Kindness often shows up when we are with each other. An apple is a simple thing but look at the glow in the eyes that it creates.
But what about when we’re not together physically? What power do we have to touch other souls from a distance?
I wonder.
At one of the Buddhist retreats I attended, a teacher told us that every minute of every day, someone in the world is saying a version of these words:
May you be free from danger
May you be happy
May you be healthy
May you live with ease
The “you” spoken to may be an individual person but I feel in my heart that it includes all of us. So someone somewhere is blessing my life right now. Not knowing the individual called Bruce … but knowing deeply that my joys and sorrows flow through all of mankind.
And so I receive. But it’s not a one-way street. I give. I give when I’m out there in the world, whether or not other eyes meet mine. And I give right now, alone in my living room. I give to all the “you’s” that surround me on Earth … in this instant. Before I proofread my words and eventually press “Publish”.
The Barack Obama Presidential Center in Chicago began with a dedication ceremony on Thursday, June 18. Former presidents and marvelous musicians joined the celebration.
I read a post on Facebook this morning, praising Barack and Michelle and the loving vibe that lived throughout the evening.
Then I read many of the glowing comments.
And I thought …
What if these words weren’t directed to Barack
But instead were about … you?
I hope there are a lot of “you’s” sitting out there in cyberland, reading my stuff. But even if there are just a few of you, I bet the variety of human beings would fill a rainbow.
So whoever you are, whatever you’re like as a person, imagine that someone is saying these things about the woman or man within your body.
I’ll use (_____) when Barack or Michelle’s name is used. Fill in the blank! And please don’t go to thoughts such as “I’m not a public speaker.”
***
From the beginning to the end I was teary eyed. (_____)’s speech brought me to tears.
I kept thinking about my favorite Christmas movie, “It’s A Wonderful Life”, and how beloved (_____) is. In a world of Mr. Potters, be a George Bailey. “The richest man in town.”
“Today we saw our better side.” Yes, we did. And I cried because I’ve missed it so much. I’m grateful to (_____) for reminding me who we can be.
(_____) are two lovely people – gifted orators, personable, gracious, dignified and exuding decency.
Empathy is a superpower.
As always (_____) does it with grace.
Our most respected and beloved role model
No one was more deserving of this honor than (_____).
So refreshing to hear love & kindness being spoken.
(_____) didn’t tear it down. (_____) didn’t try to break it. (_____) built it so it would be stronger. (_____) left it better than what it was …
It’s a tribute to (_____) how much people like and respect them.
It’s kindness and empathy and acceptance and high standards for those in high positions, and class and setting a good example.
An articulate, caring, humble leader who cared about us all
(By the way, the upwards arrow that appears twice is a reminder to pick a starting note that’s higher than the one I’m thinking of using, so I’ll be able to hit low notes later)
And here I am …
I’m sitting in Lloyd Coffee Eatery, awaiting my Morning Club breakfast. Two hours from now, my mouth will be open in song about fifty metres from here – in front of Eyes + More optician.
Breathe, Bruce, breathe
It helps when you sing
For months a choice has roamed around in my head. Focus on performing some activity well or focus on loving the people who are witnessing the activity.
The cultural pull is for excellence but there’s something else at work in me.
Love them all. Light the world
Six words that have been alive for years.
However, my mind has the capacity to be tricky:
If you love them, you’ll be relaxed
And then you’ll sing well!
Silly mind.
At 11:00 am, how about if I just beam love? I may forget words, or be out of tune. If that happens, how about if “So what?” comes in response? Not a peace to achieve something. Just peace.
That’s enough for now. I’ll talk to you again after I sing.
***
As they say …
The best laid plans of mice and men
I had my moments of loving the passersby – many in fact. Most often, though, it was the beauty of the lyrics I was feeling. Such as …
The days they pass so quickly now Nights are seldom long Time around me whispers when it’s cold The changes somehow frighten me But still I have to smile It turns me on to think of growing old
Not such a bad thing to be loving the words.
Virtually no one glanced at me as they strolled or hurried along. One woman smiled and gave me a thumbs up … and kept going. A friend of mine stopped to smile and listen. No one else paused their day.
A woman came close, pointed to my sign, and started speaking in Dutch. I didn’t understand. And I lost the lyrics. Thirty seconds or so later they returned.
My sign:
I don’t want any money. Thank you
One man put his face close to mine and almost yelled, flailing his arms down the street. I think he spoke Turkish and I know he wanted me to leave. Once more the words of the song disappeared, and once more they reappeared in my mind after a short lapse.
***
My love for the passing shoppers was sporadic but I’d say I sang ten lovely songs … well. And now my smile lingers
Janis Joplin was an American singer who “rocked the house” with her raspy voice, soaring lyrics and bouncing legs. She threw herself into life … and died of a heroine overdose at 27.
Janis was “out there” – such a cool expression. And that’s it. To express, any way you want to. Just put lots of oxygen into the air! (Carbon dioxide, actually) Put yourself way out into the world.
The venue is the Monterey Pop Festival in California.
The year is 1967.
The song is “Ball and Chain”.
And the singer!
Here’s a few comments about that concert:
She wore a loose blouse and stacks of bracelets that clattered when she moved. Her voice carried the grain of Southern blues singers she had studied – artists like Bessie Smith and Big Mama Thornton.
…
The band laid down a heavy, dragging rhythm. Joplin leaned into the microphone and began almost quietly, drawing out the opening lines. Her phrasing bent around the beat, stretching words until the notes sounded less like singing and more like a raw release of pressure.
Then the volume climbed.
Her voice cracked, climbed higher, and pushed against the band’s amplifiers. The performance built in waves – each chorus louder than the last. She crouched low, gripping the microphone stand, then threw her head back and pushed the final notes into a long, unsteady wail.
The crowd stopped moving.
…
The band finished the song.
For a moment, there was a pause.
Then the audience erupted.
Here’s “Ball and Chain”. I’m fine whether you love or hate Janis’ performance.
This is the view of the Leie River from the Zuivelbrug … a bridge that’s fifty metres from my apartment. A blessing.
I don’t know if you can enlarge the photo on your device but way down there is another bridge – the Krommewal. And there’s nobody on it.
I have a ritual. Dare I call it a fetish? I look out at an empty scene and imagine it full of the life that I know lives in the neighbourhood.
Gent is full of people who enjoy being outside – sitting on terraces, strolling with their loved ones, zooming along on a bicycle. I love seeing all these folks!
I wait on the Zuivelbrug until life crosses the far bridge. Et voilà:
Okay, too small for some of you, I guess, but now there’s a cyclist crossing the Krommewal left to right. Oh … it makes me happy!
I can hear some of you saying “This guy is easily pleased.” (Smiling) Oh well. As my dear wife Jody used to say “Oh my husband and his idiotsyncrasies.”
In the spirit of continuing this questionable discussion, almost every morning I stop on the Zuivelbrug seeking … birds. I look at the Leie to the left and stay looking until I see a bird – either flying or sitting. Thus accomplished, I look down the Leie to the right and stay put until a flying thing appears. Years ago I lived in an area that had hardly any birds. So Gent is a Godsend.
***
I’m pleased with my moments of weirdness
AI tells me that “weird” means something highly strange, unusual or unexpected, often with an eerie or supernatural quality
My heart says that expression wins the day every time. My mind says you need to figure out which hand position to use for each note.
My cello teacher Lieven says “Stop thinking”, and at some level of practice and proficiency he’s right.
But here I am with a piece called “Ballade”. I’ve had the sheet music for three weeks so the music is still new.
The sweet expression of tone and vibration and bow is a world away (though Lieven would say I’m exaggerating).
Now it feels like “grunt work”. I know four hand positions on the neck of the cello, plus two slight variations. Lots of thinking as I attack a new piece. (Hmm … “attack” feels a mite aggressive)
I start my analysis with an erasable red pen. A circled number means a position. An uncircled one tells me which finger of the left hand to use. Here’s what it looks like:
The black marks are the fingerings that Lieven suggests. But some numbers (such as 1 and 4) look different in Dutch, and I get confused by what seems to be a simple variation.
Anyway, last week I showed Lieven my first red pen effort, and he suggested a different position and fingering at certain points. I love erasable pens!
I’ve spent the last hour in Lloyd Coffee Eatery, sipping my flat white and copying the red stuff onto a fresh copy of “Ballade” …
I can see black marks more easily than the red ones, hence the change. On the first line, you see “1” with a backwards pointing arrow. That means I extend my first finger back from its usual position. And I blotted out all those Dutch versions of numbers that wilt my brain.
Tomorrow is my cello lesson. My brain has figured things out. My fingers may or may not follow suit.
And the creative expression, the swaying of the body as the bow flows, feeling the music …
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.
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
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.
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