner through the seasons. They still have a full garden every summer. And eat the proceeds of that great effort all winter long. My mom has effectively bartered many haircuts--human and canine--and computer repairs for priceless jars of her well-preserved bounty. She has a process for every Mason jar that even my niece Madelyn adheres to like it was her job. As a child, I never knew what canned green beans tasted like, or canned potatoes, or powdered potatoes... ugh ... what a sacrilege for an Irish! I went home recently to get re-calibrated again and it's gotten even more amazing around there! Mom just made her own bug spray with apple cider vinegar and hot peppers from the garden, and at the moment she is in the planning stages of making a tincture with the neighbor's Echinacea crop with a safe and edible solvent.
I guess this is why I feel so much amazement when I read about the people who grow that controversial plant known as Cannabis. We're talking mad-scientist meets tree-hugger. I remember this one patient grower I met on a gardening forum who made his own fertilizer as many of us do. But he took it all a bit further by urinating on his outdoor compost heap. He did this only so often, and only if he hadn't consumed any prescriptions or medicine recently. He took it even further than that by only using his urine if he were sure that all the food he had eaten was organically grown, and that the meat he had consumed was raised eating organically grown grass and grains. He'd let the mixture ripen in the sun--active in its micro-biology and teaming with usable nutrients--and make a tea for his medicinal ladies. He swore they loved it and the pics I saw were glorious trees of medicine. Urine Therapy is a common practice in humans in many other countries actually. Talk about your "OG", that is the epitome of organic growing!
There are gardeners who play music for their girls, always wondering which genre yields the densest flowers. Does photosynthesis like the brass horns of Chicago or the funky guitar groove of Jamiroqai? Others stroke them lovingly as though the contact can woo the medicinal properties into those flower buds. These are people who, like my folks, know that the proceeds from these efforts will come in handy all winter long--handy to say the least. There are those who meditate with, to, and for their plants as if the Goddess herself resides therein. And every single one of these people mourn the loss of even one of those plants, those girls, those green goddesses.
Imagine owning something that gives you flowers that contain medicine. Sounds like a fairy tale doesn't it? But it sort of reminds me of India's love and uber respect for the cow, knowing that alive she gives so much. She gives life and sustenance as though her very existence is for the benefit of mankind.
But is all of this just nonsense, or all in vain as they say? Is the fertilizer more powerful because it was made with love? Or are these gardeners simply seeing what they want to see? We know for a fact that nature has a calming effect on the human, it's been proven time and time again. But do these eccentric and quirky gardening practices really benefit the plant? Well get this, it's been studied extensively. I recently read one such study from Austria on the effect of verbal contact on common marigolds. As it turns out, if you diss your plants and treat them with negative thoughts and words, they'll be a mess of disease and aphid infestation with very few flowers. Our thoughts and our intentions have power. We can affect our surroundings. And so we do ... oftentimes without even knowing it. Yes positivity has a profound strength to it, but much more affective for all living things is the profundity of the negative. It's simply easier for some of us to see, show, and share the negative instead of showing happiness. A part of what we call the human condition?
Taking part in the creation of life is a life-changing thing. Do it on the daily and you will reap the rewards of less stress, better mental clarity, and better sleep just to name a few. There is now a whole field of medicine called Horticultural Therapy. No pill can create the ease of stress and mental well-being that seeing your effort manifest from dormant to living, can create. Pride in yourself and your accomplishments is medicine in itself. My folks do it every single year in both vegetable gardens and flower gardens, as do so many of their neighbors. The magic of life takes place each February in windowsills and under spare light bulbs in the Northern Hemisphere all across this globe; and on front steps, roof-tops, and community garden plots in the rest of the world. For that moment the earth, sun, and moon come together with You, a seed, and the Spirit ... to grow life.
Now that's a team I'd like to be on! Who wants to join me?
This is my Daddy ... the Gardening Genius in my life. Just look at those Lilies !!
Tuesday, 14 January 2014
This Plant
I read this comment below the video of the TED talk with Josh Stanley of "Realm of Caring" ....
"I used to be an overweight alcoholic. I never went for help, but I knew it. Normal people don't go through a bottle of wine every night. I started smoking (Cannabis) this past summer and since then I have quit drinking, pretty much overnight, lost around 10 pounds, have more energy, and I've returned to my creative writing after 9 years. Weed saved my life ... period."
****THAT is why I post about this Plant ad nauseam!!
You can watch that TED talk here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciQ4ErmhO7g
You can watch that TED talk here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciQ4ErmhO7g
Saturday, 11 January 2014
How many shades in your palette?
My folks gave me their old bread-maker a while back. They're a cool thing eh? You throw in a bunch of ingredients in a certain order, close the lid, set the program and walk away. Depending on the cycle you've chosen, you open that lid in an hour or so and pull out the product of your creation.
We're like this you know. We're a product. And I'm not just talking spermie and ovum here, I'm talking more than that. You take everything that has ever happened to you. The big things, and the little things. The things you think about every day and the things that creep into your mind when you forgot to put your guard up. You add into that bread-maker every thing you've ever seen, every word ever spoken to you, every word that you weren't ever supposed to hear but did. Out comes you. The product of all of those things.
So here you are ... hopefully you've chosen to get baked ... ahem rather than just choosing the dough cycle. You're a big ol loaf of bread aka an adult. Enough to make as many as a dozen different sandwiches. And that's what we are. We're not done as the loaf. The loaf is just a phase. We keep on changing as each experience takes hold.
Here's a thought. What if each experience we have, is a color in our personal palette of 'colors' that decide how we see the world and those in it. For instance, my palette of experiences are such that I see addicts and drug users differently than most. Having met a 55 year old father of two who was addicted to IV cocaine, I don't just see people like him in the same way as most. For I saw the love that those children felt. They each had their own rooms while he slept on the couch. I met and cuddled the hamsters they had in their bedrooms living in makeshift empires in a small aquarium. Not ideal.... but livin the dream no doubt by a hamster's standards. So often in life I realize that each person I've let in, has taught me something profound. Ed told me that a friend first introduced him to IV cocaine. "That is not a friend" he said with tears in his eyes. Ed added a color to my palette so I don't see him as I know others would and do.
Another color was added a few years back when I worked with some young teens at a grocery store who were quitting the same time as I was. I asked if they had received their vacation pay and neither had any clue what I was talking about. What the heck is our school system teaching these kids!? Now I see that few kids know the law and are being taken advantage of on the daily. A coffee giant in my city is basically forcing teens into taking on all the responsibilities of a Supervisor, with no pay increase. I myself have seen and spoken out about a certain employer's blatant breaking of the Labor laws. That of course got me fired without cause and paid out. How does this color me? It makes me question, and it makes me congratulate those who follow Employment Standards. The golden arches may not be glamorous, but for the most part in Canada they follow labor code which is worth a lot in my opinion. It's worthy of loyalty that's for sure.
The fact is, every single person I meet colors my view on life. New friends I've made like the 23 year old completely un-vaccinated female who glows with health and beauty. To another guy who would literally give you the shirt off of his back who is likely sitting in jail cuz he helped some friends ease their aches and pains with a plant. I met a woman who couldn't conceive until she quit eating all grains and was preggers in a few months. That makes me see bread, oatmeal, and a lot of other food differently. Watched on tv a young M.D. who said that she just had to stop feeling. She had realized long ago that her feelings weren't always real, but her thoughts were. So she found it progressively easier to immerse herself in schooling. That literally changed a color for me. It gave me a way to deal with mental chatter and cyclical thinking that evokes sadness for me. Change your thoughts~change your feelings.
I guess you could say that this palette thing just keeps changing to perpetuity. The number of shades is still your choice. Heck, some of us insist on keeping their palette very black and white! In plain speak, my perception keeps changing with each experience I have, each person I meet, each day that passes.
Hmmm ... maybe I should have gone with the spice rack analogy. Cuz I think I like a lotta spice in my life! How about you?
We're like this you know. We're a product. And I'm not just talking spermie and ovum here, I'm talking more than that. You take everything that has ever happened to you. The big things, and the little things. The things you think about every day and the things that creep into your mind when you forgot to put your guard up. You add into that bread-maker every thing you've ever seen, every word ever spoken to you, every word that you weren't ever supposed to hear but did. Out comes you. The product of all of those things.
So here you are ... hopefully you've chosen to get baked ... ahem rather than just choosing the dough cycle. You're a big ol loaf of bread aka an adult. Enough to make as many as a dozen different sandwiches. And that's what we are. We're not done as the loaf. The loaf is just a phase. We keep on changing as each experience takes hold.
Here's a thought. What if each experience we have, is a color in our personal palette of 'colors' that decide how we see the world and those in it. For instance, my palette of experiences are such that I see addicts and drug users differently than most. Having met a 55 year old father of two who was addicted to IV cocaine, I don't just see people like him in the same way as most. For I saw the love that those children felt. They each had their own rooms while he slept on the couch. I met and cuddled the hamsters they had in their bedrooms living in makeshift empires in a small aquarium. Not ideal.... but livin the dream no doubt by a hamster's standards. So often in life I realize that each person I've let in, has taught me something profound. Ed told me that a friend first introduced him to IV cocaine. "That is not a friend" he said with tears in his eyes. Ed added a color to my palette so I don't see him as I know others would and do.
Another color was added a few years back when I worked with some young teens at a grocery store who were quitting the same time as I was. I asked if they had received their vacation pay and neither had any clue what I was talking about. What the heck is our school system teaching these kids!? Now I see that few kids know the law and are being taken advantage of on the daily. A coffee giant in my city is basically forcing teens into taking on all the responsibilities of a Supervisor, with no pay increase. I myself have seen and spoken out about a certain employer's blatant breaking of the Labor laws. That of course got me fired without cause and paid out. How does this color me? It makes me question, and it makes me congratulate those who follow Employment Standards. The golden arches may not be glamorous, but for the most part in Canada they follow labor code which is worth a lot in my opinion. It's worthy of loyalty that's for sure.
The fact is, every single person I meet colors my view on life. New friends I've made like the 23 year old completely un-vaccinated female who glows with health and beauty. To another guy who would literally give you the shirt off of his back who is likely sitting in jail cuz he helped some friends ease their aches and pains with a plant. I met a woman who couldn't conceive until she quit eating all grains and was preggers in a few months. That makes me see bread, oatmeal, and a lot of other food differently. Watched on tv a young M.D. who said that she just had to stop feeling. She had realized long ago that her feelings weren't always real, but her thoughts were. So she found it progressively easier to immerse herself in schooling. That literally changed a color for me. It gave me a way to deal with mental chatter and cyclical thinking that evokes sadness for me. Change your thoughts~change your feelings.
I guess you could say that this palette thing just keeps changing to perpetuity. The number of shades is still your choice. Heck, some of us insist on keeping their palette very black and white! In plain speak, my perception keeps changing with each experience I have, each person I meet, each day that passes.
Hmmm ... maybe I should have gone with the spice rack analogy. Cuz I think I like a lotta spice in my life! How about you?
Twitter ... the purest form of communication?
I used to mock twits like myself. I didn't see the magnitude until now. Once I started to want to see change ... want to be the change, I started to notice other peoples' words and their immensity. There are some incredibly eloquent people out there who can arrange a group of words in such a way that you just get it. So I craved more and it seemed like a natural next step for me to test the waters of Twitter.
I dipped a single toe into the murkyness because at this point, I thought it was simply about dissing people and free advertising. But it's so much more than that I now see. The shock to that one toe made me shut it down. What was with all the pound symbols! How the heck was I supposed to get the message with all of that sillyness?
Ah the #hashtag. I like to see things in dogisms or horseisms so here goes: in the canine world, a hashtag is like a fire hydrant, a fence post, or a well placed tree. These are the places where dogs go to get what they're looking for. Peeing on things and sniffing them is how dogs learn about their peers. Such are hash tags. When you hash tag a word, it makes it easy for others to find your message. For instance, if you are interested in Canadian Politics, or if you want to get a message to anyone in that area of expertise, you would search or use the hashtag #cdnpoli.
My toe got acclimated with the water pretty quickly once I understood the hashtag, so I jumped in up to my waist and started following other twits. Well, as you may have read in my other blogs, I am a tree-hugger who believes that all plants should be legalized. The twittersphere is alive and overflowing with twits who live and love the culture that revolves around the #Cannabis plant. Very quickly my twitter feed was overflowing with self-gratuitous tweets about getting high. Since one of the changes I'm wanting is to show the world is the other side of that plant, I quickly realized that I had to look for informative virtual breadcrumbs elsewhere and purged.
So I've been up to my neck now for a few months. At this moment, I have tweeted close to 4000 tweets, I am following 2000 fellow twits, and I myself have 970 followers who like the bread crumbs I'm droppin'. There are millions of us on Twitter, some on more than one account. But the creators of the Twittersphere limit the people you follow. I sadly found myself on a Twitter-enforced "following time-out" earlier this week until I realized this fact. So the last few days have seen me picking and choosing who I follow based on the quality of the message that those fellow twits are putting out there. My interests are varied. So this is a work in progress to say the least.
What I love about Twitter and why I ask if it could be the last pure form of communication, is because Twitter is about the message and not about who is speaking it. I consider myself to be all-loving and all-accepting. And yet when most of us hear someone say something that interests us, we immediately look up and make a judgement on the worth of their words and message based on how they look, what they wear, who they're with, and what they drive. It takes place momentarily even when we don't know we're doing it. Yet on Twitter, you can't see those things. You can only see the words that the twit is putting out there-- sometimes words that evoke strong feelings in strangers. That is profound to me.
A few years ago, I opened a fortune cookie that read, "Begin ... the rest will follow". I started writing more seriously that day. I was and still am @FinallyInspired. I tweet articles, truths, quotes, and my own messages from my blog about equality, freedom, and truth. I do this usually in my pj's on my couch. I called myself 'the couch activist' once when a 'friend' accused me of not doing more about the shittyness in the world. I have no formal training of any kind other than a ferocious hunger for truth and justice, and the ability to put words to a feeling in 140 characters or less.
The people in positions of authority in the world control the messages that media give us. On Twitter, normal every day people just like me can share their viewpoints, their perspectives on life and all the issues therein. This is a good thing. What one of us feels, others feel too. We are all different; and all so much alike. If you want to expand your news source, if you want to learn something new, and if you want to evoke feelings in strangers I welcome you to join Twitter.
The waters are quite welcoming when you get a handle on the rules.
I dipped a single toe into the murkyness because at this point, I thought it was simply about dissing people and free advertising. But it's so much more than that I now see. The shock to that one toe made me shut it down. What was with all the pound symbols! How the heck was I supposed to get the message with all of that sillyness?
Ah the #hashtag. I like to see things in dogisms or horseisms so here goes: in the canine world, a hashtag is like a fire hydrant, a fence post, or a well placed tree. These are the places where dogs go to get what they're looking for. Peeing on things and sniffing them is how dogs learn about their peers. Such are hash tags. When you hash tag a word, it makes it easy for others to find your message. For instance, if you are interested in Canadian Politics, or if you want to get a message to anyone in that area of expertise, you would search or use the hashtag #cdnpoli.
My toe got acclimated with the water pretty quickly once I understood the hashtag, so I jumped in up to my waist and started following other twits. Well, as you may have read in my other blogs, I am a tree-hugger who believes that all plants should be legalized. The twittersphere is alive and overflowing with twits who live and love the culture that revolves around the #Cannabis plant. Very quickly my twitter feed was overflowing with self-gratuitous tweets about getting high. Since one of the changes I'm wanting is to show the world is the other side of that plant, I quickly realized that I had to look for informative virtual breadcrumbs elsewhere and purged.
So I've been up to my neck now for a few months. At this moment, I have tweeted close to 4000 tweets, I am following 2000 fellow twits, and I myself have 970 followers who like the bread crumbs I'm droppin'. There are millions of us on Twitter, some on more than one account. But the creators of the Twittersphere limit the people you follow. I sadly found myself on a Twitter-enforced "following time-out" earlier this week until I realized this fact. So the last few days have seen me picking and choosing who I follow based on the quality of the message that those fellow twits are putting out there. My interests are varied. So this is a work in progress to say the least.
What I love about Twitter and why I ask if it could be the last pure form of communication, is because Twitter is about the message and not about who is speaking it. I consider myself to be all-loving and all-accepting. And yet when most of us hear someone say something that interests us, we immediately look up and make a judgement on the worth of their words and message based on how they look, what they wear, who they're with, and what they drive. It takes place momentarily even when we don't know we're doing it. Yet on Twitter, you can't see those things. You can only see the words that the twit is putting out there-- sometimes words that evoke strong feelings in strangers. That is profound to me.
A few years ago, I opened a fortune cookie that read, "Begin ... the rest will follow". I started writing more seriously that day. I was and still am @FinallyInspired. I tweet articles, truths, quotes, and my own messages from my blog about equality, freedom, and truth. I do this usually in my pj's on my couch. I called myself 'the couch activist' once when a 'friend' accused me of not doing more about the shittyness in the world. I have no formal training of any kind other than a ferocious hunger for truth and justice, and the ability to put words to a feeling in 140 characters or less.
The people in positions of authority in the world control the messages that media give us. On Twitter, normal every day people just like me can share their viewpoints, their perspectives on life and all the issues therein. This is a good thing. What one of us feels, others feel too. We are all different; and all so much alike. If you want to expand your news source, if you want to learn something new, and if you want to evoke feelings in strangers I welcome you to join Twitter.
The waters are quite welcoming when you get a handle on the rules.
Thursday, 9 January 2014
Sex sells ... but what do I do with the blue balls?
Everywhere you look right now you see sex. Sex sells. We've known this for a while now and if you read what medical professionals are telling you, it's good for you too! Sex is good for your brain. It releases Endorphins which then ease all kinds of stresses.
Magazines show us how to look to get sex. Clothing stores show us what to wear to get sex. Cosmetics counters show us how to make ourselves up to get sex. And Pharmaceutical companies are creating pills 24/7 so that we can have sex more often, in less time, and for a longer duration.
Then I flip the page in the magazine. Abilify ... in case I feel stuck. Prozac ... in case I feel blue. Cymbalta ... in case I'm irritable. Paxil ... if I'm stressed. Celexa, Effexor, Pristiq ... who comes up with these names?
And the truth about these pills doesn't really take effect until you've been on them a while and you try to take your Doctor's advice and have more sex. Or just have sex. Actually 'intercourse' isn't the problem. The problem is attaining the orgasm. These pills make you try and try and try and you're so effin close ... to nothing.
How many husbands demand that their wives have orgasms? I was married to one. Wow what problems these pills caused for us. How many men feel less-manly if they can't give their lover an orgasm? And how would it feel for the lover of the man who is on antidepressants. Your man not getting an erection is an arrow through the heart to many of us.
Most or many antidepressant pills lessen or completely remove your ability to have an orgasm.
Isn't that the kicker? It's a kicker because that means that I can't even masturbate to any success!
When you think about it, there is really no wonder at all that we have a stressed out society of people who are bitter, and unhappy, and at the end of their ropes. We're sold the wonder of sex, then sold pills that keep us from enjoying it.
Sexual frustration will do that to a group.
Magazines show us how to look to get sex. Clothing stores show us what to wear to get sex. Cosmetics counters show us how to make ourselves up to get sex. And Pharmaceutical companies are creating pills 24/7 so that we can have sex more often, in less time, and for a longer duration.
Then I flip the page in the magazine. Abilify ... in case I feel stuck. Prozac ... in case I feel blue. Cymbalta ... in case I'm irritable. Paxil ... if I'm stressed. Celexa, Effexor, Pristiq ... who comes up with these names?
And the truth about these pills doesn't really take effect until you've been on them a while and you try to take your Doctor's advice and have more sex. Or just have sex. Actually 'intercourse' isn't the problem. The problem is attaining the orgasm. These pills make you try and try and try and you're so effin close ... to nothing.
How many husbands demand that their wives have orgasms? I was married to one. Wow what problems these pills caused for us. How many men feel less-manly if they can't give their lover an orgasm? And how would it feel for the lover of the man who is on antidepressants. Your man not getting an erection is an arrow through the heart to many of us.
Most or many antidepressant pills lessen or completely remove your ability to have an orgasm.
Isn't that the kicker? It's a kicker because that means that I can't even masturbate to any success!
When you think about it, there is really no wonder at all that we have a stressed out society of people who are bitter, and unhappy, and at the end of their ropes. We're sold the wonder of sex, then sold pills that keep us from enjoying it.
Sexual frustration will do that to a group.
Tuesday, 7 January 2014
Who's turn is it anyways??
Sometimes I feel like we're all living in a Brave New World. We take our Soma on the daily as recommended through hypnosis marketing on televisions, on billboards, in schools, hospitals and banks.
Do you know anyone who doesn't watch television? I know a few. Not many. But to be honest, even I saw them at first as a little strange. I mean what the heck would you do with yourself? I did spend a year television free many many years ago. But I was working in the car business and working easily sixty hours a week. So who had time for television?
It's funny to me, that for that year--though I wasn't being hypnotized by television advertisements--I was most definitely taking part in hypnosis at work. I was selling cars.... selling the wonderment that is owning a new car. "Make them own it....create the feeling of ownership", "you're selling peace of mind." This is what we were taught. Hypnosis or simply suggestive selling? And then there's the 'assumptive close' that I hear people trying all the time in other industries. A woman walks into her baby's first Doctor's visit and sees several syringes loaded and ready. It's simply assumed she's there for vaccinations though it's still optional.
Do you know anyone without a credit card? Oh boy .. immediate red flag. Why wouldn't a person have a credit card? Bankruptcy is really the only reason that we can think of, because our whole world revolves around and requires us to play this game. I'm serious here. I spent about four years without credit. I went bankrupt. Did what I said I'd never do. Did what I judged in others in the years past. A friend just commented how much of an 'about-face' I've done in recent years. Boy she ain't kiddin'! And to think that back then in my business attire, driving my new car, with my fancy business cards to hand out, I was just a pawn working for someone else and believing I was helping my customers. As the young couple from B.C. stated, was I just helping the banks rip customers off?
So, life without a credit card. Well it's just life with one different aspect ~ only buy what you can pay for at the moment of purchase with cash. It teaches you something. On the negative, it teaches you humility when you have to beg your mother or sister to book a hotel room or car rental with her credit card. It teaches you anger management when you realize that the health shake you want to buy online requires you to have a credit card. Without a doubt, you are more aware of how much money you have and how much money you're spending. Unlike how I am now where I don't really keep track of how much money I have at any one time. It's a different mindset. Law of attraction in the works? When I was broke all I could think about was what I needed. When I'm comfortably flush, there isn't a thing I really need. It's freaky and it scares me to think that the people in Government have likely never seen this perspective, never felt what I've just described and yet are the ones making the rules to help us.
And for the most part, I don't see the macro of it all. It takes me to delve into the blues of bitterness before I see the whole thing as a wicked wicked game. We're all being hypnotized into thinking we have to buy shit to be happy. Commercials and adverts in magazines that show people laughing and happy with their new purchase are laughable-- "Oh thank goodness the boots I'm wearing are good for hiking Mount Everest ... not sure if my rent will be paid, but damn I look good in these boots!" And don't even get me started on the commercials for vaccines and pharmaceutical medications. Undue influence. Doctors hate when you self-diagnose, but self-prescribing is okay?
Conversely, I guess you can't exercise the choice that I roar about, if they don't advertise it right? Okay, but salespeople in all industries are pushed to push you into buying. I was taught that I had the ability to influence how much money you spent. There are words you can use, there are suggestions you can make, there are feelings you can evoke that influences the customers' decisions. That's unethical really, when you think about it. We're being influenced and hypnotized into over-spending and yet we're marginalized and penalized when we do. Gifts with purchase work on adults not just with Happy Me@ls, and subscriptions that require cancellation by you should be outlawed! Sell the lifestyle. Ugh such bullshit. The first dealership I ever worked at, told us to never give monthly payments, and not to discuss the person's ability to afford the car; that was the Business Manager's job.
Undue influence will be the unmaking of our freedom of individuality, our self-sustainability, and in the end our ability to simply live a life we enjoy and own as long as the rent is paid. What do we do about it? Am I just wasting my time by simply writing about it? Am I a hypocrite because I am now once again playing the game and re-building my credit?
No ... you can take part in the game and yet not be fooled by it, controlled by it, hypnotized by it.
Being aware of it helps you see the truth. The truth is that you are great just as you are. There are a million ways to be as Yusuf Islam sings, and he was right.
Do you know anyone who doesn't watch television? I know a few. Not many. But to be honest, even I saw them at first as a little strange. I mean what the heck would you do with yourself? I did spend a year television free many many years ago. But I was working in the car business and working easily sixty hours a week. So who had time for television?
It's funny to me, that for that year--though I wasn't being hypnotized by television advertisements--I was most definitely taking part in hypnosis at work. I was selling cars.... selling the wonderment that is owning a new car. "Make them own it....create the feeling of ownership", "you're selling peace of mind." This is what we were taught. Hypnosis or simply suggestive selling? And then there's the 'assumptive close' that I hear people trying all the time in other industries. A woman walks into her baby's first Doctor's visit and sees several syringes loaded and ready. It's simply assumed she's there for vaccinations though it's still optional.
Do you know anyone without a credit card? Oh boy .. immediate red flag. Why wouldn't a person have a credit card? Bankruptcy is really the only reason that we can think of, because our whole world revolves around and requires us to play this game. I'm serious here. I spent about four years without credit. I went bankrupt. Did what I said I'd never do. Did what I judged in others in the years past. A friend just commented how much of an 'about-face' I've done in recent years. Boy she ain't kiddin'! And to think that back then in my business attire, driving my new car, with my fancy business cards to hand out, I was just a pawn working for someone else and believing I was helping my customers. As the young couple from B.C. stated, was I just helping the banks rip customers off?
So, life without a credit card. Well it's just life with one different aspect ~ only buy what you can pay for at the moment of purchase with cash. It teaches you something. On the negative, it teaches you humility when you have to beg your mother or sister to book a hotel room or car rental with her credit card. It teaches you anger management when you realize that the health shake you want to buy online requires you to have a credit card. Without a doubt, you are more aware of how much money you have and how much money you're spending. Unlike how I am now where I don't really keep track of how much money I have at any one time. It's a different mindset. Law of attraction in the works? When I was broke all I could think about was what I needed. When I'm comfortably flush, there isn't a thing I really need. It's freaky and it scares me to think that the people in Government have likely never seen this perspective, never felt what I've just described and yet are the ones making the rules to help us.
And for the most part, I don't see the macro of it all. It takes me to delve into the blues of bitterness before I see the whole thing as a wicked wicked game. We're all being hypnotized into thinking we have to buy shit to be happy. Commercials and adverts in magazines that show people laughing and happy with their new purchase are laughable-- "Oh thank goodness the boots I'm wearing are good for hiking Mount Everest ... not sure if my rent will be paid, but damn I look good in these boots!" And don't even get me started on the commercials for vaccines and pharmaceutical medications. Undue influence. Doctors hate when you self-diagnose, but self-prescribing is okay?
Conversely, I guess you can't exercise the choice that I roar about, if they don't advertise it right? Okay, but salespeople in all industries are pushed to push you into buying. I was taught that I had the ability to influence how much money you spent. There are words you can use, there are suggestions you can make, there are feelings you can evoke that influences the customers' decisions. That's unethical really, when you think about it. We're being influenced and hypnotized into over-spending and yet we're marginalized and penalized when we do. Gifts with purchase work on adults not just with Happy Me@ls, and subscriptions that require cancellation by you should be outlawed! Sell the lifestyle. Ugh such bullshit. The first dealership I ever worked at, told us to never give monthly payments, and not to discuss the person's ability to afford the car; that was the Business Manager's job.
Undue influence will be the unmaking of our freedom of individuality, our self-sustainability, and in the end our ability to simply live a life we enjoy and own as long as the rent is paid. What do we do about it? Am I just wasting my time by simply writing about it? Am I a hypocrite because I am now once again playing the game and re-building my credit?
No ... you can take part in the game and yet not be fooled by it, controlled by it, hypnotized by it.
Being aware of it helps you see the truth. The truth is that you are great just as you are. There are a million ways to be as Yusuf Islam sings, and he was right.
Friday, 3 January 2014
3 in 1 Therapy of Champions!
Xmas 2013 was monumental one for me. Gifts, good tidings, and wonderful munchies aside, what I was shown this year was more upon more unconditional family love.
You see, I have depression ... though I don't really believe in boxes and labels anymore. In my opinion, when we put a depressed person in a box, they begin to feel like they cannot climb out ... or have no right to try. Two bigwigs at the Hospital here diagnosed me with Major Depressive Disorder way back in 2007. They told me that the Cannabis I was using to ease stress and aid sleep was contraindicating my antidepressants. They upped my doses and prescribed me Mirtazapine for sleep. Funny ... two bigwigs convinced me that their pills were safer than the Goddess's plant. And a week later their pills proved them both wrong.
I took my pill as prescribed, set my alarm, put in my ear plugs and off to la-la land I went one Sunday night. It's difficult to tell this story because I don't remember what happened a few hours later. I apparently spoke to my mother, made plans to meet tomorrow, and went back to sleep. On my walk to work the next day, I answered an anxious call from my mom wondering where I was. One pill and I was so sedated that I had a complete conversation that I don't remember. That is scary shit. Let me tell you what ... in the ten years that I've been ingesting Cannabis, I have NEVER done anything that I don't remember!
A year after that saw me wean myself off of all antidepressants. I opened the Cymb@lta caplets and divided the granules up into piles. The moment I felt a zinger, I took a few more granules. What's a zinger? A zinger is the only way that I can describe what your brain feels like when it's detoxing from pharmaceuticals. It's more a sound to be honest, unless I'm focused on something like a television, in which case the image will almost jerk like broken or bad reception. I did that for three weeks. And then I was free.
But alas, denying that the box exists, does not make it so. I needed a therapy for my 'depression' and what better therapy than a three-in- one? My 3-in-1 is ... Cannabis ... while Exercising ... in the Sun. This therapy pulls me out of my dark cyclical and self-defeating thoughts by triggering my brain to release stress-easing endorphins, and ensures my Vitamin D levels are at high. When one begins a new therapy ... self-prescribed or doctor-prescribed it's often difficult to feel change let alone improvement through the daily chaos that is life. But when someone you love sees it in you, well that's where the truth is. My family see how much clearer I now am. They see my life progressing rather than sinking. They now hear the oft-lacking confidence as I speak about what's important to me. They know it is because of their unconditional love, my persistence and this plant.
The monumental part of 2013 came when my unconditionally loving parents allowed me to ingest my medicine in the basement rather than the shed. So much love.
Perhaps next time I'll ask if anyone wants to join me.
You see, I have depression ... though I don't really believe in boxes and labels anymore. In my opinion, when we put a depressed person in a box, they begin to feel like they cannot climb out ... or have no right to try. Two bigwigs at the Hospital here diagnosed me with Major Depressive Disorder way back in 2007. They told me that the Cannabis I was using to ease stress and aid sleep was contraindicating my antidepressants. They upped my doses and prescribed me Mirtazapine for sleep. Funny ... two bigwigs convinced me that their pills were safer than the Goddess's plant. And a week later their pills proved them both wrong.
I took my pill as prescribed, set my alarm, put in my ear plugs and off to la-la land I went one Sunday night. It's difficult to tell this story because I don't remember what happened a few hours later. I apparently spoke to my mother, made plans to meet tomorrow, and went back to sleep. On my walk to work the next day, I answered an anxious call from my mom wondering where I was. One pill and I was so sedated that I had a complete conversation that I don't remember. That is scary shit. Let me tell you what ... in the ten years that I've been ingesting Cannabis, I have NEVER done anything that I don't remember!
A year after that saw me wean myself off of all antidepressants. I opened the Cymb@lta caplets and divided the granules up into piles. The moment I felt a zinger, I took a few more granules. What's a zinger? A zinger is the only way that I can describe what your brain feels like when it's detoxing from pharmaceuticals. It's more a sound to be honest, unless I'm focused on something like a television, in which case the image will almost jerk like broken or bad reception. I did that for three weeks. And then I was free.
But alas, denying that the box exists, does not make it so. I needed a therapy for my 'depression' and what better therapy than a three-in- one? My 3-in-1 is ... Cannabis ... while Exercising ... in the Sun. This therapy pulls me out of my dark cyclical and self-defeating thoughts by triggering my brain to release stress-easing endorphins, and ensures my Vitamin D levels are at high. When one begins a new therapy ... self-prescribed or doctor-prescribed it's often difficult to feel change let alone improvement through the daily chaos that is life. But when someone you love sees it in you, well that's where the truth is. My family see how much clearer I now am. They see my life progressing rather than sinking. They now hear the oft-lacking confidence as I speak about what's important to me. They know it is because of their unconditional love, my persistence and this plant.
The monumental part of 2013 came when my unconditionally loving parents allowed me to ingest my medicine in the basement rather than the shed. So much love.
Perhaps next time I'll ask if anyone wants to join me.
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