I met a lesbian couple yesterday. They were about 25 … and in love.
When they entered the room, delight followed them in. They touched. When one of them spoke to the group, her gaze included the beloved. The love silently shouted to us all.
I’m learning to be brave, to ask questions intended to enhance life.
Do you hold hands when you walk down the street?
Yes!
I figured so. I know that some quarters of society would be outraged about such a show of affection between two women. Too bad for their narrow heads. Love needs to be celebrated. Like last night.
May you be happy together for the rest of your lives, dear ones
Joni Mitchell is a Canadian singer-songwriter. Her career has spanned sixty years. She has brought joy to so many of us.
Joni is one of those people who I’d love to have coffee with. I expect it will never happen … and that’s fine.
I want to sing her song “Both Sides Now”. It is an anthem of the heart. Here are the words. I’ve highlighted the ones which shine for me.
Rows and flows of angel hair And ice cream castles in the air And feathered canyons everywhere I’ve looked at clouds that way
But now they only block the sun They rain and snow on everyone So many things I would’ve done But clouds got in my way
I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now From up and down, and still somehow It’s clouds’ illusions I recall I really don’t know clouds at all
Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels The dizzy dancing way you feel As every fairy tale comes real I’ve looked at love that way
But now it’s just another show You leave ’em laughing when you go And if you care, don’t let them know Don’t give yourself away
I’ve looked at love from both sides now From give and take, and still somehow It’s love’s illusions I recall I really don’t know love Really don’t know love … at all
Tears and fears and feeling proud To say “I love you” right out loud Dreams and schemes and circus crowds I’ve looked at life that way
But now old friends are acting strange They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed Well something’s lost, but something’s gained In living every day
I’ve looked at life from both sides now From win and lose and still somehow It’s life’s illusions I recall I really don’t know life at all It’s life’s illusions I recall I really don’t know life … at all
***
From Joni’s mouth to mine. Soaring … smiling … weeping
I love trains. This trip is only 50 minutes – from Gent to Ronse. But I’ll have fun, seeing the land zoom by, and maybe having a seatmate to talk to.
I love a journey.
The act of travelling from one place to another, or a long-term process of personal growth and change
Both will do nicely. Perhaps this evening, personal growth and change will also show up in the short-term.
…
A young man just sat across from me. I said “Hello.” He nodded and went back to his phone. Oh well. Maybe I’ll draw him out … and maybe I’ll leave him alone.
…
I just asked the young man:
Have you ever tried taking photos from a moving train? (Discussion starter)
No (Discussion stopper) Oh well again
…
Lots of corn. Lots of sky
…
Good news! I can’t remember what I said, but the young fellow and I just had a cool talk. Tomorrow he starts year one of the Architecture program at a college in Oudenaarde, where he lives. It will take seven years for him to become a full-fledged architect. He said the money will be good … “if people like my work”. Go for it.
You might say it was a constructive conversation
(But you don’t have to)
…
I’m losing light here. Does this mean all you’ll see is a field of blurry corn? I hope there’s more.
…
You’ll be happy to know that one time during World War II, Hitler’s train hid in a tunnel between Oudenaarde and Ronse. I took a photo:
I thought I was being so smart. The photo would be black. Instead it showed a reflection of folks in the train.
Brian Mann had something to say on Facebook. He talked about the best of us, and how, when famous and nice people die, we grieve.
It’s true for me. I mourn the people who have shared their life with me face-to-face but also those I meet through a TV screen. The beauty of who they are explodes into my living room.
Here’s Brian:
They were magnetic without seeming to need attention, secure enough in themselves to be humble, serious about the problems of ordinary people without becoming cynical about the world.
They each had the rare ability to make you feel that there was enough to go around: enough dignity, kindness, grace, enough room at the table.
Fred Rogers could look into a television camera and somehow convince a child that what they felt mattered.
Jimmy Carter could leave the presidency and spend the next four decades demonstrating that significance and status were not the same thing.
Dolly Parton could be larger than life and still make the person standing in front of her feel like the important one.
They didn’t use their presence to make themselves bigger. They used it to make other people feel more human. Their attention communicated something very liberating: I see you. You belong here.
I often experience wave after wave of fear. Then they disappear. Later they return.
I choose not to describe my topics of fear. I have mine. No doubt you have yours. And there’s probably an overlap.
Most mornings upon waking I’m afraid. After showering and eating the feeling usually disappears for awhile. It feels like the spiral you see – around and around: the issues of my life appear, disappear and reappear.
I think I’m a slow learner, but at least I’m a learner. Even with the half-opened eyes of sunrise, I often see the way to be:
Go towards the fear
Feel its texture and colour
Welcome it into my living room
For the fear is a guest. It will enjoy my coffee for awhile and then walk out into the world, to return hours later for another sip.
The welcome includes my wide open arms and a hug. The fear is not my enemy. It’s a friend who teaches. It’s here because I’m a human being.
I love the word “This”. What’s right here, right now. As opposed to “That”, which lives somewhere else, in the past or future.
My early morning time in bed usually falls into the moment … what’s real now. It’s often the fear and often something else – a wide open heart hugging the world.
Sometimes I quote me:
My fear will disappear when I become more spiritually evolved
I was reading a lovely article about a couple who walked five kilometres from a village up to a ski station to watch a bicycle race fly by.
I was maybe two-thirds through the story when I noticed their names: “Pierre and Marie”.
In the last paragraph, I noticed their names once again: “Pierre and Marie”. And I had a thought …
Always the man’s name first. Why do writers do that?
Expecting no difference from the norm, I scrolled back to the beginning. And there they were in all their glory: “Marie and Pierre”! Thank you, dear scribe.
Why men first – historically and now? I could research it but I don’t want to. It’s just inappropriate.
Why does “men and women” slide off the tongue so easily but “women and men” feels like a stutter?
A few days ago, I wrote “Singing and Playing”, about my yearning to sing marvelous songs while playing a harmony line on the cello.
Today I’m realizing that I don’t want to continue having cello lessons and music theory classes at Poel.
It’s a fine school of music, drama and dance. I’ve been a cello and music theory student there for three years. My cello teacher Lieven is skilled, smart and kind.
And … a mantra has been growing in me for at least a year:
I don’t want to
I don’t want to master difficult pieces
I don’t want to play in a small string ensemble
I don’t want to be in a cello orchestra
I don’t want to struggle to understand music theory lessons which are naturally taught in Dutch
I don’t want to go to school
…
It’s a very quiet “no” to all this. But it’s there.
Today I’m having lunch with Lieven. I want to tell him face-to-face. He deserves that.
I’m hoping that he’ll be willing to meet with me every two months or so. We’re beyond teacher and student. We’re friends.
Lieven may say yes. He may say no. Whatever happens, I will continue to hold my head up high. I have the rest of my life to live.
Many, many years
***
I’m not going to publish this until after lunch. We’ll see what Lieven says.
I’ve received the doctor’s report … and I have a normal older brain. No Alzheimer’s or other nasties. Yay!
I haven’t known what it means when I get distracted during a conversation and then can’t remember what we were talking about. And I still don’t know. But if the doctor says “All is well” that’s good enough for me.
The “not remembering after interruption” happens virtually every day. From now on, I’ll just smile when it shows up.
Hello, old friend
***
Yesterday I told you about the fellow with lumps on his face whom I saw on a terrace. I said that if I saw him again, I’d ask his permission to sit down and talk.
It’s amazing how quickly “again” can appear. I finished writing the blog post and headed back home.
And there he was … still sitting there.
I have a question for you, and feel free not to answer it
Okay. Go ahead
I notice the lumps on your face. Do you think that many people only see your face and not the human being that you are?
That’s true. And it’s almost everybody
We talked for forty minutes or so. “Brecht” bought me a coffee. We roamed over things we’ve learned in life, our sorrows, our joys. It was easy.
My peripheral vision caught the occupants of three nearby tables looking at us. Oh well. I don’t know their secret thoughts.
I just passed a young man who was sitting on the terrace of a coffee shop. His face had a number of large lumps. A friend of his was also walking by and the two of them waved and smiled. Lovely.
I think of the word “disfigured” …
Having a physical appearance that is badly damaged, spoiled or marred
But that’s not it. Spoiled according to whom? There were simply lumps.
The woman in the picture has a lump on her neck. It’s red, in contrast to her white skin. Yes, she should have it checked out to see if the redness is important but basically the message many of us receive here is “White is good and red is bad.” Perhaps not.
We humans also seem to have a thing with smoothness. Her neck below the lump is “lovely” and “youthful”. The bulge is an interruption in the flow of beauty. Perhaps not.
If I see the fellow on the terrace again, I’ll say hi. I’ll see if he wants to talk about the probability that some people don’t see him. They just see an unusual face.
I’ll understand if he doesn’t want to talk. I’ll smile and wave goodbye.
Okay, that’s not me … but it’s the same machine in which I spent a small part of my day.
My doctor at the Geriatric Clinic of AZ Sint-Lucas Hospital thought it would be a good idea for me to have a PET Scan of my brain. I was injected with a radioactive glucose to assess the functioning of my noggin.
Apparently I stay radioactive until tomorrow morning. And I have to stay away from pregnant women and young children. I’ve chosen an easy solution – stay home.
I’ll get the results in a day or two. This is good. Are my memory problems just normal aging or is there something else going on? Give me more information rather than less.
My job today is to rest and to drink about a thousand litres of water to flush out my brain and other body parts. I can do this … at least the resting part.
I have a Zoom meeting in a couple of hours that I’ve agreed to go to. Exhaustion is my current companion, along with sleep, but I’ll keep my word. Words need to be kept.
***
Tomorrow or the day after I’ll let you know if I’m a normal human being
Bruce's Blog 