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

My head falling backwards

People laughing far away

Someone hammering

Coffee machine

Pop music in the background

***

Well, that was fun!

Thank you, dear mind

Let’s do it again sometime

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.

And another wayward thought:

Look at you.  You’re such a good person

***

Give it all a rest, Bruce

Merely open yourself

To the next person coming your way

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 unyielding defence of human dignity, individual freedom and democracy share the same deep roots, the same unwavering dedication.

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.

Our words have power

For good or ill

Let’s go for good

It’s a document adopted by the United Nations General Assembly in 1948.  It speaks the truth of a world we know is possible.

Articles 1 and 2 (Core Principles):

Proclaim that all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights, strictly banning discrimination based on race, sex, language, religion or background.

Articles 3 to 11 (Individual and Legal Protections):

Safeguard the right to life, liberty and security.  They ban slavery, torture and arbitrary arrest, while guaranteeing a fair trial and the presumption of innocence.

Articles 12 to 17 (Civil Freedoms):

Enshrine the right to privacy, freedom of movement, the right to seek asylum, nationality, marriage/family and property ownership.

Articles 18 to 21 (Political Freedoms):

Protect freedom of thought, conscience and religion; freedom of opinion and expression; peaceful assembly; and the right to participate in government.

Articles 22 to 27 (Economic and Social Rights):

Guarantee social security, the right to work and equal pay, rest and leisure, education, an adequate standard of living (including food, clothing, housing and medical care) and cultural participation.

Articles 28 to 30 (Framework and Duties):

Outline the social and international order needed to realize these rights, balancing individual freedoms with duties to the community.

***

It’s a piece of paper … an important one

It guides the actions of nations

Perhaps we should carry it in our purse or wallet

Because most essentially …

It’s about you and me

I sat in a park yesterday listening to a man play his accordion.  I’d say he was from somewhere in Eastern Europe … perhaps Turkey.

Tourists passed by left and right.  He kept playing and smiling.  And he allowed me to take his picture.

In my forty minutes or so with the gentleman, four songs still linger with me.  And he repeated them.  They were familiar tunes.  And I wondered who wrote each one.  The internet assisted me.

1.  Que Sera, Que Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be) … a writer from the United States

2.  Cielito Lindo … from Mexico

3.  My Way … with dual citizenship – Canada and the USA

4.  When The Saints Go Marchin’ In … the USA

The musician’s pillow was sparse with coins.  He probably played for hours to accumulate a few euros.

And … I wonder what it feels like to play songs that are far away from his traditions.  Maybe he loves them, but just as likely he knows they’re pieces that tourists know.  And therefore they might be more generous.

I’m imagining my heart and soul if I thought I had to sing songs that would be popular, but that didn’t move me.  Hmm …

***

I don’t know how the accordionist truly feels

But he sure has a great smile

I was quietly sipping my cappuccino yesterday in Izy Coffee on the Langemunt.  Léa, the barista, came up to me and asked for help.

“There’s a bird on the ground below a table on the terrace.  It looks injured.  Some people almost stepped on it.  Would you help me catch it?”

Of course, “Yes”.

I went out to look.  It seemed like one of the pigeon’s eyeballs was hanging out.  My heart sank.

We both went on the internet to find who to call, and the answer was nearby: Opvangcentrum Voor Vogels En Wilde Dieren, a bird and wildlife rescue centre.

We needed a box, big enough to transport the little one without hurting it further.  I found one in Izy’s storage room.  Léa emptied out the coffee cups and I cut some air holes.

We tried to contact Izy’s owner, knowing he has a car, but we couldn’t reach him.  I checked public transit.  It was a 30-40 minute ride on tram and bus and feet.

I’ll do it

I tried corralling the pigeon but he or she, even injured, was too fast for me.  Léa grabbed a towel, placed it over the bird to calm it, grabbed on, and placed it into my waiting box.  Tape the top and I was ready to go.

My connections weren’t great but within the hour I was ringing the wildlife centre’s doorbell.  I had done my best to be gentle on the trip, and to keep the box and its occupant out of the sun.  Occasionally I could hear the scratching of claws on cardboard.  It was still alive.

A lovely young man took the pigeon into another room and examined it.  He came back shaking his head.

“It isn’t injured.  It has a severe disease called pigeon pox virus … highly contagious for other birds, harmless for animals and humans.”

“Even with treatment, it’s unlikely our little friend will survive.  And she would infect many other birds.  The humane thing to do is euthanize her.”

(Sigh)

I sadly agreed.

***

I walked into Izy after the return trip.  Léa’s face tightened.  And I too shook my head.

Two sad human beings

We did our best for a fellow being of the Earth

And our sick little companion leaves a legacy …

The ending of her life has saved many other lives

I had a panic attack in the wee hours of last night.  I was terrified, not of dying, but that a painful experience would continue for the rest of my life.  Sleep disappeared.

“But you’re spiritually evolved, Bruce.  You shouldn’t have panic attacks.”  Oh yeah … no to both parts.

In the evening I’d watched a documentary called Wisdom Of Happiness, in which the Dalai Lama sat in a chair and talked to all of us resting behind the camera.

Brothers and sisters of this small planet, we are same human beings

His Holiness has the same joys and sorrows as I do.  Fear and anger and sadness come to visit him, as they do us.  He has learned to train his mind beyond what most of us can do.

I can change my mind.  I can reduce anger, hatred

Hmm … and so can I.  So can you

Here are one reviewer’s comments:

His Holiness begins by telling listeners to get rid of all expectations: There will be no miracles or blessings in this film.

…

The ninety-minute documentary has the feel of a master class delivered by a physician of the mind, recalling to us all that everyone has the capacity to develop clear-sightedness and, with it, hope.

***

Will more panic attacks come my way?

Quite possibly yes, as my frailties continue to emerge

…

And above it all …

A mist of well-being descends

Friends of mine are flying to Senegal today.  I decided to sneak up to Brussels Airport and surprise them.

The flight leaves at 12:25 pm.  A tram in Gent and a train to Brussels got me to the airport at 9:40 am.  That’s pretty close to the three-hour recommended time.

The check-in to Dakar was in area 01.  I stood there at 9:45 or so.  Only about twenty folks were lined up … my friends not included.

So I was fine.

I figured that the dear ones would be taking an elevator from the parking lot with their luggage piled on carts.  I found a big sign to hide behind, and I planned my moment.

There was a tiny slice of space behind the sign, and I adjusted my head so I could see the arrivers but they weren’t likely to see me.  Perfect.

Would I burst out immediately, waving my arms as they came by?

Or would I delay it a bit, tiptoeing up behind them?

Either would be glorious.

As I waited, I saw the symphony of humanity flowing towards their planes.  Some were dressed lightly, anticipating a warm destination.  Others clearly were heading to colder climes.

And then there were the pilots and flight attendants … all dressed up with some place to go!

9:45 turned into 10:15 – still two hours and ten minutes from liftoff.  I had already focused on hundreds of faces from my hiding spot.  No friends.

10:45 … 11:15.  And I was getting tired.  Too much concentrating.

And then the realization:

Either my friends had registered at the Brussels Airlines desk awfully early, or they had switched flights, or they were so late that they wouldn’t get through security in time to fly at 12:25.

(Sigh)

No surprise

I’m sad

And also proud of myself for going for it

…

I hope there’ll be a next time

Last night five of us met at my home for our monthly playreading.  We take turns for hosting, and yesterday it was me.  I chose “Over The Horizon” by Eugene O’Neill.

We tried on new emotional clothes, each of us switching parts after every act.

…

Two brothers on the farm, one a dreamer, the other practical – Robert and Andrew

The girl that both of them love – Ruth

Their father, a lifetime farmer – James

Ruth’s mother, old and sickly and bitter – Mrs. Atkins

…

Listen to them

Perhaps become them

***

Robert:  Suppose I was to tell you that it’s just beauty that’s calling me, the beauty of the far off and unknown, the mystery and spell which lures me, the need of freedom of great wide spaces, the joy of wandering on and on – in quest of the secret which is hidden over there – beyond the horizon?

Andrew:  “I have loved wind and light and the bright sea.  But holy and most sacred night, not as I love and have loved thee.”  (He hands the book back)  Here!  Take it and bury it.  I suppose it’s that year in college gave you a liking for that kind of stuff.  I’m darn glad I stopped at high school, or maybe I’d been crazy too.  Imagine me reading poetry and plowing at the same time!  The team’d run away, I’ll bet.

Ruth (to Andrew):  You see I’d found out I’d made a mistake about Rob soon after we were married – when it was too late …

And then I thought that when Mary came it’d be different, and I’d love him; but it didn’t happen that way.  And I couldn’t bear with his blundering and book-reading – and I grew to hate him, almost …

I wouldn’t know how to feel love, even if I tried, any more.

James (to Andrew):  You know I’m speakin’ truth – that’s why you’re afraid to argy!  You lie when you say you want to go ’way – and see thin’s!  You ain’t got no likin’ in the world to go.  I’ve watched you grow up, and I know your ways, and they’re my ways.  You’re runnin’ against your own nature, and you’re goin’ to be a’mighty sorry for it if you do.  ’S if I didn’t know your real reason for runnin’ away!  And runnin’ away’s the only words to fit it.  You’re runnin’ away ’cause you’re put out and riled ’cause your own brother’s got Ruth ’stead o’ you, and …

Mrs. Atkins (to Kate – Robert and Andrew’s mother):  It do make me mad, Kate Mayo, to see folks that God gave all the use of their limbs to potterin’ round and wastin’ time doin’ everything the wrong way – and me powerless to help and at their mercy, you might say.  And it ain’t that I haven’t pointed the right way to ’em.  I’ve talked to Robert thousands of times and told him how things ought to be done.  You know that, Kate Mayo.  But d’you s’pose he takes any notice of what I say?  Or Ruth, either – my own daughter?  No, they think I’m a crazy, cranky old woman, half dead a’ready, and the sooner I’m in the grave and out o’ their way the better it’d suit them.

***

Oh … it was fun!

Shugendo is “a harmonious blend of nature worship, Shinto, and esoteric Buddhism”.   The high mountains of Japan are the spiritual realm where its practitioners (known as yamabushi) open themselves to the Divine.

“Yamabushi, ‘mountain-prostrators’, believe that submitting themselves to the sacred power of nature allows them to take on some of that divine power.  They then use it compassionately on behalf of others when they return to their homes.”

Hiroko Yoda is one of these practitioners.  She wrote about Shugendo in Tricycle magazine.

A man named En probably was the founder of Shugendo … 1300 years ago.

“He headed for the peak of Mount Sanjogatake, where he fasted, prayed and conducted rituals for a thousand days straight.  His singular purpose was to make contact with the most powerful deity he could, in the hopes it might assuage the natural horrors wreaking havoc in the land [famine, earthquake and plague].”

Hiroko wanted to visit Mount Sanjogatake:

I wanted to see the spot where it happened.  I wanted to see if I might feel any power for myself.  I was ready.  I’d come all this way.  The gate stood before me.  A pair of wooden posts six feet tall, with a board connecting the tops, a rudimentary door framing the wilderness beyond.  Beside it stood a stone pillar, rough-hewn and squared, towering even taller than the gate.  On it a series of characters were engraved into the surface: 女 人 結 界 (“WOMEN FORBIDDEN”).

!

Hiroko chose to obey the sign.  After lingering a bit, she turned around and walked back down the trail.

She could have chosen to ignore the sign.  She could have climbed Mount Sanjogatake.

Over the centuries, Shugendo has slowly welcomed women.  But there are a few pockets of resistance.

Listen to Hiroko …

I came here to show respect, not to challenge taboos.  I came because I wanted to get as close as I could, and I had.

Shugendo wasn’t the problem.  Sexism masquerading as tradition was.  Shugendo had changed.  This place hadn’t.

***

I’m right!

…

I’m not sure