I started writing Bruce’s Blog on June 20, 2014 … the day after I retired from teaching.  I write on WordPress (or Jetpack).  A few years after I began, I started transferring my words to Facebook.

Today is my 2500th post

Yay!

I just did the math.  That’s more than one post every two days.

***

I’m proud of myself.  Every paragraph over the twelve years has been a part of me thrown out into the world.  And I’ve never had the thought “Today I’ll write something that will be popular.  I’ll get lots of Likes!”

I write for you, to hopefully touch your life, open your eyes a bit wider, and make you smile.  Only rarely do I write for me, in the times when woe is me, and tapping out words is my therapy.

***

I’m happy

And tomorrow?

2501

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

(from “The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver)

1.  Write

This blog, most every day.  Maybe two hundred words … about people and things and moments that touch me.  (And tomorrow is a very big day for this!)

2.  Memorize the Lyrics of Beautiful Songs

It’s hard work for me, and happy work.  My older brain appreciates the stimulation.  And therefore I shall live to 104.

3.  Sing

At open mic sessions – Salvatore’s and Minard.  And in the future … on the street.  Hopefully on the Langemunt or nearby.  A microphone, a speaker, no basket, and me.  Songs that move.

4.  Play Cello

Fine melodies, played slowly.  All the time in the world.  “Imagine” as an instrumental.  The final note drifting off in the air.

5.  Strength Training on Weight Machines and Cardiovascular on the Cross-Trainer

Staying strong … so I can keep climbing the fifty steps to my apartment till I’m ninety.  I also want to develop the perfect U-shaped body.

6.  Doing the Mutual Awakening Practice at Meetings of the Evolutionary Collective

True connection with other members of the human race, one at a time.  The ego fading away.  Time disappearing.  All is well.

7.  Meditating

Most every day, in my sweet meditation chair.

Showing me a path to quiet, to soft, to still.

8.  One-to-one Conversations

What’s important in our lives, what’s real, what opens our hearts.

***

These are the days I’m creating

It was yesterday morning.  I was sitting with myself, thinking of nothing.

A wave swept through my mind … and off flowed extra stuff.  Just like that.

“I don’t want to do this anymore”

1.  Turning on my phone as soon as I sit down in a restaurant

Does this serve me, and life?

2.  Looking at my Polar watch app every day to see how well I slept

Does this serve me, and life?

3.  Checking my Jetpack app every day (several times a day!) to see how many people have viewed my latest post

Does this serve me, and life?

4.  Reading articles about cycling … teams, sponsors, rumours, etc. that don’t interest me, even though I love watching races

Does this serve me, and life?

5.  Reading CNN articles, to find out what Trump is saying and doing

Does this serve me, and life?

6.  Masturbating often

Does this serve me, and life?

7.  Watching Marvel movies, such as Black Widow, full of the heroine jumping around and beating people up

Does this serve me, and life?

8.  Participating in small talk conversations about topics that don’t enhance well-being

Does this serve me, and life?

***

So – leaner and kinder … to me.

Tomorrow I’m going to write about how I do want to spend my time.  I’ll call it “Necessary”.

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