My friend Catherine in Canada posted this photo in Facebook yesterday. It got her thinking. Me too.
John … yet another human being I wish I could have a chat with.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
Why should we feel locked into our answer being a profession? Why do people look at us strangely when we venture outside of the box?
Most of the time I’m happy. Over many years, as folks ask me “How are you?” my response has naturally bubbled up …
I’m happy
I can hear in their heads “But you’re supposed to say ‘I’m fine’.” Gosh … who ever invented “supposed to”?
I knew a 12-year-old whom I worked with as a volunteer in an elementary school. She was graduating, and at one point near the end of our time together she said:
Mr. Kerr, I like it that when someone asks you how you are, you say “I’m happy”
I like it too.
Imagine the five-year-old John saying to perhaps a forty-year-old adult “You don’t understand life.” We older folks should be so brave.
Safiya Al-Sayegh is a professional cyclist from the United Arab Emirates. She is Muslim, and the only one in the peloton who wears a hijab.
In her twenty-five years, she has accomplished much as a cyclist and as a person. And now she is at a crossroads. Her sport and her religion. How to balance them. Does she choose one … or the other … or both?
We all face moments where different values collide. And there are no easy answers.
But now Safiya has decided.
Being a Muslim first
Being a cyclist second
She has decided to retire as a professional athlete
Hear her words:
The past couple of years have been tough mentally, not because this sport is tough, but because I found myself in an identity crisis. Being a Muslim woman that fully believes in covering and dressing modestly, and a girl that just loved racing, riding a bike, and that loved sports.
Can you feel Safiya? Can you see yourself in her, whatever your religion, or even if you don’t have one?
As soon as I heard about Safiya, she immediately joined my short list of human beings I’d love to have coffee with (or whatever she chooses to drink).
For a while I have thought deeply what I’d like to be remembered by and I hope it can be good manners, smiles, trying my best to spread joy to the people around me, and a Muslim woman that tried her very best to show, wherever she went around the world, how lovely Islam is and that it is a religion of peace, balance and obedience to our creator, Allah.
If you look carefully at the photo, you’ll see the word “Unsplash” spread across. It’s a marvelous website that has paid a global copyright license for thousands of images, so that we members can rest assured we’re not breaking the law. Yay!
***
I love the picture. It speaks so profoundly, beyond countless paragraphs of “meaning”. After all, my insights probably are different than yours. So I won’t add to the world’s verbal outflow. I’ll just tell you a story …
About forty-five years ago, I was climbing a wooded hill on Canada’s Vancouver Island, close to the Pacific shore. The trees opened to a space of grass. The peak felt close.
And then the sound, muffled but real …
What is that?
…
Waves breaking on a beach!
Close … closer … almost there …
There!
The Pacific Ocean suddenly spread before my eyes, rows of white disappearing on the sand, one by one. And the sky was smiling.
In the aftermath of Saturday morning’s bedroom ceiling collapse, there was a lot of clean-up. Bits of plaster had invaded the cracks of my old wooden floor. I scraped and vacuumed and mopped.
My bed was piled high with objects of my affection. And there was only so much room. So my lovely green fabric chair ended up in the living room. I placed it haphazardly near a white chair. I’d return it to its rightful spot in a day or two.
In one of my pauses, I looked at the two chairs. And strange words formed in my brain:
They can’t talk to each other this way
So I arranged the environment to allow for connection …
You may doubt that chairs talk to each other, but I don’t. There are mysteries in this life beyond my puny mind.
“Face-to-face” seems like a fine life principle. Not at a slight angle. Direct.
I told my friend Dirk and my daughter “Alison” that I was going to Bruges today in search of a gigantic tree stump. I had walked by it a few weeks ago and was stunned by its size. I’d guess that it would take five adults with their arms spread to encircle it.
Here’s what I imagined the top would look like:
Last week I sought my large friend in the park where I remembered it stood. No luck, probably due to an insufficient memory.
So I tried another park today … a long one by the river. I realized that I’d come to the city on a single mission:
Find the tree!
Beholding other beauties of Bruges would be fine … but I needed! I wanted! I had to have!
Ah yes … another fine period of obsession.
…
And so I walked the path, hoping that all would be revealed.
Nothing … nothing … and then …
Something
There to my right was the stump – except it wasn’t. It was a fully grown tree. Very fully.
And indeed, it would probably take five people to do the job:
I sat long and long on a nearby bench, watching the sun come and go on the bark. I smiled to know that this dear tree was alive and well and tall.
It rained a lot in Gent yesterday evening. Water was dripping aggressively from my bedroom ceiling when I went to bed. And running down one wall.
All summer I’ve been sleeping in my guest bedroom at the front of the apartment so I could have the windows open and try to cool the place down.
My bedroom is at the back, facing the Leie River … also facing many families of mosquitoes. Opening those windows would invite a lot of itchy red bumps in the morning, plus a lot of swatting overnight.
High temperatures are finally dropping down into the high teens Celsius, and I’ve had vague thoughts of moving back to my purple walls.
I’m here to recommend that you too hone the fine art of procrastination. If I’d been sleeping in my bedroom last night, that piece of plaster you see might have broken my leg. This morning I felt how heavy it was.
Facebook stories often teach me … such as the one I read today about Jack Smith. I’m not going to tell you his story. Our friend AI can assist you here.
Jack is a remarkable human being … just as all of us can be. Millions of people know what he stands for. Very few know the same about you and me.
This morning Facebook is full of praise for Jack’s courage. I invite you to replace his name with yours. Imagine the world smiling at you, saying that you’re a good person.
You’ll often see the words “man”, “he”, “him” and “his” in these reviews. Please add “woman”, “she” and “her” every time.
I’ve replaced “Jack” with “A” …
A takes every hit on the chin and never flinches. His objectivity, research and application of our rule of law is flawless and irrefutable.
I think A is a man of experience and integrity. The fact that he has not once “plead the fifth” and has answered every question asked of him says what kind of man he is.
[To plead the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution in US law: “refusing to answer questions or give testimony in order to protect yourself from self-incrimination”]
Thank you God for the courage of this man standing and speaking the truth. He is so brave. I know he has been persecuted for doing the right thing. God blesshim.
I think A’s unwillingness to charge ________ with something that A could not absolutely prove speaks to his integrity and how he conducted the business of his office.
It is so awesome to see one manstand before the wolves, the worst of humans, and still speak the truth. A man with no skeletons in his closet, a man of integrity and one who can face the devil and walk out with his soul intact. This man is a true patriot for his country and for justice. I only watched a bit of the hearing and I have to say I could not have sat through the attacks with the calmness and integrity this man displayed. A, you keep being true to who you are. The Truth will be your victory.
I learned as a young person (now I’m older) that when someone calls you names it means they lost the conversation, and now are trying to bully the other person. I also learned the person that is the loudest voice is usually the person that knows the least. I’ve found these statements incredibly true.
Thankfully there are people like him. He won’t bend a knee, grab his ankles or genuflect on command.“I will not be intimidated” should be the battle cry …
If you listen and watch carefully when someone is speaking, there are many clues to truth or falsehood. Toxic speech is a tool to cover deceitful distraction. A’s background and integrity … exemplary.
I like my brain. I don’t really know what it is, but that’s okay. And then there’s my mind … a deeper mystery.
I’ve been on the planet for 77 years. That’s a lot of moments. Some of them return, in random fashion.
I’ve just decided to sit here in Izy Coffee and see what images bubble up over the next half hour. Maybe lots. Maybe none.
In the spirit of analysis, I’ll time myself. It’s 10:22. See you in thirty minutes.
***
10:52.
Here’s what entered me:
Pole vault
Bill Crothers running the 800 metres race in the 1960’s (I was there)
A girl laughing at me when I fell on the ice
Standing up Jean Deeth on a date when we were teenagers
Wearing my Superman outfit as I drove from Lethbridge to Calgary, Alberta, Canada
Two burning candles near each other
Shimmering down … from head to toe
My mouth opening now (it is)
A red coat
Couples holding hands
A waterbed, sinking into it
People with their heads down, frowning
Pulling the covers up to my chin
…
At this point I started meditating, even though I was in a coffee shop, with the sounds of a coffee machine, background music, customers and street noises.
…
Gentle raindrops
The skin of my face melting, dripping off my chin
Downward, sinking into
My arms growing longer to the sides
Leaking from the corners of my mouth
Singing “The Sound of Silence”
A snake slithering
My arms going limp
Bowing
Someone speaking Turkish? Just the flow of sounds
Lying on my back, dying
Yannick, my mailman
Bruce Springsteen
Anne With An “E” TV series
Anne’s face
“Kindred spirits”
The sound of a tram … a past train journey
Grandpa’s farm, a train in the distance passing from right to left, billows from the steam locomotive
Grandpa’s cigar
Grandpa’s stories on the stone porch
Lips
Floating on my back on a river
A long waterfall
…
Quieter now, deeper into the meditation
…
A tiny brook in a Canadian mountain meadow
A cell phone ringing … A faraway voice saying “Go away”
Skin cells falling off
Falling face down into an abyss, smiling
Travelling down a blood vessel as it becomes smaller
I sense that years ago I wrote about what I’m about to write about. A little voice says “That’s bad.” But I don’t trust little voices.
Contact between human beings is either there or not there. I can feel in my guts its presence or absence. I’m talking about a spiritual connection, not necessarily skin to skin.
I often make people laugh. And instantly there it is … contact. Easy. Natural.
Words shared together from the heart yield the same smile. You and me.
I write this blog almost every day. I average thirty views a day. Are those folks connected to me, or is it just a glance at a photo and lots of words? I trust that for some of those thirty, there is a coming together with me. But I don’t know. I get very few “Likes” or comments.
After all this flow of language, I’m left with a usual question:
Should I keep score?
As I now sit quietly, sipping my cappuccino, the answer floats towards me:
No
No stats. No “more contact yesterday, less today”. Such a waste of energy.
One more time, I promise to let go of an insidious question:
How am I doing?
Goodbye, self-reflective mind. I know I’ll see you again … and I’ll say goodbye again.
Prime Minister Mark Carney of Canada spoke to the European Parliament recently.
Does his choice of words reveal the heart and soul of the man?
Yes
Thank you for granting me the honour of addressing you all at the beginning of this decisive session.
Today I will speak to you about how our response to the current geopolitical rupture should incorporate a new dimension.
…
The depth of our bonds, those which unite us, cannot be measured by trade or what is written in treaties alone.
…
Goethe understood that ideals must be fought for, that values do not defend themselves. Indeed, at the end of Faust, the old man’s last vision is of a free people on free ground.
…
It [freedom] was nurtured by the founders of the European Coal and Steel Community in the aftermath of the war.
It was fostered by the creation of the European Community.
It was preserved through the establishment of the European Union.
And it grew through its expansion following the fall of the Berlin Wall.
…
This is the essence of the Canada-European Union partnership. Seeds, values, ideas, trade, people and progress carried back and forth across the Atlantic for centuries.
…
Our commitment to the rule of law, and our unyieldingdefence of human dignity, individual freedom and democracy share the same deep roots, the same unwaveringdedication.
We hold common values, for which we have always fought, and in whose defence we must always remain vigilant.
We believe that a strong economy is not an end in itself, but the means to a just society. We are committed stewards of our natural heritage. We believe that our prosperity grows when it is shared.
…
We are bound by an affinity – elective, chosen and renewed, and stronger for being so.
…
Beneath the forest floor, the roots of an oak intertwine with those of its neighbours, exchanging nutrients, adding strength to strength, creating a resilient, self-sustaining ecosystem.
***
It was a long speech. There’s plenty more to come … but you get the idea.
