I know lots of people who work in stores on the Langemunt in Gent.  This morning I dropped in and said I was heading to Bruges …

Is there someone you’d like me to say hello to?

Maxim wrote down Ran, a good friend of his

Viktoria said Ryan Goslin, although I wasn’t convinced he hangs out in Bruges.  She said he was “hot”.  I said I was sorry he was sick

Virginie was convinced that I could find Jason Statham if I looked hard enough.  Trouble is, I don’t know who that is

My plan was to stand in the middle of the square in front of the Bruges City Hall and yell out …

Ran!

Ryan!

Jason!

But so far I haven’t been brave enough.  Oh well.  I’ll keep searching.

***

I made some new friends today on the shore of Minnewater:

I’m impressed with their commitment to sleeping (some of them).  I should take notes.  Dozing off at random moments sounds marvelous.

And the grey one.  Who says you have to look like everyone else to include yourself?  Just … join!

***

I’m sitting in Bruges’ main library, tapping away.  Shouldn’t I be a committed tourist, taking pictures of everything?  Nah, not today.  I’m committed to staying warm.  Sure, I’ll walk around some more, but first I’m dedicated to writing, lounging and reading my book … Inkspell.

All in good time for the rest of my life

Among the many smart people I know, there are two whom I have never met.  One long dead … the other very much alive.

The Buddha had many fine things to say.  I’ll paraphrase one of them:

Sorry, guys … I have some bad news.  You’re all going to get sick.  You’re all going to get old.  You’re all going to get dead.

Not exactly a cheery fellow, you might say.  But he spoke the truth.

I often reflect on the three, especially the one that speaks of an ending.  Of course, I don’t know what happens next.  Into what realm will I emerge?

***

And then there’s Andrew Holecek.  Also pretty deep in the profound:

I spend most of my life distracting myself in an effort to avoid some of these harsh, noble truths of the nature of my being, principally, of course, and this is, I’m going all the way to the end of it, that you don’t exist.

Hmm.  No heaven.  No hell.  Just … nothing

Nothing of Bruce left

And after my loved ones and other people who knew of me die

There will be no memories on Earth of Bruce Kerr

I’ve written 2690 posts on WordPress (also called Jetpack).  After I die, I’ll probably stop paying the yearly subscription.  So all that writing will go …

Poof!

Oh well

…

And now, the final word goes to the Buddha:

Whatever has the nature of arising has the nature of ceasing

There’s me singing

That’s nice

Then there’s we singing

That’s immense

Many moons ago, I sat in a circle with sixty other human beings at a retreat centre near Kamloops, British Columbia, Canada.  Our teacher played for us a recording of the opening bars of the Pachelbel Canon … over and over again.

Here is the piece.  Listen for the first notes of the cello after the piano introduction.  And imagine what we experienced for at least twenty minutes: a chorus of voices singing How I Love You to the melody …

Many tears of remembrance

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Ptk_1Dc2iPY&si=6NeptpUuG4ZiFfHp

Now, please listen to the entire piece, and feel the connection between the cellist and pianist.

***

On we go to a rugby game, featuring the team called the All Blacks.  Before the match, it’s time for the national anthem.  It’s not just Hayley Westerna singing “God Defend New Zealand” … voices young and old join her.

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=mhCgcZ0efAA&si=UZ4RYcRrH6bG7WT0

***

May we find each other in song

I remember someone saying …

I won’t sing a song just because it’s popular

I think that was me

I started exploring my brain this morning for the next song to memorize.  And Leonard jumped in.  I’ve yearned to sing Hallelujah for years but it seemed like every second singer on the planet was bubbling out Cohen’s words.

Now I’ve decided …

The external world will not control me!

My decisions

My well-being

That state of personal self-control has been an elusive target, but a worthwhile target it remains.

Here are Leonard’s words, with a couple of editorial notes from me.  And then listen to the master singing one of his masterpieces.

I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong, but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah

[Beauty, whether a person’s eyes or body, or one of nature’s spectacular displays, often overwhelms me]

Maybe there’s a God above
But all I ever learned from love
Is how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It’s not a cry you hear tonight
It’s not some pilgrim who’s seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Baby I’ve been here before
I know this room, I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a lonely Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah

There was a time you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
I remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah

[This verse is left out of some singers’ renditions of the song.  I think that’s sad … excluding the transcendent expression of sexuality]

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I learned to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah

***

Leonard was a gift

And the giving continues

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=utHlf4WpyB0&si=RvbOABYxA7wvpY3N

I had a thought a few days ago:

Just look at people with love

That was it.  Perhaps it’s the secret of the universe.  Even though my days seem complex … with their tasks and thoughts and feelings, what if it was simple?

My looking into people’s faces includes folks I pass on the street.  The gaze there is rarely mutual, and that’s fine.

But mostly I’m talking about face-to-face.  In my better moments, my Spirit is going towards the other person, falling into their eyes.  But I sure have a lot of other moments!

I forget.  I start thinking “How am I doing?”  I really should pay attention to my facial anatomy: The eyes are designed to face outward, not inward.  I want to follow suit.

When the love disappears from my eyes to yours, I simply need to return, not beat myself up about the absence.  I’ve been on many meditation retreats where the teachers said the same thing.  As you sit in meditation, notice when thoughts have taken over, and then go back to your breath.  No judgment.

I woke up this morning critical of this, that and the other thing about myself, all versions of “I’m bad.”  Oh well.  Back to the faces of human beings.

In my long ago twenties, I found heroes in literature.  One was Goldmund, a young man of “motion, sensory experience and art”.  He was a sculptor.  Somehow he became a kindred spirit of Narcissus, a monk of “intellect, logic and spiritual discipline”.  And so the two worlds taught each other in the novel Narcissus and Goldmund, written by Hermann Hesse.

It’s been fifty years since my reading, but the two fellows have been percolating in my heart ever since.  Today they returned … to my phone.  I purchased the novel on Kindle, investing €1.56 in my past and future.  A reunion is coming.

I also read about Hermann today:

When Hermann Hesse was just fifteen years old, he bought a revolver and walked into the woods.  Overwhelmed by the crushing expectations of his strictly religious family and rigid schoolmasters, the young man pulled the trigger.

The gun jammed.

…

Hermann Hesse grew up in a household where everyone wanted to shape his future.  His parents expected him to become a missionary.  His teachers demanded that he be a strict scholar.

…

His family sent him to a psychiatric clinic in Stetten, treating his poetic, sensitive nature and rebellion as a form of madness.

…

Hesse lived through devastating personal losses, including the death of a child, his first wife’s mental breakdown, deep battles with depression, and the horrors of world wars.

…

His pain inspired masterpieces like Steppenwolf and Siddhartha, stories that speak directly to anyone who has ever felt like an outsider or struggled to find their own path in a noisy world.

…

Like Siddhartha, Hesse spent years searching through spiritual teachings, books and travel, only to discover that deep wisdom cannot simply be taught by someone else.

***

Somewhere along Hesse’s “long and winding road”, he wrote Narcissus and Goldmund.

Thank you, dear Hermann

For not giving up

For teaching me long ago

And soon again

Most of the time when I write, it’s for you, hoping that I reach some of you.  Today I’m also hoping to reach me.

I sang a sad song last night in an open mic session at Salvatore’s.  Mr. Tanner tells the story of a man who owns a dry cleaning business.  He loves singing, and his friends push him towards a professional career.  He has a concert in New York City and the critics pan his performance.

I too love singing.  Even though I’ve never wanted a performing career, I feel with Martin Tanner.

Some lines in Mr. Tanner are glorious in my soul – the joy, the sadness …

Music was his life, it was not his livelihood
And it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good
He sang from his heart and he sang from his soul
He did not know how well he sang, it just made him whole

…

He came home to Dayton and was questioned by his friends
But he smiled and just said nothing … and he never sang again
Excepting very late at night when the shop was dark and closed
He sang softly to himself as he sorted through the clothes

I paused a wee bit before singing “and he never sang again” …  I believe many in the audience felt the moment.

***

The flip side of expressing all this true emotion is that I forgot one line and stumbled over two or three others.  (Sigh)

As the line disappeared from my mind, I stood silently for a few seconds, looking at the audience, and then spoke in a smile …

It appears that I’ve forgotten the words

That’s my happy memory, seeing that lost words are really no big deal.  What’s important is that Mr. Tanner touched at least some people in Salvatore’s.  And it did.

This morning I woke up feeling sad about the missing words.  The song stops.  The story stops.  If I had been acting in a play, it would have been me going “out of character” – definitely a problem.

Now, after writing a few paragraphs, my smile has returned.  The song was heard.  Its message reached some folks.  That’s what I wanted.

I look to my future singing and wonder if “senior lapses” like last night will happen again.  I bet the answer is “Yes”.

And in the big picture

The one I want to be a part of

That’s just fine

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=gG3-lCeI-UE&si=kh-MwPUeLWx93c8H

It’s something I’ve noticed recently as I watch hundreds of people walk by Izy Coffee.  Every one of them has a head, nicely balanced on their shoulders.  Where else in life does always ring true?  (Well, probably lots of places, but I just thought it was a cool thing to say.)

Now some of us don’t have any hair.  Some eyes don’t see very well.  Some faces are light-coloured and others dark.  But the eternal truth remains: there’s some version of a head on top of every body.

Unless you include a story or two from fiction, such as “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”, penned in 1820 by American writer Washington Irving.

Washington invented a Headless Horseman – pretty scary for young folks … and old ones.

Actually the story is older than Washington:

Depending on the legend, the Horseman is either carrying his head, or is missing his head altogether, and may be searching for it.

I get it.  Sometimes I too search for my head, although the mirror keeps telling me that all is well.

***

In the spirit of the unique and mysterious

I will keep looking

For a person with a vacancy up top

And when I find her or him

We’ll have a nice chat

I’m both.  At different times.

I’m afraid when people yell at me.  I used to be afraid when I had trouble swallowing, worried that I would die overnight, with no breath getting through.  I was also terrified when huge semi-trailers came close to me and my bicycle on the highway.

Then there are those other moments …

I was walking on the Langemunt yesterday, one of Gent’s shopping streets.  I was heading to the open door of Eyes + More, the optician where I bought my glasses.

On the street stood two muscular gentlemen in uniform, each with a gun on their hip.  Their clothing said “Loomis” … a company that transfers a business’ cash from their store to an armoured truck.

I walked up the nearest fellow and said:

Do you have any extra money?  I’m short of cash right now

The fellow looked down at me in a somewhat benign stare, grunted some word, and walked away.

I turned into Eyes + More to see “Alice”, an employee I know, with her hands to her face.

Bruce!  What are you doing?

“Well,” I thought, “not much really.  No big deal.”

I suppose Alice thought the tall guy was going to pummel me.  I never thought of that possibility.  I just wanted to make him laugh.  Didn’t happen.

***

I didn’t see courage

Boys just want to have fun

And as the American poet Walt Whitman said …

I am inconsistent

I contain multitudes

I’ve had a long life, one that I trust will continue for many more years.

I’ve known countless people … in so many different environments.  I’ve had different roles, different costumes, different passions.  Many of my companions are no longer with me – physically, emotionally, spiritually.  And that’s fine.  I wish them all well.

I hear the words “I was …” and feel like filling in many blanks.  Making a list in chronological order is too big an ask so I’ll just ramble:

I was a vision teacher, working with both blind and low vision kids

I was a life insurance agent, virtually setting company records (on the low end!)

I was a real estate agent … (see above)

I sold encyclopedias … (see above)

I managed volunteers at a hospital

I was a personal development seminar leader

I caught a life skills course for young people struggling with self-esteem, and who wanted to get into regular college programs

I volunteered in classrooms of 12-year-olds for five years or so

I managed the laundry in a Rocky Mountain hotel for three summers

I led mountain newbies over many trails in the Rockies

I tried riding my bicycle across Canada … unsuccessfully

I visited Senegal four times with friends

I went to many meditation retreats in Massachusetts, including two three-month ones

I studied to be a social worker but quit before graduation, feeling too young to counsel people well

I sang at many open mic sessions

I played solo cello pieces in concerts

I changed countries … Canada to Belgium

I was married for 26 years to my dear wife Jody

I co-ordinated rides for a cycling club

***

And that’s all I can think of in these moments

***

I’m starting to learn a new song – Old College Avenue.  I’m particularly taken with the third line you see here …

…

It was Old College Avenue
And in the time of having you
I remember it as if it were today
The tiny room and the single bed
Though the tangled trails of time
Have led us far astray
The membrance seems to stay