The Buddha was a smart guy.  He knew all about the foaming seas of life, and the sharks that loom underneath.  Plus he knew something else …

It’s possible to be “chill” amid it all

He talked about equanimity, which the dictionary simply calls “a calm mental state”.

Margaret Cullen was writing in Tricycle magazine about this, and her words reached me this morning:

In Buddhist teachings, a metaphor that is often used for equanimity is grandmotherly love.  Whether it is seeing with a grandmother’s eyes or relating through a grandmother’s heart, the grandmother is able to love fully without being caught in the dramas of her grandchildren’s lives.  She doesn’t take things personally and sees all children as deserving of love and care.  She has seen through the trappings of identity and power and has the wisdom of perspective.  A grandmother’s eyes are quiet eyes: They neither seek to possess nor disown.  The grandmother’s gaze epitomizes unconditional goodwill. 

Well said, Margaret.

Another cool idea that came from the mind of the Buddha is that virtuous qualities have”near enemies”.  They masquerade as the real thing.  Compassion is great.  Pity is not.

Margaret again:

The most significant near enemies of equanimity are indifference, detachment, apathy and passivity.

***

Sometimes bad stuff happens

Sometimes the results you and I create are lovely

And often not

It’s okay

We’ll just keep loving each other

It was many moons ago.  I was living in London, Ontario, Canada.  I often enjoyed folk music concerts at a club called the Cuckoo’s Nest, hosted by Ian Davies.  Happily, it’s still alive and well in 2026.

Somewhere along the line, I bought a CD showcasing the music of Tranby Croft, a local group.  And I fell in love with a song … Old French Lane.

Years later, I lost the CD.  (Sigh)

More years later, I talked to Bob Cunningham, one of the founding members of the then-defunct Tranby Croft, at a Cuckoo’s Nest concert.  I told him I had a yearning to find one of their old songs.  The CD was no longer in print.

He said he would look for the lyrics for me … but that never happened.  And I never saw Bob again.

And so Old French Lane disappeared from my mind, apparently never to return.

More, more years – all the way to 2023, when I moved to Belgium.  Soon after, the song returned to my mind … a wisp of smoke from the past.  And again the sadness of something sweet that’s gone forever.

Until last fall.  I’d brought a tiny plastic bag full of USB sticks across the ocean, and I was curious to see what was on them.

One had a folder called “Music” … and there were a lot of songs, listed alphabetically.

I wonder …

I scrolled, nervously.

And there it was … Old French Lane

Would it play?  >  Yes, it would!

Last month, I copied the lyrics.  The tune was already firmly in my soul.

And soon, in early July, I will sing a long-beloved song in front of passing shoppers on the Langemunt. 

I love happy endings

***

Seven jewels lie in the channel
South of England’s shores
Where you and I once walked together
Where I’ll walk no more

Hand in hand we would go
In the sun and in the rain
Through the streets of St. Helier
Down the Old French Lane

With Jersey sunshine falling on your hair
Shines in strands of red and gold
With eyes of green like the emerald sheens
Of your ancestral home

That was so long ago
Red and gold turn silver now
But eyes of green will never change
In my memory somehow

Eyes of green will never change
In my memory somehow

All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you

(Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings)

And how much time would that be?

Let’s say I live till 90.  That’s 13 more years.

So …

The Number of Days in Bruce’s Life

= 90 x 365.25  (Leap year, you know)

= 32,872

The Number of Hours

= 788,940

The Number of Minutes

= 47,336,400

Woh!  That’s a pile of time.

***

One of the most impactful experiences I’ve had was with a woman in a parking lot.  It lasted maybe 20 seconds.  She simply said “Hello.”

The year was about 1987.  Now it’s 2026.  A long ago yesterday still shines today.

Twenty seconds out of 2,840,184,000.

***

The days they pass so quickly now
Nights are seldom long
Time around me whispers when it’s cold
The changes somehow frighten me
Still I have to smile
It turns me on to think of growing old

For though my life’s been good to me
There’s still so much to do
So many things my mind has never known
I’d like to raise a family
I’d like to sail away
And dance across the mountains on the moon

“Poems, Prayers and Promises”

John Denver

I had breakfast yesterday in The Cobbler at the Post Hotel, one of my favourite spots.  I got to sit beside the fireplace.  Cozy.

I looked up to see these two glasses of water … and then a few fingers appeared, touching the spout of the teapot. 

The fingers moved.  And voilà – the teapot was spinning on the table!

I thought “How lovely.”  Hidden behind the fireplace was a human being who was having fun at breakfast, and probably throughout his or her day.

Hmm.  Two glasses.  And an empty chair.  And an unknown imp of an adult.  (At least I was guessing it was an adult.  Sure, it’s more likely that a kid would spin her pot but so cool that a taller person would do it too.)

The fingers didn’t reappear and the chair remained empty.  And so the mystery deepened.  A woman?  A man?  Young?  Old?  From what country?  What language?

***

When I got up to leave, I couldn’t resist looking over.  It was a woman about my age.  A man had finally joined her and the two were deep in conversation.

I bet she dances in the street

A few days ago I had a vivid experience of diarrhea.

Yesterday morning I sat in a nearly empty Lloyd Coffee Eatery, listening to the two employees talking in the kitchen area.

My mind did the rest …

***

It was 1986.  I was a waiter at Fiddler’s, a fancy dining room in Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada.  Lunchtime was dead – only one couple eating.

They were enjoying their main course.  I had topped up their drinks.  There was nothing to do but leave them alone with their romantic words.

I retreated behind the divider, and Colette and I started talking about … not much.  Gossip and assorted silly stuff.

Somehow our conversation turned to the topic of shit.  One of us came up with the delightfully messy term “anal pudding”.  We giggled.  How creative we were!

…

Time passed … and I peeked around the corner to see that the couple’s plates were empty.  I walked out and gracefully removed the dirty dishes.  And then returning …

Bruce:  “Would you like some dessert?  We have a wide variety.”

Woman (smiling):  “Oh, we’ve heard what you have for dessert.  And we don’t want any.”

(Please visualize a red-faced young man slinking away to the back of the restaurant)

***

1986 … 2026

Timeless

Here we have Maya Gebala and her father David.  A photo probably taken last year – definitely not after February, 2026.  That was when Maya was shot in the head by a school shooter in Tumbler Ridge, British Columbia, Canada.  She’s been in hospital in Vancouver since that day.

At first doctors didn’t think Maya would live.  Now she may be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.  But who knows?  The future is immense.

Yesterday Dad posted on Facebook:

I think we just saw one of our first intentional smiles! 😍 My beautiful baby girl, there you are ❤️

In all my months of cheering Maya on, I had never seen her smile.  But there was a glimmer of one in David’s video!  I cried.

Here are some responses from the internet:

She did!  She smiled!  Oh now I can’t stop smiling!

Wonderful! 😍 Many of us have been praying for this moment.  I’m moved to tears.  Way to go, Maya

This is just simply the most amazing thing in the WORLD

You can see the smile coming on her face ❤️

She is in there!!  Yes Maya!!!  Yes!!!!!!

Wonderful.  Your smile will brighten up the world, sweet Maya

Keep shining bright!

Be still my heart.  l have been waiting for this day.  Her whole face lit up.  I just love her to bits

***

And so …

Our mouths influence other mouths

They’re made for each other.  When love is present, the one that moves naturally flows to the one that stays.

***

We see the beloved

A moment of life touches us

The beating under the skin feeds us power

We feel the beauty of our country

And again the dear one …

Yesterday was the women’s final of the French Open tennis tournament.  It is a “Grand Slam”, one of the four most important competitions.

Mirra Andreeva of Russia defeated Maja Chwalinska of Poland.  Maja wasn’t high enough ranked to get into the tournament.  So she had to play three qualifying matches, and then six more to reach the final.

Both Maja and Mirra are heroes for me, not because of their tennis exploits but because of what they said after the match.

Gracious in Victory

“Of course first of all congrats to Maja for these amazing three weeks, passing through qualies, winning so many matches,” said Andreeva.  “Beating so many great players, congrats to your team as well.”

“You guys have done an amazing job, amazing work.  You are a very tricky opponent.  I would not want to play against you one more time!  I wish you the best of luck for the rest of the season and I hope we play many more finals together in the future.”

Gracious in Defeat

“First of all congrats to Mirra.  You’re such an incredible player.  You’re so young and talented, it’s so annoying 😂😂😂.  Congrats to you and your team for an amazing job.  I wish you all the best for the future.”

“I wish you could see a better match today, but Mirra was just too good for me so I guess it’s her fault,” Chwalinska said laughing to the crowd during her finalist’s speech.

***

Smiles, laughing, appreciation of the opponent

It’s called “we” rather than “me”

What the world needs

Perhaps I’ll say it once more, just for fun:

I did it!

I sang ten songs on the Langemunt, one of Gent’s shopping streets.  After winding down with a coffee, I had a bus to catch – a 40-minute ride to get my hair cut.

As I watched the passing scenery, I felt myself loosen, even on the edge of collapse.  The body was saying “That’s enough for now, big guy.”

My hair was really long, and my hair stylist is very popular, so it felt irrational to skip the bus and head back to bed.  So a-bussing I would go.

I got off in the nearby community of Evergem, with a 15-minute walk ahead of me.  Make that a stumble.  I had given a lot.  There wasn’t much left.

And then it happened:

I pooped my pants

(Sigh)

I won’t go into detail but I’m sure you can imagine.

It was a liquid and smelly journey to the hair salon.  As I walked in, I told Joyce the truth.  She gave me a towel to sit on.  I thought it would help to wash my hands in the bathroom but further hygiene adjustments would have to wait for home.

The thrill of my singing was fresh … along with something else.

Forty-five minutes later, I was a new man, as far as the top of my head was concerned.  Another walk led to another bus ride, full of human beings.  Each had a nose.  (Sigh again)

After a thorough clean-up at home, I contemplated the rest of my day.  I had agreed to sing at an open mic session in the evening but I felt like playing the “tired” card.  They’ll do fine without me.

But something propelled me to go.  Our usual venue was closed for construction.  Our alternate site was the terrace of a café.  When I arrived, there were at least 100 people enjoying the evening breeze, crowding around lots of tables.

About ten of us sat at a round table for the performing – drama, poetry and singing.  The background conversations were loud!

My body said “Don’t sing” but some other part of me stood up.  I sang two of the songs I’d sung on the Langemunt – about humanity’s future, and about a lost love.

I sang them with gusto, and with a high volume, despite our table being surrounded by others.  Was I insensitive to the needs of other human beings?  Yes.  But it sure felt good!

***

So … it was a day!

Up.  Down.  Up

And soon thereafter my happy head faded away on the pillow

I did it … ten songs.  I’m proud of myself

There was a lot of tossing and turning in bed last night.  Would I do well?  Would I mess up?  Would I be happy either way?

From 9:00 am on, I sat in Lloyd Coffee Eatery, alternating between moderate terror and a sense of peace about it all.

At 10:30 I started walking to my concert venue – Eyes + More optician on the Langemunt.  I said hi to Aude and Virginie and tried to have them calm me down.  They did their best.

Lift off for my voice was scheduled for 11:00 am.  At 10:50 it started raining, pretty hard.

And my mind roamed around the thought universe.  A main one was:

I can’t sing in the wet.  It’ll ruin my microphone and amplifier

There was a spasm of delight in this: I can go home and pull the covers up to my neck once more.  However, that urge comes with the fact that my moment of breaking through, of doing something for the first time, is merely postponed.  Sort of like an exam being cancelled.

At 9:55 the torrent went from all to nothing.  Just wet pavement.

I nodded.  I put the amp and mic stand on the street, grabbed the connecting cable, turns things on … and sighed.

This is the moment

Lots of people on the Langemunt, all apparently rushing to the next sale.  The woman employee across the street gave me a sound check.  Virginie and Aude offered a thumbs up.

And I was off … starting with “It’s About Time”.  I introduced it to the moving masses this way: the world needs far more “we” and far less “me”.

The last line:

It’s about you and me together … and it’s about time

I smiled.  People floated across my field of vision.  And then it was on to the next … “Loving Her Was Easier”.

This is a love story that was, and is no longer.  The yearning for yesterday

As I rolled through my set list, I received a few smiles, and the occasional person pausing for a few seconds.  Actually, many folks seemed more taken with my sign than with my music:

I don’t want any money.  Thank you

Virginie and the woman in the store across the street said they enjoyed the songs.  I didn’t see Aude at the end.

I packed up and went for a coffee with myself.  It was a soft sitting, just starting to grasp what I had done.  I sang beautiful songs from my heart.  I got the lyrics wrong four or five times, but truly who cares?  I don’t even care, which is very cool.

***

Tomorrow I’ll tell you what happened next … because right now I don’t have any more words to share with you.  Time to rest.