What’s true today?

1.  I’m exhausted, and have been for six days or so.

2.  I want to veg out with a movie on TV, rather than spend energy writing.

3.  I’ve written a blog post on WordPress and Facebook for 23 days in a row.

4.  I want to keep my streak going.

5.  I’m not sure how to answer this question:

“Is continuing the streak so important that I’m willing to write anything … whether it’s valuable to someone, useless or in between?”

Other facts:

I once wrote a blog post for 125 days in a row.

Three days ago, another streak ended – studying Dutch on the Babbel language app for 97 days in a row.

***

Okay … here’s what’s so right now:

I feel bad in my bod

I don’t want to be a total recluse

And so I’m putting something out into the world

I’ve never hated anyone.  I’ve loved many.

The realm of human connection is supreme.  The realm of beer is far less sweet. 

I digress …

I revere the movie Sunshine On Leith.  It’s a love story.  Here you see Jane Horrocks and Peter Mullan singing to each other.  They’re married in the film – Jean and Rab.  And marriage, of course, is an undulating wave of emotions.

Hear Jean’s despair in another song:

I like the smell of petrol
I love the taste of booze
But I hate my love for you
Yeah, I hate my love for you

I like Johnny Cash singing “A Boy Named Sue”
But I hate my love for you
Yeah, I hate my love for you

And so it is with me and another beloved – Westmalle Tripel:

I came to Belgium three years ago, eager for the taste of supreme beer.  And I fell in love … with the brew you see before your eyes, entrancing with its 9.5% alcohol content.

Entrancing as in “capturing someone’s complete attention, fascination or admiration, as if by a spell”

I savored a Westmalle Tripel during the late afternoon yesterday.  The nausea grew in the evening.  It awakened me at 4:00 am.  It disappeared at 6:00, only to reappear at 9:30.

I can feel it – the sad end of a love affair.

The moaning voice …

No more

Stop doing this to yourself, Bruce

…  Okay

***

Human beings I hold close to my chest

Westmalle I say goodbye

I would like to make a contribution to life every day.  Today I sat across from my daughter Isabelle as we traded stories and love.  Mission accomplished.

Now in the evening I want more to flow from me … out to the you’s who reside on Facebook and WordPress.  But I’m fading fast towards sleep …

What I want to do is contribute, to elevate your day, to bring a smile to your face.  The words don’t have to be mine.  I can borrow some great ones.

And so … voilà below!  Thank you, dear unknown author, for your words.  May they land on at least one reader’s heart.

Just as the soft rains fill the streams
pour into the rivers
and join together in the oceans
so may the power of every moment of your goodness
flow forth to awaken and heal all beings

Those here now
those gone before
those yet to come

By the power of every moment of your goodness
may your heart’s wishes be soon fulfilled
as completely shining as the bright full moon
as magically as by a wish-fulfilling gem

By the power of every moment of your goodness
may all dangers be averted and all disease be gone

May no obstacle come across your way
May you enjoy fulfillment and long life

For all in whose heart dwells respect
who follow the wisdom and compassion of the Way
may your life prosper in the four blessings
of old age, beauty, happiness and strength

I slept for three hours this afternoon.  I cancelled my volunteering at the nursing home.  I cancelled my cello lesson.  I was exhausted … and still am.

My mind went here:

Weak   >   Dead

Less spectacularly, I did this:

Weak   >   Not going to Dour in July

(Dour is a techno/rock festival in Belgium)

While the reality is simply …

Weak

I have a choice when gazing upon my current state of being:

Good   …   Bad

Let’s go with the first one.  What I have now is weakness.  Runs in the human family.  And I’m one of them.

I associate the phrase “Stiff upper lip” with British people.  Probably lots of other folks as well.  At the moment, my lips are sagging … loose on the face, without glow, a pale reddish tone.  So be it. 

I’m falling into something.  Most recently, that’s been sleep.  Here’s a poem that delights in this sublime life experience, written by William Blake:

A Cradle Song

Sweet dreams form a shade
O’er my lovely infants head
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy silent moony beams

Sweet sleep with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown
Sweet sleep Angel mild
Hover o’er my happy child

Sweet smiles in the night
Hover over my delight
Sweet smiles Mothers smiles
All the livelong night beguiles

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs
Chase not slumber from thy eyes
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles
All the dovelike moans beguiles

Sleep sleep happy child
All creation slept and smil’d
Sleep sleep, happy sleep
While o’er thee thy mother weep

Sweet babe in thy face
Holy image I can trace
Sweet babe once like thee
Thy maker lay and wept for me

Wept for me for thee for all
When he was an infant small
Thou his image ever see
Heavenly face that smiles on thee

Smiles on thee on me on all
Who became an infant small
Infant smiles are His own smiles
Heaven & earth to peace beguiles

***

I am this child

I was talking to somebody about something, and I started a sentence with the words above.  And there was something “above”.

Over the years, I’ve often repeated certain phrases without thinking about what they mean.

As far as I can tell …

I can grasp things that are nearby, but perhaps not those that are far away.  And how far does my vision spread?  Maybe not far enough for the glories of life to be deeply revealed.

Sometime in my past, a person said “We’re only aware of 4% of reality.  The other 96% is unknown.” 

And last night, during a retreat, our teacher said something like “Our molecules are 99.9% empty space.  Our bodies look to be solid … but they’re not.”

A few nights ago, I sang a lovely song at an open mic session: The Wings That Fly Us Home.

And the spirit fills the darkness of the heavens
It fills the endless yearning of the soul
It lives within a star too far to dream of
It lives within each part and is the whole
It’s the fire and the wings that fly us home

***

Seems like it’s pretty empty out there

And far away

And right here

I am deeply blessed.  I have a Daughter named Isabelle and she has a Dad named Bruce.  I have a Granddaughter named Maryna and she has a Grandpa named Bruce.  There’s nothing on paper, nothing legal … but the emotional connections are real.

Today I accompanied Maryna to a school in Gent where kids learn to speak Russian.  I was going to meet her daughter Nicole.

Imagine twelve boys and girls standing before a crowd of parents, first reciting a poem and then singing a song.  Wide open faces, wide open mouths.  Maryna pointed out which one Nicole was.  I waved … and she waved back!

And then the kids went to their moms, and gave them a handmade card which said in Russian: I love you, Mom.  From [daughter or son’s name].  Tears flowed from mothers.  Hugs lingered.

Next the families painted together.  Nicole saw that I didn’t have one of the small canvases so she brought me one.  The three of us shared paints and brushes.  And time.  And smiles.

Here is my creation, which now sits atop my bedroom mantle:

My family is growing

I had just sat down with my breakfast in Panos on the Langemunt.  The window table overlooking the Leie River was available.  Yay!

In walks a gentleman I know, despite our meagre knowledge of the other’s language.  As he set his tray down a few tables away, I remembered:  He and three friends gather by the window at this time of day.

I didn’t think.  I motioned for him to move to the window and for me to shift a few tables over.  We smiled.  He agreed.  And soon two men and a woman joined him.

I sat eating, happy to hear their laughing.  As I was about to leave, my friend (whose name I don’t know) got up, took my tray and went to the recycling/garbage station.  On his return, I bowed and smiled again.

***

Simple moments of kindness

Looking over to the other person and seeing what’s needed

I intend to participate in a lot more of them

I’ve was sitting in the waiting room of the Ophthalmology Department at AZ Sint-Lucas Hospital, waiting for my appointment.

I contemplated usual Bruce behaviour in such a situation.  Knee jerk behaviour …

Pull out my phone.  Check for messages received.  Compose messages to be sent.  See what’s happening in the world.  Read an article in the Buddhist Tricycle magazine.

Or, if I have lots of energy, sense whether anyone sitting nearby looks open to a conversation, and if so … initiate one.

Today my energy was in the basement, so I looked down to find the Samsung device in my hands.

Automatic.

I was just about to put the phone away when Dr. Kose called me into her office.

Now it’s post-appointment and I’m clearly still doing something – writing about the whole experience.

If I could go back an hour, what experiment would I try on for size?

Hmm …  How about sitting silently, sending waves of love to my waiting room companions?  Yes, that’ll do nicely for next time.  In fact, after finishing up these words and sending them off to the far corners of the Internet, I will spend ten minutes or so doing exactly that.

No concern about whether they receive my love

Just sending it

Three weeks ago, a shooter killed eight people in Tumbler Ridge, British Columbia, Canada … including six children.  Maya Gebala was shot in the head while trying to protect her classmates.  She’s in the B.C. Children’s Hospital in Vancouver.  A few days ago, she opened one eye.

Millions of people are praying for Maya, in Canada and around the world.  Including me.

***

Five days ago, about 160 Iranian girls, aged 7 to 12, were killed when a bomb from US or Israeli forces exploded in their school.  On Tuesday there was a mass funeral for the victims.

I look myself in the eye … and feel my reactions.

I’m deeply engaged with Maya surviving.  I’m momentarily sad about the deaths of all those schoolgirls.  But it’s 160 lives compared to 1 life.  Shouldn’t the depth of my feeling be the other way around?  What does it say about me that so little of my energy reaches out to the kids who have died?

I feel numb when I see all the needless death in the world.  CNN  tells me stories every day of tragedy and despair.

Maya speaks of hope, that the courage of this young one needs to be rewarded, that her love deserves returning love from millions of us.

Maya is a symbol

… of goodness

… of something so much larger than evil

… of us shining brighter than me

There is much I don’t understand about life.  At the top is the ages long perception that men are better than women.  Where did that come from?

How come the expression “men and women” rolls off the tongue so easily but “women and men” feels awkward?

How come the early 1900’s were a battle to bring into reality what should be a given?  Women having the right to vote.

How come there’s been a glass ceiling for so long, with women often denied positions of responsibility, and not receiving equal pay for equal work?

Why does this photo show a gun-toting man above a kneeling woman?

***

The world is full of intelligent men and intelligent woman.  The same is true of any adjective you can think of: kind, mean, determined, depressed …

I don’t understand the human mind