I sang two songs last night at Salvatore’s – Chris de Burgh’s “The Snows of New York” and Bob Dylan’s “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall”.  I’m smiling as I remember.

And now … What’s next?

A few days ago, I included these lines at the end of a post:

I have seen the morning burnin’ golden on the mountain in the sky
Achin’ with the feeling of the freedom of an eagle when she flies

Yesterday, I went back to visit.  “Those words are poetry.”  And I’m ready to have such a melody emerge from my mouth.

Loving Her Was Easier … a love song written by Kris Kristofferson.  And a nod yes.  After all, who could resist these musings?  Not me.

Healin’ as the colors in the sunlight and the shadows of her eyes

Or …

Wakin’ in the morning to the feeling of her fingers on my skin
Wipin’ off the traces of the people and the places that I’ve been

Or …

I don’t know the answer to the easy way
She opened every door in my mind
But dreamin’ was as easy as believin’ it was never gonna end
And loving her was easier than anything I’ll ever do again

***

I want moments

Of sharing others’ words

Of reaching eyes in the audience

Of gushing forth

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=HCgnbRWVvU8&si=Qkku9kp6CPQo2aHC

I’m a nice person.  I care about other people.  I put myself in their place and see what’s there.

But there’s something bigger than a human being going on here …

I have a problem in the everyday world, and I don’t have the knowledge to solve it.  So I approached an organization that can help.  I made an appointment.  I showed up.

I was greeted by a young woman wearing a hijab, and invited into her office.

I don’t care that she’s Muslim and from a culture different than mine.  I expect to have a pleasant conversation that will lead to a solution.

However …

Thoughts began seeping in that seemed very old, from even before my birth:

She will be passive, not active

She will be submissive, not assertive

She will not have a sharp focus on my problem

Huh?

Where is this coming from?

I don’t do stereotypes!

And yet … here I am doing stereotypes

***

I’ll call my coach “Malika”.  She was active, assertive and focused.  She listened, analyzed and created a plan.  I’ll be sending her more information.  She’ll create a letter which will become a registered letter – one that the recipient has to sign for.  The powers-that-be will have to engage in problem-solving.

Thank you, Malika.  I will keep my eyes open in your presence.  I will see you.

Do I feel guilty about the intruding thoughts?  >  No

Will I stay alert to the seductive impact of my culture’s history?  >  Yes

Am I dreaming?

No, it appears that I’m sitting in Lloyd Coffee Eatery, sipping my flat white and tapping my phone.

Now the voice:

“Write about elevation today.”

“Huh?  No, I have a plan.  I’m writing about a woman I met who wears a hijab.”

“She can wait.  Write about elevation.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

***

Hmm … perhaps this is unfigureoutable, beyond my analyzing mind.  The voice is the big, wide open one – not the whiny fellow.  A voice to trust.

(Sigh)

“There’s no need to sigh.  Have another sip and see what comes.”

“Okay.”

***

Horizon.  Stretching all around, endless.

Above the trees.  Such a view, looking down on all the beings going here and there.

A mountain ridge.  All the sweat to get up here.  All the joy standing amid the clouds and sun.

Around the curve of the Earth.  Beyond the physical vision, into the living rooms of people far, far away.

Looking up.  Seeing the stars twinkle, the galaxies flow.

The eyes of human beings.  Not their ears or chins.

Air under the feet.  And the whole body dances.

***

I have seen the morning burning golden on the mountain in the sky
Aching with the feeling of the freedom of an eagle when she flies

“Loving Her Was Easier”

Kris Kristofferson

Khalil Gibran lived for 48 years.  I 77 and counting.  He really lived!  Me too.

Here’s a poem.  May it open something inside you.

A Tear and a Smile

I would not exchange the sorrows of my heart
For the joys of the multitude
And I would not have the tears that sadness makes
To flow from my every part turn into laughter
I would that my life remain a tear and a smile

A tear to purify my heart and give me understanding
Of life’s secrets and hidden things
A smile to draw me nigh to the sons of my kind and
To be a symbol of my glorification of the gods

A tear to unite me with those of broken heart
A smile to be a sign of my joy in existence

I would rather that I died in yearning and longing than that I live weary and despairing

I want the hunger for love and beauty to be in the
Depths of my spirit, for I have seen those who are
Satisfied the most wretched of people
I have heard the sigh of those in yearning and longing, and it is sweeter than the sweetest melody

With evening’s coming the flower folds her petals
And sleeps, embracing her longing
At morning’s approach she opens her lips to meet
The sun’s kiss

The life of a flower is longing and fulfilment
A tear and a smile

The waters of the sea become vapor and rise and come
Together and are a cloud

And the cloud floats above the hills and valleys
Until it meets the gentle breeze, then falls weeping
To the fields and joins with brooks and rivers to return to the sea, its home

The life of clouds is a parting and a meeting
A tear and a smile

And so does the spirit become separated from
The greater spirit to move in the world of matter
And pass as a cloud over the mountain of sorrow
And the plains of joy to meet the breeze of death
And return whence it came

To the ocean of Love and Beauty – to God

***

It’s not about me.  My “insightful” analysis of another person’s words.  The question is whether Khalil enters me … whether I allow him to.

If I say No, it makes me wonder about all the other flavours of life that come my way, ones that I also turn away from.  Is it merely an island that I am … or are there bridges in the mist?

Keep speaking, Khalil …

“I’m singing at Minard tonight”

“Woh” is often the spoken or unspoken response.  “You are?”

The person is suitably impressed, with an image like this in their mind:

The Minard concert hall in Gent

Their praise dampens some when I admit that I’m actually singing in the café attached to the concert hall.  Still a lovely space … but much smaller.

I love the oval bar in the centre of the room, and the chandelier.  I love walking up onstage and letting the sounds come.

Last night I sang “The Snows of New York”, with lines such as …

You have always been such a good friend to me
Through the thunder and the rain
And when you’re feeling lost in the snows of New York
Lift your heart and think of me

When I think of Minard yesterday, I’m proud of two things:

1.  There’s a chorus, and I told the audience that I’d teach them the words.  Voilà:

Lah, lah, lah, lah, lah, lah …

People laughed.

2.  My two biggest challenges in singing are remembering the first line and remembering the first note.  The second provided me with a moment of revelation last night.

If my first note is too high, I won’t be able to hit later notes that are a lot higher.  Too low, and the really deep notes later will be beyond me.

So … the revelation:

I sang the first two notes and something in my unconscious brain said No!  No analysis, just an urge to stop.  In my mind, I went up a whole tone and let the first line spill out …

I can see you now by the light of the dawn

And all was well

I sang well, and that was nice.  The applause was warm.  But the thrill was somehow feeling the “too low” and then rising, unaccompanied by my conscious mind.

Such a mystery, this life

Many moons ago, I managed the laundry of the Prince of Wales Hotel in Alberta, Canada.  I coached several teenagers in doing an excellent job on sheets and towels.

One young man, whom I’ll call Bill, was tall, handsome and strong.  Just what a typical girl wants.  Or maybe not.   I saw Bill as emotionally flat.  His voice didn’t vibrate.  His mouth didn’t curl up at the corners.

So young, so dead … such a shame.  I hope that Bill’s future showed him a wiser way, where words like sunshine, giggle and Wow! made an appearance.

I remember being sad.  Bill worked hard.  His performance was never a problem.  But …

***

And then there was “Beatrice”, a woman probably in her 80’s.  It seemed like her mouth was perpetually open – in wonder.  Life showed wide for her, and she embraced it tenderly, passionately.  She knew yes and not much no, good and not much bad.  “Ain’t it wonderful!?”

When I think of Beatrice, two other women come to mind:

Helen Keller

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing

Mary Oliver

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement

(from her poem “When Death Comes”)

***

Bill and Beatrice.  A mystery. 

Now I’m remembering a poster from my youth: on the left a wide-eyed young kid, smiling.  On the right a down-and-out old man.  And the words …

What happened?

***

I get confused so easily

In the company of some people, I have lots of energy.  Whatever they’re doing, it nourishes me.  It gives.

And then there are the other folks, where conversation feels like a contest, even a battle.  Makes me long for my bed.

In the first group are soft, flowing voices … a soothing vibration.  In the other are staccato sounds, rat-a-tat, piercing.

I don’t want to be invaded.  I want to be embraced.  Please don’t try to win every time we’re together.  I’m right and you’re wrong is a pain in the rear end.

And please don’t interrupt me.  Let my thought continue to its natural end.  Don’t jump in with your better wisdom.

I would like to soak in a warm bath rather than cringe under the spray of a cold shower.

I want to be like the guy I read about yesterday:

He just has this quality of being completely present to whomever is speaking.  He doesn’t reach for his next sentence while yours is still in the air.  He doesn’t sharpen his rebuttal while you’re making your point.  He just listens.

I’m no perfect person.  I have my lapses.  Sometimes I need reminders to be spacious in the heart.  Reading the poem Desiderata by Max Ehrmann helps me …

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence

…

Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant.  They too have their story.

…

Be gentle with yourself.  You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars.  You have a right to be here.

***

Slowly … sweetly … with empathy

I admire people who are kind to everyone they meet, who first see the good in others, and who are assertive when the world needs the truth spoken.  Such as Pope Leo.

Speaking truth to power, without antagonism …

I have no fear of neither the Trump administration nor of speaking out loudly about the message of the Gospel.

No euphemisms about people who use their power unwisely.  Being specific, not vague.  His name is Trump.

I would like this greeting of peace to enter your hearts, reach your families, to all people, wherever they may be, to all peoples, to all the earth.

Inclusive.  No one left out.  If someone is sitting alone in a dark corner at a party, go say “Hi.”  Yes, they may want to be alone, but just as likely they’ll embrace your welcome. 

And before Leo became the pope:

The bishop is not supposed to be a little prince sitting in his kingdom, but rather called authentically to be humble, to be close to the people he serves, to walk with them, to suffer with them, and to look for ways that he can better live the Gospel message in the midst of his people.

Level.  Beyond better and worse.  Together.

Religious experience is an essential dimension of the human person.  Without it, it is difficult, if not impossible, to bring about the purification of the heart necessary for building peaceful relationships.

I love words.  What is essential in this life?  What does purification look like, sound like, feel like?  Are my relationships truly you and me?

***

People are noticing this new man in the Vatican.  There’s something different here.

In the words of a writer whose name I didn’t write down:

When he raises his voice, it is not to condemn persons, but to challenge actions – especially those that lead to suffering, injustice and war.  In the tradition of the prophets, his words may sound uncomfortable, even unsettling, but they are born from love: love for humanity, and especially for the most vulnerable.  For every war, every act of violence, every unjust decision always has a face – the face of a child who cries, a mother who mourns, a family that is broken.  This is what the Holy Father sees.  This is what moves his heart.

***

You and me and all of us, Pope Leo

Lloyd Coffee Eatery in Gent has become a home-away-from-home for me.  And what makes a home?  People.

As servers start recognizing me as a regular, they learn my name.  And their “Hi” is beyond the usual employee/customer interaction.

Gilian is one of those.  He’s around 20, I’d guess.  When he’s not super busy, he approaches me to talk.  A gift right there … initiating contact.

And Gilian has questions:

Do you know how to escape from an alligator?

Okay … I wasn’t expecting that.

The answer was no.  So Gilian enlightened me …

Alligators don’t see movement well, so walk away from them in a zig zag pattern and you’ll be fine.

Good to know.  I’ll be in fine shape the next time I encounter an alligator on the Korenmarkt.

More recently, the subject was lobsters.  I’m pretty sure they don’t move as fast as alligators.

Do you know the colour of lobsters’ blood?

I had to admit my ignorance on the subject.

Blue

Huh?  Gilian was continuing to scatter my brain cells.

One more time … with feeling:

Do you know that snakes can predict earthquakes?

Uh … no

Sadly, I didn’t find out exactly how these slithering reptiles do that.  And I’m heroically resisting the pull of AI.

Fill me in next time, Gilian

Thanks for the engagement

A friend of mine sent a message on Facebook yesterday, inviting me for coffee.  I replied:

Yes, Veronique.  I’m happy.  My mind is spacious.  Pick a couple of days that work for you and lets have lunch.

Hours later, I looked at what I’d written.

Hmm.  “My mind is spacious.”  What a strange thing to write.  People don’t talk that way.  Will the person on the other end figure out what the words mean?

I think she will.  I feel it right now … a clear blue sky.  Roaming high above the trees, embracing the horizon and wondering what’s beyond. 

And it’s my body too.  Every muscle and bone has lots of room.  They can wiggle.

More and more, I’m sharing what’s true for me in the moment, even with strangers.  It feels good.  Nothing hidden in dark corners. 

Some folks will be happy to receive my truth.  Some won’t.  That’s okay.

***

And there’s something else within the words I sent to Veronique …

Lets

Another “Hmm”. 

It’s fair to say that in my adult life I have been obsessive about spelling and grammar.  Someone told me long ago to be meticulous here, so that the reader isn’t distracted from the message I want them to get.

Let’s is a contraction for let us.  I know that.  Probably you do as well.  I remember yesterday looking at lets after tapping the words to Veronique.  Something was niggling in my brain, but then I said “That looks right.”

So … is my mind starting to fade away from spelling perfection?  Said more dramatically:

Is this the beginning of some sad end?

Or should I just laugh!?

I vote for Door Number Two