Let’s say there are two somethings. I’ll call them A and B. Perspectives on life. Both have value but one is senior and one is junior. More valuable … and less.
“According to whom?” you ask. In this post, according to me. You’ll have your own perspective.
I went to a dermatologist a few weeks ago because my family doctor was concerned about a few marks on my back. I leapt to the possibility of cancer. It wasn’t. The doctor froze the spots, saying the skin would fall off “in a week or two”. Some of them did. One didn’t.
On one of the marks, a little flap of skin loosened but the rest of it was still attached to my back. I fingered the flap several times a day, urging it on.
There we go … two paragraphs about something so minor, but also symbolic.
In Canada I loved walking in the woods in the fall, watching the leaves drift down. Here’s a red one, perhaps in the last moments of clinging before letting go. Happily, my wanderings were not punctuated by upturned shouts of “C’mon. Drop! I don’t have all day.”
And then there’s the butterfly, struggling to break out of the cocoon. There have been stories of empathetic human beings “helping” … and the butterfly afterwards being too weak to fly.
For good measure, here’s another example:
I’m weak, sleepy, at times dizzy. My granddaughter Maryna is also my personal trainer, and I have a session scheduled with her tomorrow. I would like to have fitness return really fast. But what I like is irrelevant. My body is saying no. I’m saying no.
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I’m discovered a good guiding principle: When in doubt, consult a poet. In this moment, it’s John O’Donohue …
This is the time to be slow Lie low to the wall Until the bitter weather passes
Try, as best you can, not to let The wire brush of doubt Scrape from your heart All sense of yourself And your hesitant light
If you remain generous Time will come good And you will find your feet Again on fresh pastures of promise Where the air will be kind And blushed with beginning
On a grey, rain-soaked afternoon in April, 2016 in San Francisco, California, as President Barack Obama walked across the tarmac from Marine One following a series of fundraising engagements, seventeen-year-old Malia walked beside him – and without a word, without a pause, without any apparent awareness that dozens of eyes and cameras were trained on his every movement, the 44th President of the United States angled his umbrella entirely away from himself and over his daughter, his own left shoulder collecting the rain while Malia stayed dry.
So simple, so profound, so needed …
And now the comments from Facebook users. You and Me … You or Me:
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My President
Wished his umbrella would have caught the helicopter blades and took him with it. Just saying.
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He was the greatest President of all time.
It was her umbrella. She just let him play with it.
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A True Leader, A True President, A True Dad.
Barry and one of his rented kids since 2 dudes can’t have kids together 😂
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Humility at its best!
Trump would have made his daughter hold the umbrella for him!
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That’s just what a dad does. I’m lucky enough to have a dad that does that and still opens the doors for my mother, my sisters and myself ❤️
Gay and tranny
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Not just a photo-op either. This man would do this on any given day.
The realm of human connection is supreme. The realm of beer is far less sweet.
I digress …
I revere the movie Sunshine On Leith. It’s a love story. Here you see Jane Horrocks and Peter Mullan singing to each other. They’re married in the film – Jean and Rab. And marriage, of course, is an undulating wave of emotions.
Hear Jean’s despair in another song:
I like the smell of petrol I love the taste of booze But I hate my love for you Yeah, I hate my love for you
I like Johnny Cash singing “A Boy Named Sue” But I hate my love for you Yeah, I hate my love for you
And so it is with me and another beloved – Westmalle Tripel:
I came to Belgium three years ago, eager for the taste of supreme beer. And I fell in love … with the brew you see before your eyes, entrancing with its 9.5% alcohol content.
Entrancing as in “capturing someone’s complete attention, fascination or admiration, as if by a spell”
I savored a Westmalle Tripel during the late afternoon yesterday. The nausea grew in the evening. It awakened me at 4:00 am. It disappeared at 6:00, only to reappear at 9:30.
I would like to make a contribution to life every day. Today I sat across from my daughter Isabelle as we traded stories and love. Mission accomplished.
Now in the evening I want more to flow from me … out to the you’s who reside on Facebook and WordPress. But I’m fading fast towards sleep …
What I want to do is contribute, to elevate your day, to bring a smile to your face. The words don’t have to be mine. I can borrow some great ones.
And so … voilà below! Thank you, dear unknown author, for your words. May they land on at least one reader’s heart.
Just as the soft rains fill the streams pour into the rivers and join together in the oceans so may the power of every moment of your goodness flow forth to awaken and heal all beings
Those here now those gone before those yet to come
By the power of every moment of your goodness may your heart’s wishes be soon fulfilled as completely shining as the bright full moon as magically as by a wish-fulfilling gem
By the power of every moment of your goodness may all dangers be averted and all disease be gone
May no obstacle come across your way May you enjoy fulfillment and long life
For all in whose heart dwells respect who follow the wisdom and compassion of the Way may your life prosper in the four blessings of old age, beauty, happiness and strength
I slept for three hours this afternoon. I cancelled my volunteering at the nursing home. I cancelled my cello lesson. I was exhausted … and still am.
My mind went here:
Weak > Dead
Less spectacularly, I did this:
Weak > Not going to Dour in July
(Dour is a techno/rock festival in Belgium)
While the reality is simply …
Weak
I have a choice when gazing upon my current state of being:
Good … Bad
Let’s go with the first one. What I have now is weakness. Runs in the human family. And I’m one of them.
I associate the phrase “Stiff upper lip” with British people. Probably lots of other folks as well. At the moment, my lips are sagging … loose on the face, without glow, a pale reddish tone. So be it.
I’m falling into something. Most recently, that’s been sleep. Here’s a poem that delights in this sublime life experience, written by William Blake:
A Cradle Song
Sweet dreams form a shade O’er my lovely infants head Sweet dreams of pleasant streams By happy silent moony beams
Sweet sleep with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown Sweet sleep Angel mild Hover o’er my happy child
Sweet smiles in the night Hover over my delight Sweet smiles Mothers smiles All the livelong night beguiles
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs Chase not slumber from thy eyes Sweet moans, sweeter smiles All the dovelike moans beguiles
Sleep sleep happy child All creation slept and smil’d Sleep sleep, happy sleep While o’er thee thy mother weep
Sweet babe in thy face Holy image I can trace Sweet babe once like thee Thy maker lay and wept for me
Wept for me for thee for all When he was an infant small Thou his image ever see Heavenly face that smiles on thee
Smiles on thee on me on all Who became an infant small Infant smiles are His own smiles Heaven & earth to peace beguiles
I was talking to somebody about something, and I started a sentence with the words above. And there was something “above”.
Over the years, I’ve often repeated certain phrases without thinking about what they mean.
As far as I can tell …
I can grasp things that are nearby, but perhaps not those that are far away. And how far does my vision spread? Maybe not far enough for the glories of life to be deeply revealed.
Sometime in my past, a person said “We’re only aware of 4% of reality. The other 96% is unknown.”
And last night, during a retreat, our teacher said something like “Our molecules are 99.9% empty space. Our bodies look to be solid … but they’re not.”
A few nights ago, I sang a lovely song at an open mic session: The Wings That Fly Us Home.
And the spirit fills the darkness of the heavens It fills the endless yearning of the soul It lives within a star too far to dream of It lives within each part and is the whole It’s the fire and the wings that fly us home
I am deeply blessed. I have a Daughter named Isabelle and she has a Dad named Bruce. I have a Granddaughter named Maryna and she has a Grandpa named Bruce. There’s nothing on paper, nothing legal … but the emotional connections are real.
Today I accompanied Maryna to a school in Gent where kids learn to speak Russian. I was going to meet her daughter Nicole.
Imagine twelve boys and girls standing before a crowd of parents, first reciting a poem and then singing a song. Wide open faces, wide open mouths. Maryna pointed out which one Nicole was. I waved … and she waved back!
And then the kids went to their moms, and gave them a handmade card which said in Russian: I love you, Mom. From [daughter or son’s name]. Tears flowed from mothers. Hugs lingered.
Next the families painted together. Nicole saw that I didn’t have one of the small canvases so she brought me one. The three of us shared paints and brushes. And time. And smiles.
Here is my creation, which now sits atop my bedroom mantle:
I had just sat down with my breakfast in Panos on the Langemunt. The window table overlooking the Leie River was available. Yay!
In walks a gentleman I know, despite our meagre knowledge of the other’s language. As he set his tray down a few tables away, I remembered: He and three friends gather by the window at this time of day.
I didn’t think. I motioned for him to move to the window and for me to shift a few tables over. We smiled. He agreed. And soon two men and a woman joined him.
I sat eating, happy to hear their laughing. As I was about to leave, my friend (whose name I don’t know) got up, took my tray and went to the recycling/garbage station. On his return, I bowed and smiled again.
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Simple moments of kindness
Looking over to the other person and seeing what’s needed
Bruce's Blog 