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

Meggie is a 12-year-old girl.  Mo is her father.  In the Inkheart series of books, they show an amazing ability to read aloud a passage from a novel and draw a character from the page into the room they’re in. 

Mo could paint pictures in the empty air with his voice alone

Words that came to her tongue so easily and with such power when she read aloud

And now Meggie wants to go the other way … into the worlds described in her beloved books.

Cornelia Funke has created a magical universe, full of wondrous people.  And I love what Meggie and Mo have to say and think:

Go on, admit it, the book whispers its story to you at night  (Mo)

I’d like to bring them out of books, touch them, all those characters, all those wonderful characters.  I want them to come out of the pages and sit beside me, I want them to smile at me, I want, I want, I want …  (Meggie)

Taste every word, Meggie … savour it on your tongue.  Do you taste the colours?  Do you taste the wind and the night?  The fear and the joy?  And the love.  Taste them, Meggie, and everything will come to life  (Mo)

…

She wanted to learn to make up stories like Fenoglio.  She wanted to learn to fish for words so that she could read aloud to her mother without worrying about who might come out of the stories and look at her with homesick eyes.  So Meggie decided that words would be her trade

And where better could she learn that trade than in a house full of magical creatures, where fairies built their nests in the garden and books whispered on the shelves by night?  As Mo had said: writing stories is a kind of magic too

…

She always did like tales of adventure – stories full of brightness and darkness … Your mother loved a book to lead her into an unknown land  (Mo)

She herself had already opened doors, had lured living, breathing creatures out of faded, yellowing pages  (Meggie)

She wanted to see everything that Dustfinger and her mother had told her about, Dustfinger in a voice soft with longing: the fairies swarming above the grass, trees so high that you thought they would catch the clouds in their branches, the Wayless Wood, the strolling players, the Laughing Prince’s castle, the silver towers of the Castle of Night, Ombra market, the fire that danced for him, the whispering pool where the water-nymphs’ faces looked up at you …

To think of the magic he could have worked in her room with his voice, a voice that gave a different flavour to every word, made every sentence a melody!

The book she had been reading was under her pillow, pressing its cover against her ear as if to lure her back into its printed pages

Her curiosity was too much for her.  She felt almost as if she could hear the books whispering on the other side of the half-open door.  They were promising her a thousand unknown stories, a thousand doors into worlds she had never seen before

Those books were full of the most wonderful words about love and kindness and mercy

***

Et voilà!

Meggie and Mo

The wonders revealed on the printed page

Elea is a university student studying design.  Her task was to interview an old person and then design something for them.  I’m not sure how I qualified for the “old person” part but we just had a great talk.

She had a list of questions, including my childhood memories and also what changes I’ve noticed in society.  At one point, though, she closed her iPad and let go of the agenda.  That was a very cool moment. 

We just talked, about our joys and sorrows, about what’s important to us. 

I told Elea of …

My mom’s lemon pie (with bits of orange peel)

My first remembered spiritual experience, sitting under a tree for probably hours, singing the title song from Jesus Christ Superstar

The adventures of my blind students, as they felt into what the word “proactive” means

Not leaving anyone out

My recent forgetting of what I was talking about when a conversation is interrupted

Etcetera

The stereotype is that the older person teaches and the younger person learns but Elea and I flowed back and forth.  No teacher, no learner … just two people connecting.

At one point, someone we both know came by to say hi.  I had told Elea about my recent mantra “I don’t want to”, letting go of the extras in my life.  Elea asked the newcomer if she had a mantra.

The woman talked about having a recent accident, and deciding to stop singing.  But now the urge to sing is so loud that she will begin again.

It was so cool.  The connection between two expanded to three.

***

These are the moments to cherish

Exploring what is truth, beauty and goodness

Together

The Koppenberg is a stretch of cobblestones near Oudenaarde in Belgium.  It’s 600 metres long, averaging a gradient of 11%, with a maximum of 22%.  Steep!

Today was a cyclocross race, mostly on dirt trails, but the riders also climbed part of the Koppenberg six times.  Here’s a photo of the Men’s Under 23 race starting:

I was hoping for rain today, because that creates mud, and mud creates human beings who look like this:

Alas … it was dry.

Once I was onsite, I started climbing up the dirt and grass.  And climbing is not my best subject these days.  I got pooped pretty quickly, but I kept going.  I wanted to find the highest point on the course, and I think I did.

Cyclists came on the level from the right …

And then grunted their way up this dirt wall:

Watching all those leg muscles pumping, and then slowing as it got really steep, was enthralling.  What strength all these women and men showed!

One rider got halfway up the slope … and stopped.  He leaned over the barrier and kissed his wife.  More enthallment for me.  Then he turned around and rode back down the hill, and onto the flat part.  He turned around again and pedalled like crazy to get momentum.  I cheered as he made it to the top.

I was willing on Fem van Empel, a Dutch cyclist who no doubt is thinking about marrying me in the not-so-near future.  Fem is returning to riding after a year away recovering her mental health.  She deserves all my applause.  Fem came 8th.

Now I’m waiting for the bus back to Gent.  The body is “oomphless” but that’s okay.  The important thing is that I went, and enjoyed all sorts of moments.

Now soon to sleep

The English actor Patrick Stewart died a few days ago, age 86.  He had a good long life … emphasis on “good”.

Patrick was Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise on the TV show Star Trek: The Next Generation.  He was my hero.  Not because he was the good guy saving everybody from the bad guys.  He wasn’t a swashbuckling action figure in the Marvel mode.  Jean-Luc (and the actor behind him) was a fine human being … kind, empathetic, assertive, determined.

I saw it in his eyes throughout the 178 episodes.  I saw his contact with each person he was with.  I don’t remember any small talk.  Whatever was important to the captain and his companions flowed from their mouths.

Jean-Luc met beings of many races and worlds.  Yes, sometimes there were conflicts but he maintained his respect for all expressions of life.  And he was true to The Prime Directive:

“Starfleet personnel are strictly prohibited from interfering with the natural unassisted social, cultural and technological evolution of alien civilizations.”

I wrote about Jean-Luc in this blog on September 29, 2014.  The words stay true:

Sure, he had a Shakespearean background, but he mesmerized me far beyond that.  He seemed to stop, to sit in the middle of the present moment, when he spoke.  He often used few words, with my favourites being “Make it so”.  His rich baritone enveloped me.  And then there were the inexpressibles … about which therefore there is nothing to say. 

My dear wife Jody and I watched countless episodes of Next Generation (maybe all of them).  In the fall of 2014, she was dying.  She lay in a hospital bed in our guest bedroom.  What Jody wanted during her last days was to watch Jean-Luc being Jean-Luc on my laptop, with me nearby.

***

It was a fond farewell

Thank you, Jody

Thank you, Patrick

Dreaming is such fun.  Sometimes they float away, unknown.  Not last night.

Imagine an ice hockey arena … everybody on skates, and a big red net for scoring goals.  Okay, you don’t have to imagine:

In my version of things, the skates remain, but no hockey sticks and puck.  Just a boy standing alone about five metres in front of the net, holding a basketball.  No goalkeeper.

The opponents are nowhere to be seen, except for one player way off in the corner to the left – a girl.

The holder of the basketball is smiling.  It’ll be so easy to score a goal.

The girl way in the corner pumps her legs furiously, skating towards the net.  The ball is looping in a high arc.  She throws herself into the air and nudges the ball away with her fingertips!  Silence in the arena … and then an explosion of cheering.

After the game, I climb over the boards onto the ice.  A TV reporter is interviewing the hero girl.  I wait.

And now my turn.

How close did you come to the ball?

A silly dreaming question, since she had tapped the ball away from the goal.

The girl spoke hesitantly, with her father standing nearby.  I couldn’t hear what she said.

Please speak louder.  I have a hearing problem.  I’m 77.

She said a few more words and then her father put his hand on her shoulder and started leading her away.

He turned to me and mentioned a long scientific formula, and suggested I talk to someone at an address on ________ Street.  (I can’t remember the name)

***

And there you have it

Makes perfect sense to me

I’ve been to many retreats at the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts, USA.  One of my favourite teachers is Bhante Buddharakkhita, a Buddhist monk who founded the Uganda Buddhist Center.

Gentle, smiling, cheering me on.  We shared a few smiles over the weeks of retreat.

Here’s a gem from Bhante:

Recently I was leading a retreat, and one of my students said “I have a problem.  I’ve given many people things, but I never get anything back.  Is there something wrong with me?”  This person is a teacher in our primary school.  He said “Whenever I need help, I don’t get any help, but when I give, I give and I give.  I’m exhausted.  I don’t get anything back!”

So I said “Welcome to human life.  Next time, try something different.  Just give to others without expecting anything in return.  When you give to others, experience the joy of giving in that moment.  In that very moment, you are rewarded.” 

***

What a concept.  Expecting nothing … no praise, no nodding of the head “yes”, no hand reaching out to me.

Just giving

I wonder

This is my friend.  He is a kind person.  He also massages my ego by saying he reads my blog every day.

We had coffee just now.  I fell into my usual tendency: talking about my life.  On and on and on …  Michel listened politely.

Sometimes it takes me awhile to wake up, but eventually I did.

“Tell me about you”

Thank God I spoke up.  Michel told me this, that and the other thing about scientific projects he has been involved in.  For some of them, he still is.

My knowledge of such things is limited, to use a kind word.  And I’m fine with that.  I suspect I know less about certain topics than the average human being … and no, that’s not false modesty.

Let me give you some words that Michel gave me:

Mathematics

Telecommunications

Epilepsy

Exoskeleton

Robotics

I was particularly taken with a breakthrough in its infancy – having people with a disability wear an exoskeleton to allow them to move better.

I “got” Michel.  I got his commitment to the betterment of human beings.  His pride in being a member of teams that are doing groundbreaking work.  His smile, knowing that he has been an advisor to many Masters and probably PhD students.

But I pressed him on one thing:

Do you get that you have contributed to many people with your work?

That you’ve made a large difference?

Michel tried to rephrase the question towards “we” and “team”, which of course is a valuable part of making contributions to the world.

I kept pressing.  And eventually he acknowledged that he, Michel, does good work.

And so, for me …

Mission accomplished

***

There are a lot of cool folks in this world

I sat with one of them this morning

I wrote this post two days ago after the events of the night.  There were two other posts I wanted to publish first but I wanted the writing of this one to be fresh, rather than a days-later recollection.

***

I’ve had many good sleeps recently.  And then there was last night.  I awoke into fuzz at 03:00, 06:00 … Who knows when?

I dreamt …

I was writing a report about sleeping.  Or was it about dying?  Anyway, I was hurrying to catch a bus because somebody needed that report right away.

Within this story, there were jolts of other images:

Two muscular and sweaty men having sex

Something being stitched together lovingly

Falling down … into a bottomless blackness

Etcetera

For seemingly hours (minutes?) I didn’t know if I was asleep or awake.  I had no answer to where and when, and certainly not who.

Lost in a mist

Neither here nor there

And there was a beauty within that cloud.  A smile came amid the disorientation.

A later awakening to sunshine had me wondering:

What was that?

Is my mind slowly sinking in the west?

And somehow, somehow … could all still be well?

I’d say the answer is “Yes”

Stan is a barista at a coffee shop where I hang out.  He didn’t give me permission to take his photo so I found an image on the internet which will do nicely.

We’ve talked a lot over the months.  And mostly I can’t remember what we said.  I used to think that such forgetting was a problem … but it’s not.

I feel comfy with Stan when we talk.  And isn’t that a marvelous word?  Far sweeter than “comfortable”.

There’s a quietness and a slowness in his speaking, and a sense of life’s mystery.  Stan hasn’t figured everything out.

I guessed he was 30.  A few days ago he told me 25.  Old enough to be wise.

Sometimes I see Stan engaged in lively conversation with other folks – in Dutch.  So I have no idea what they’re talking about.  When it’s just him and me, our words matter.  It’s life stuff.  Not throwaway sentences about societal life, ones that often mean nothing.

Stan has a problem with his lungs, or thereabouts in his body.  Lots of doctor visits.  But he doesn’t let himself drown in despair or unfairness or being bitter.

I look forward to opening the coffee shop door and seeing Stan behind the counter.  If he’s super busy, we won’t have time to talk.

But then there are those other days