Monthly Archives: September 2014

Content Analysis

When I was in teacher training, one of our profs asked us to look at scholarly articles and see if there were certain words that showed up a lot, and whether examining all those words which were frequently used created a context for the writing.  Was the atmosphere of the writing suffused with love, deficiency, joy, comparison, openness, division or any other ways of being?

Take this paragraph, for instance:

Daily training in aikido allows your inner divinity to shine brighter and brighter.  Keep the mind bright and clear as the endless sky, the deepest ocean, and the highest mountain.  Do not be calculating or act unnaturally.  Keep your mind set on the way of harmony, and do not criticize other teachers or traditions.   Aikido never restrains, restricts or shackles anything.  It embraces all and purifies everything.

I want to live with these verbs inside me: allow, shine, keep, embrace, purify

And not these: criticize, restrain, restrict, shackle

These adjectives: inner, bright, clear, endless, deep, high

Not these: calculating, unnatural

These nouns: divinity, sky, ocean, mountain, harmony, all, everything

Not these: (Actually, I couldn’t find any)

***

Maybe I should do a content analysis of my heart.  How about strapping a recorder to me as I wander in the world or sit in meditation?  I wonder what would come up?  Well, I have a good idea of the top sellers:

Love, kindness, compassion, empathy, peace, integrity, generosity, humour, acceptance, spontaneity

As for the formerly strong but now middle of the road:

Fear, sadness for me, frustration, laziness, pride, competition, greed

And the ones that have faded away:

Antagonism, anger, guilt, depression, boredom, criticism, jealousy, pity, repression

Just me.  Nothing special

Today is Not Yesterday

How strange that yesterday I was in the space of letting go of all results, just doing things with no expectation of what would come next.  Not today.  This afternoon I wanted to break 1:00:00 on my time trial route.  I did that twice a few weeks ago but not even close since then.

I looked up at the trees from our family room and saw that there was no movement at the tops.  Wow.  Time on the bike without wind.  So I slapped on a funky cycling jersey composed of bones (some broken), adjusted my headband with a star symbol on it, and took off like a banshee (although not having ever met a banshee, I don’t really know what that’s like).

A section of Bostwick Road (as Jody and I say – “Home Road”) was resurfaced with dombind last week.  No more potholes.  Dombind is basically a layer of gravel with what I’d guess is tar underneath.  As car tires press the gravel into the tar, a somewhat smooth surface emerges after a month or two.  The last few rides I’ve started off so tentatively, afraid of spilling on the gravel with my skinny tires.  Not today.  I grunted up the slight slope outside our door, watching for any little ripple of gravel that might send me down but still giving ‘er.

Two minutes later I was on asphalt and pumping hard.  Previously I’d been careful to keep my heart rate at or below 145 beats per minute.  Moderation in all things, Bruce.  Not today.  Soon I was in the 150-155 range and I pretty much stayed there for the whole ride.

On the flat, I kept ta-pocketa in her highest gear and pulled up hard on the clipless pedals.  Typically on my route I’d say hello to various horses, runners and cows.  Not today.  Hardly saw the horses and I didn’t come upon any human beings.  If I had adjusted my handlebar mirror just so, I’d have no doubt seen a fully knitted brow and tiny slits of eyes, worlds away from the serenity that the bike can give.

I had to gear down on the hills but I kept up the intensity.  My heart rate monitor showed a pace that I guessed would drop me under an hour at the end.  “This” was fine.  If I produced “that” when I rolled back into our driveway – not fine.  No embracing all that the universe offers.  Not today.

I turned off Sunset Road onto Bostwick at about the 56 minute mark.  I was going to make it!  Halfway along, the dombind again.  I still kept the cadence up.  I can control ta-pocketa on this stuff.  Keep pushing.  A minute from home, there’s the top of a short rise … and what was parked there, taking up the entire right side of the road, was a delivery truck.  There’s no way some silly vehicle was going to stop me from fulfilling my glorious quest.  I pulled out to pass, straining to see any telltale gravel ripples.  Oh, how life is timing.  I was out in no man’s land on the left, and here comes a car climbing towards me.  I brake hard and start skidding to the left.  The driver brakes too.  Somehow I get my left foot down and avoid a tumble.  The driver was a neighbour, and we smile at each other as she drifts by.

Back on the go, ta-pocketa leading me home.  Slow down for the right turn off the gravel and into our driveway.  Pretty sudden stop near our front door.  Press the button on my heart rate monitor … 58:48.  Oh, what a good boy am I!

No placid Buddha face.  No shimmering down of sublime energy.  No peace.

Not today

Just Do It

To laugh often and much
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends
To appreciate beauty
To find the best in others
To leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child
A garden patch, or a redeemed social condition
To know even one life has breathed easier because you lived

The last line.  Is that enough?  That at the end of my life, just one person would have been enhanced by my time on the planet?  What if I let this be okay, rather than indulging in grand fantasies about making a difference worldwide?

And then again … I wonder what freedom I’d let in if I completely let go of contributing to the lives of other people.  Experiencing no need to have any particular result show up in my life.  Perhaps I’ll do the experiment.

I could say goodbye to “Action > Result” and say hello to merely “Action”.  If my mind wasn’t being bothered with the ramifications of what I do or say, wouldn’t that free up a lot of energy?  And what would that look like?

Just love

Just smile

Just give

Just nurture

Just help

Just look

Just trust

Just meditate

Just empathize

Just write

Just kiss

Just caress

Just persevere

Just commit

Just initiate

Just forgive

Just adore

Just cherish

Just work

Just encourage

Just mourn

Just accept

Just giggle

Just include

Just enjoy

Just make love

Just empathize

Just lead

Just hold dear

Just do things

Just celebrate

Just thank

Just move

Just dance

Just cry

Just give

Just eat

Just walk

Just think

Just speak

Just rejoice

Just act

Just assist

Just buy

Just teach

Just create

Just reach out

Just listen

Just shine

Just live

Sweet Times

Satya gave me a massage yesterday afternoon.  She’s our massage therapist and has been rubbing Jody and me the right way for months.  I spent the whole hour reminiscing about my times on retreat at the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts.  I retraced everything right from the moment I kissed Jody goodbye and set off down the driveway in Hugo.  The hills of Richmond, Ontario, the bridge across the Welland Canal in Port Colborne, talking to the border guard in Buffalo, getting lost in Buffalo and asking for directions, the American flags hanging from homes in New York State, lunch at the little cafe in Seneca Falls, the gift shop in Skaneateles, the creeping vine on the power line over the road near Bridgewater, dinner at Babe Macaroni’s in Utica, phoning Jody from the classic old train station, walking in downtown Utica after dark, dreaming of tomorrow as I lay on my bed at the Red Roof Inn, breakie at Denny’s, getting lost in Albany and asking for directions, the steep climb through the woods to the Massachusetts border, the cutesy homes of North Adams, the view and conversation on the balcony of the Golden Eagle Restaurant with the Berkshire Mountains spread all around, the winding country roads leading southeast towards Barre, eating a Rocky Road waffle cone in a little downtown park, my first glimpse of the IMS retreat centre, walking up the driveway from the parking lot, being greeted by IMS volunteers, unpacking in my wee room, eating supper with 100 other retreatants at long tables and not knowing what to say, sitting for the first time in the meditation hall, doing walking meditation on the driveway, listening to the teachers, brewing a cup of tea and sitting on a bench outside with the stars overhead, walking to my room, lying down, the moment of sleep …

And a very large etcetera

At the end of my massage, I was warm and cozy, inside and out.  Such a beautiful thing – memories.  My head has been trained to stay in the here and now, and I know that’s wise.  To fall into the moment, knowing that whatever’s happening, on one level it’s all fine.  I know that there’s danger in leaning forward in life, trying to put pleasant boundaries on a totally mysterious future.  Or taking past experiences and trying to replicate them in the present.  Still …

I think I’ll always allow myself to relive precious moments from my history.  Why exclude anything?  My lips still smack when I think of artichoke dip and pita chips, the world’s most overflowing strawberry shortcake, and a glass or two of local beer at the Golden Eagle.  Yum.

Deluge

All Jody and I were doing was watching an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation on our laptop last night.  Captain Jean-Luc Picard was saying “Make it so” a lot.  It was fun.  I was vaguely aware that it had started raining, but so what?  No problemo.  As Jean-Luc and friends continued to battle the forces of evil in the universe, the vague morphed into the absolute.  The drops were beating on our home.

Neal, a friend who’s living with us, came by to say, rather anxiously, that the water in our sump pump hole was rising.  I let Jody deal with the Starship Enterprise and went downstairs.  This was about 10:30.  Our main sump pump and the backup one were going full tilt.  I knew we had a few 10-gallon pails so I gathered them up, took a small red container, and started bailing water out of the hole.  Sooner than I had hoped, they were full, and the holey water was continuing its upward journey.  Still, calm was I.  We have an four-foot-high garbage can in the basement which we use to store flour, rice and the like.  I gently removed the contents and plunked the can down beside the sump hole.  Slowly, slowly, I dipped my red friend into the water and deposited the results in the can.  No sooner said than done – the plastic brute was full to the rim … and the sump water was only a foot down from the level of the floor.

Okay, so now someone I know developed a slightly elevated heart beat.  I walked briskly through the basement and climbed the stairs into the garage, where I hoisted the super-industrial-sized can which we roll out to the road once a week.  Semi-ran downstairs and continued bailing.  Looked up at the tiny window and saw water streaming down from it, from shelf to shelf and then puddling on the floor.  Back to the sump hole – eight inches from Defcon One.

Well, what can I say about my brain?  Neal asked me about the portable submersible pump we had, and I had completely forgotten about it, choosing instead the “no cheese down that tunnel” route of continued container finding and inspired bailing.  I found the pump and Neal went in search of a long hose.  Soon we were all attached and had run the hose up the garage stairs and out onto the driveway.  So there were now three pumps in the hole.  To my horror, the water kept rising.  I looked up at the window and saw that the water level was halfway up it.  And slow tides were spreading out on the floor, leaking from our foundation in several spots.

So much for decorum – I ran up the stairs, onto the driveway, and around to the backyard, where I found our big green cart for garden debris and two flexible plastic tubs.  Like a runaway shopping cart driver, I plunged back to the house, somehow got the cart next to the hole, and bailed anew.  One inch below the floor … and then level.  Refusing to go with the flow, I kept finding space among the three pumps for my little red pail to fit, and gave ‘er.  Neal brought two more containers.  I looked around … and time stopped.  I had a moment of amused astonishment within the panic.  I saw all these cans, pails and carts surrounding me, each brimming with water.  The line on the window was two thirds up.  And peace drifted down upon me.

Maybe a minute after every single container we could find was full, I looked down at the hole and saw that the liquid had dropped half an inch below the floor.  By grace we are saved.

The level continued its slow decline, and soon Neal and I could put the portable pump into the pool residing in our rolling garbage can, gradually sucking it dry, before moving to the other vessels.  We set to with a wet-dry Shop-Vac and a mop, sucking up water, plunging the pump in, sucking some more, pumping some more, getting cardboard boxes off the floor, unplugging electronics, running around like crazy men.

We finished, in a manner of speaking, at 1:00 am.  Really not much damage – to our possessions, that is.  And actually no real damage to our souls.  We imperfect human beings did all that we could.  It was enough.  Good for us.

Clinging

I need this in order to be happy.  So I’ve told myself many times.  Two years ago, I sat down and made a list of supposedly necessary things.  Here it is:

Clinging

… to what I want people to say
… to what I don’t want people to say
… to what I want people to do
… to what I don’t want people to do
… to having people like me
… to having people love me
… to people not being angry with me
… to my body feeling fine
… to my pain disappearing
… to being thought of as smart in my job
… to not making mistakes in my job
… to not forgetting things
… to being mindful
… to being physically fit
… to going to the gym three times a week
… to riding my bike across Canada
… to being number one in someone’s eyes
… to spending time on retreat with a certain meditation teacher
… to being vast when I meditate
… to following a circular path during walking meditation instead of going back and forth
… to play time
… to other people saying “Hello”
… to one certain person
… to performing well sexually
… to knowing
… to catching green lights
… to having things be easy
… to making spiritual contact every day with someone
… to wakefulness
… to having a snow day
… to knowing what to do in every first aid situation
… to knowing how to do this, that and the other thing

***

And then there’s today.  Here’s what comes to mind as I sit here tapping on my keyboard:

Clinging

… to having Jody stay alive
… to not causing Jody pain when I inject her with Fragmin
… to cataloguing quotations that point to wisdom and publishing the results
… to going on a three month retreat at the Insight Meditation Society
… to learning the words and chords of beautiful songs
… to wearing funny t-shirts
… to creating batiks depicting people’s spiritual moments
… to weighing 165 lbs
… to climbing Mount Lineham again
… to being a special person
… to not participating in small talk discussions
… to always having someone in my life who sees me as number one
… to writing this blog
… to continuing to own my home
… to being kind
… to being compassionate
… to meditating
… to Moose Tracks ice cream
… to the people in my life whom I love
… to existing beyond this lifetime

***

Let it all go

Standing O

Sometime around 1980, I walked to the podium at the annual meeting of the Order of the Eastern Star in Edmonton, Alberta and talked to about 800 delegates about the need to rejuvenate the Star in order to attract younger members.  I received the only standing ovation of my life.

I was so scared on the way up and so shocked on the way back.  I did it.  And it definitely felt that a huge serving of well-being had been added to my life.  Decades later, I’m not so sure.  In 1980 and 2014, I was and am complete.  Perfectly okay.  Acknowledging the value of goals and achievement but not needing them (except when my wayward mind convinces me momentarily that I do).

Here’s another standing o and its accompanying ego rush:

He found that his heart was suddenly full of happiness and simple gratitude.  It was just good to find out you still had a heart, that the ordinary routine of ordinary days hadn’t worn it away.  But it was even better to find it could still speak through your mouth.

The applause started even before he finished his last sentence.  It swelled while he gathered up the few pages of text which Naomi had typed, and which she had spent the afternoon amending.

It rose to a crescendo as he sat down, bemused by the reaction … Then they started to rise to their feet, and he thought he must have spoken too long if they were that anxious to get out, but they went on applauding.

I don’t need multiple representatives of the human race to say “Bruce is good”.  I just need to keep expressing myself, letting the world’s reactions be as they are.

There’s another side to standing ovations, of course – me as an audience member either getting up at the end of a great performance or staying glued to my seat.  If the singer, actor or speaker truly deserves accolades at the end of their presentation, there comes that moment of choice for me.  If I want to stand up, do I wait for other folks to elevate before I do?  Do I glance furtively to the left and right to gauge how I should act?  Or am I the source of my behaviour?  This is what I choose in my better moments, occasionally suffering the embarrassment of rising and clapping before the person is done.  Oh well.  I can live with that.

It’s just such a pure experience to reveal myself to the assembled multitude
“Here I am.  Love me or loathe me.  It’s okay”
Naked visibility

People Passing By

I love watching people.  And one of the best places to do it is in the seating area by the snack bar at Costco.  A steady stream of consumers roll their carts by me on the way to the exit.  Yesterday I plunked myself down with representatives from three of Canada’s major food groups – hot dog, Diet Coke, and later, a chocolate waffle cone.

I watched my judgments come up as they walked by, and was happy to see the negativity quickly fade.  There really was no one better and no one worse.  The whole topic was irrelevant.  The shoppers were all human beings, each with their hidden story, each worthy of my love.  Here’s a sampling:

1.  A woman in her thirties with a bad patch of acne on her left cheek.  Two little girls, both yammering away, sat in the cart, sticking their legs out at mom.  (I though of my horrible acne in Grade 9, and looks of disgust from a few.)

2.  A young guy with closely cropped hair, shades perched on top of his head, a bouquet of lilies in his left hand, a bag of fertilizer slung over his right shoulder, no cart.  (I never had a girl to bring flowers to when I was his age.)

3.  A former Costco cashier came over to talk.  In his 60s.  Retired in June because he couldn’t stand for his 7.5 hour shifts anymore.  Loves coming back to chat with members and fellow employees.  Thanked me for giving him a hard time at the checkout.  (Gosh, I’m retired too.  Does this mean that we’re both getting O-L-D?)

4.  Three women walking with their almost empty cart, probably in their 70s, small smiles to each other, polyester wardrobes, happy.  (I never go out with the guys.  Doesn’t feel like I have any guys to go out with.)

5.  An elderly gentleman, thinning grey hair slicked back with some goo, more polyester, leaning heavily on his cart as he moves it forward slowly.  (Reminds me of my dad in his last years – the family grocery shopper, determined to be independent, had lost a step or two.)

6.  Middle-aged guy, baseball cap, short grey beard, t-shirt and shorts, driving his cart way too fast.  Has to slam on the brakes as the line slows near the exit.  (I remember the tension I felt as an itinerant teacher of the visually impaired.  Sometimes I raced down the hallway to the next kid.  Too much to do.)

7.  A 20-something hulk of a fellow, really motoring, sunglasses riding high, muscle shirt showing off arms as big as my legs, oriental tattoos on his upper arms and calves.  (I remember being scared of big guys like that.  When I was 15.  Or was it just last year?  Okay, both.)

8.  Two women, perhaps from India, strolling out of the store, garbed in black saris, with colorful scarves covering their heads.  Would you believe another pair of sunglasses adorning another head?  (What would my life be like now if I had been born a Hindu, Muslim or Buddhist in an Asian country?)

9.  A very tall teenager, hair up in a bun (sort of), wearing a black sleeveless top, with a black and golden sparkled purse on her shoulder, arms that didn’t seem to have any biceps, looking calm.  (I love seeing muscle definition in the upper arm, but this woman’s arm was just a straight line.  I wondered what her life was like, and why she felt the need to be so thin.)

10.  A hugely overweight woman in her 30s, bum jiggling in green pants as she pushes her cart, hair shaved close at the back of her neck, and poofing out on top, almost like a nest.  (What must it be like to be so fat?  Wouldn’t every little task cause troubled breathing?  Thank God I don’t have to cope with all this.)

***

All of us
No one left out
The same brightness behind the eyes

Getting Out of My Head with Betty

My head is usually pretty full.  Thoughts just zoom in, and some of them end up in my blog posts.  Of course there are the empty times too, when silence falls down around me, but mostly the wheels are turning.  I think of this author or that – a spiritual master, a philosopher, Stephen King, and what they have to say.  Some awfully deep stuff.  Sometimes, as an alternative, you just have to consult undercover sages such as Dr. Seuss, or in this case, Mother Goose:

Betty Botter bought some butter
“But,” she said, “the butter’s bitter
If I put it in my batter
It will make my batter bitter
But a bit of better butter
That would make my batter better”

So she bought a bit of butter
Better than her bitter butter
And she put it in her batter
And the batter was not bitter
So twas better Betty Botter
Bought a bit of better butter

Really – who needs bitter butter in this lifetime?  Not me.  Except it just seems to spread over us when we least expect it.  As an antidote, and in the interest of better butter, why don’t you launch into this beloved poem (out loud of course)?  And then do it really fast, so your words start tumbling out faster than your brain can handle, and you come to a screeching halt.  It’s awful fun.  And a sure way to let go of metaphysical insights, at least for awhile.

I used to recite “Twas the Night Before Christmas” to classes of children.  When I started doing it super fast (in about a minute and a half), the kids ate it up – roaring laughter and just plain glee on the faces.  On mine too.

So … tongue twisters are now officially part of my repertoire.  At my next cocktail party, I’ll be sure to recite until my mouth foams up and my teeth fall out of my face.  Except I don’t go to any cocktail parties.  Oh well.  The folks in line at the supermarket will do just fine.

164.2

That’s what I weighed when I got up this morning.  Both a milestone and a meaningless piece of trivia, I’d say.  For maybe twenty years, I’ve wanted to weigh 165 but I always floated between 168 and 180.  What’s interesting to me is my reaction to having finally reached my goal: a warm feeling in my tummy and a Mona Lisa smile.  They’ve been with me all morning.

This is one type of happiness.  Can I say a lesser kind?  One that could fritter away when I step on the scale Wednesday and perhaps read 166.7.  Another happiness is always with me, sometimes way in the background, but still absolutely there.  And it’s so hard to describe.  Some smart person once said, “You can’t walk to your feet.”  They’re already with you.  You can’t get to those toed fellows by studying, by trying, by improving.  In one sense, there’s no journey to be taken.  There are no books to read.  No there that’s not already here.  It is by grace that I am opened to such happiness.  Not my doing.

On the other hand, can I really call one happiness lesser and the other greater?  What if my warm 164.2 tummy is all there is?  That the moment on the scale can’t be improved by “transcendent” happiness?  It is transcendent happiness.

And on I wander through the thoughts of the world.  Feeling lost at times but also strangely, deeply, found.  Making sense. Talking nonsense.  Glimpsing.  Forgetting.  Glimpsing again.

Why not celebrate it all?  I choose to let the joy of the scale bubble up, knowing that, like a bubble, it could go “Pop!” at any time.  I also choose to lie down in the mystery beyond good times and bad, bliss and despair, effort and release.

Who knows?  On Wednesday morning I may look down between my feet and see 0.0.