Monthly Archives: June 2018

The World Cup of Spirit

I love watching the soccer games in Russia this week and I wonder what they can say to me about a transformed life.  Are there perspectives open to me that can bring alive the events of the game and point to other realities?

The World Cup is about nations, people cheering for their countrymen.  It’s about belonging to a group, and what a fine feeling that is.  But what if the group was … everybody?  We could cheer for all the great passes, shots and saves, no matter who made them.  We could cheer for players who push the ball forward, launch lots of shots at the net, throw themselves through the air for a header, rather than those who play defensively, hanging back, not risking a pass in heavy traffic.  I would like that.

I love watching the ball fly through the air.  When a right-footed player curves a ball towards the goal, and it looks like it will miss to the right, but then tucks inside the post, it’s a thing of beauty.  It makes me think of times when something I’m doing isn’t working out right but somehow providence intervenes and I’m being carried on the winds of goodness to a safe landing.

I love seeing the fans go crazy when their team scores – the ecstatic smiles, the hugging, the jumping up into the air.  Especially little kids, maybe with painted faces, their eyes so wide with delight.  What if we could have the same explosion of joy because we love each other – a celebration of including everyone in our human family?  No one left out.  What if a man or woman walks into the room and our immediate response is “You’re here!  I’m so glad to see you”?  That would be lovely.

Near the end of the Portugal – Uruguay game today, Edinson Cavani, who had scored both of Uruguay’s goals, fell to the ground, injured.  Portugal’s Ronaldo, acknowledged by some as the best player in the world, helped Cavani limp off the field.  What life is all about, I think.  Fierce competitors, yes.  Companions on the human journey, even more so.

And then there were the national anthems.  It looked like every player on both teams held their head high and belted out the familiar lyrics.  What if we all expressed ourselves that way, looking into the eyes of those around us and saying what was true, expressing ourselves without antagonism or a beating of the breast?  That would be so fine.

Sport points to the truths of transcendence and community and love.  May we have the eyes to see that winning and losing are pale shadows of what really matters.

Rest In Peace

I thought this morning about my overwhelmed reaction to normal group conversation at the school’s staff party last night.  “What is happening to me?”  I went out to breakfast at Wimpy’s Diner in St. Thomas, mostly to see my friend and usual waitress Angie.  She was wonderfully supportive about my early exit from the bike ride and made sure I got the message “No failure there.”  Still, I lingered in the restaurant for at least an hour after the meal was toast, really vacant in the head.

Afterwards, I wanted to wash Scarlet, who was massively dirty after I laid my sodden tent over her a couple of weeks ago.  I like manual car washes and I heard there was one on the east edge of St. Thomas, which would be a good ongoing choice for me.  When I pulled up to the place, however, I realized that it was an automatic one.  I told myself I was too tired to go further into town to use the manual one I knew, so I pulled into line.  It was so strange – I couldn’t figure out how automatic car washes work.  The attendant who eventually came into view was very patient but was perhaps seeing me as a new arrival on the planet.  “What is happening to me?”

My plan was to spend a good part of the day at the St. Thomas Library but as I approached the right turn for such a location, my mind said “Turn left.  Go home.”  I obeyed.  “Meditate.”

I sat down in the cozy meditation chair in my bedroom.  As I was about to close my eyes, the telephone rang.  It was my friend Adele.  She reads all my posts and was concerned about me.  “I wonder if you have PTSD.”  Immediately my head said “Yes.  Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”  Maybe that conclusion is a little dramatic, but I fear (appropriate word, I’d say) it’s in the ballpark.  Adele continued: “You need to rest.  Take a week and be with yourself.”  >  “I could have a meditation retreat … at home.”  >  “Yes, you could.”

Before that phone rang, I felt immersed in “badness, lostness, sadness”.  The term that came to mind, also with the potential of exaggeration, was “The Dark Night of the Soul”, a spiritual state of despair that many people have experienced and documented.  And then Adele shows up in my ear.

After we finished talking, I did close my eyes … for one hour and forty minutes of blessed sitting.  Very few thoughts came.  I slipped deeply into rest.  Some lovely energy floated down over my face and over my body.  Down, down and down, and yet always alert to the world of my bedroom.  I nodded off nine times, five or six of them with tiredness so profound that I nearly fell off the chair.  After each one, some voice said “Continue.”  So I did.

Now it’s an hour after I rang my singing bowl three times as an expression of completion.  The Dark Night is not here.  No demons assail me.  Will the darkness and fear return?  I have no doubt they will.  They have a mind of their own.  The healing, I believe, will take time.

The Buddha said some cool things.  Here’s one:

You can search throughout the entire universe
For someone who is more deserving
Of your love and affection than you are yourself
And that person is not to be found anywhere

Thank you, Mr. Buddha

Energy Spikes

I wonder what I mean by that title.  The words just came to me.  They don’t seem to be about running the 100 metre dash in ten seconds, or lifting twice my body weight.  Some other energy is afoot.  I sense a sudden inbreath of astonishment – a moment that moves me, jolts me, and in some sense frees me.

***

We had a farewell assembly today for the teachers who were leaving, including our marvelous resource teacher, who offers certain kids extra academic help.  At the end of the ceremony, she was sitting right beside me by the wall of the gym.  From the far side, a Grade 5 girl rushes over in tears and gives the teacher a long, gentle hug.  The 11-year-old’s love shone from her.  It was a holy moment, and a privilege to witness.  How we can touch each other.

***

Yesterday a neighbour of mine died.  He was so sweet to everyone, and always interested in how my life was going.  His granddaughter goes to my school and I couldn’t imagine her showing up for the final day.  But she did.  “Emma” sat there in the assembly, looking vacant.  At lunch recess, I knew I wanted to say something to her but the yard was a flurry of kids.  What chance did I have of finding her?  After aimlessly walking around for awhile, I spotted a few kids in a little opening in the trees.  One child emerged – Emma.  I approached her and said what I needed to say.  I believe she felt the love behind the words.

***

Assembly number two featured one of the school’s bus drivers.  “Fred” walked onstage with his guitar and launched into “Puff The Magic Dragon”.  He had a lovely voice.  A song or two later, he began one of his own compositions.  It was the story of his riders.  As he followed his route in the verses, each child’s name was mentioned.  I scanned the room and saw face after face come alight as Fred shared one of their fine qualities.  On one level, I was amazed that he could memorize all this.  Far deeper was my joy as light after light turned on.

***

Last recess.  One of my favourite kids asked if I was going outside.  I said yes.  We walked together for a bit and then sat down at a table.  She and I talked about our summers – camps for her and music festivals for me.  She encouraged me about the early end of my bicycle ride.  The differences in our ages didn’t matter.  It was two people talking about important things.

***

I was invited to this evening’s staff party.  It was so generous of the teachers to include me.  We sat in a big circle and the banter whizzed around.  Usually I love these situations but tonight was not usual.  Just like yesterday’s foray onto the 401, I felt fear, and my hand started shaking.  As the conversation sped up and the laughter grew, I couldn’t handle it.  Too many inputs.  Too much energy whirling this way and that.  I was so much not myself, and yet for these three hours my tense silence was Bruce.  I let myself fall into the fear … and how very unpleasant it was.  I stopped trying to manufacture happiness, and my eyes widened in response.  As I left the party and said a few words of explanation, the smiles on faces said they understood.

***

These are the moments that stood out today.  Whether I enjoyed them or not, they brought me to an deeper vibration, and for that I am thankful.

Giving

Today was the second last day of school and the Grade 5/6 kids got to play board games most of the day. They had so much fun. Laughter and shouts filled the air. Amid all the hubbub, I occasionally looked around to see what life is all about.

1. For a long while, I played “The Game of Life” with five enthusiasts. It took this adult a bit of time to figure out what the rules were, and the youngsters were so patient with me as I groped along. “No, Mr. Kerr, you need to do this” – said with no edge or impatience. I think they were simply happy that I was at the table with them. I was happy too.

2. As the six of us made choices about education, career, homes, pets and hobbies, and dealt with the money impact of those choices, a girl sat near us but outside the edge of play. “Jessica” looked like she didn’t want to play but did want the companionship. One of the wheeler dealer game players, “Joy”, was the closest to Jessica. Once Joy had had her turn, she would usually lean towards Jessica and update her about her income and property situation. I mostly couldn’t hear Joy’s words but there was no mistaking the smiles on Jessica’s face.

3. As the games in the Grade 5/6 portable continued, a game of tag was in progress among the school staff. If another adult touched you with a certain green highlighter, you were “it”. The job then was to approach another colleague sweetly and calmly whip out the marker when they were lulled into comfort. The dear teachers and educational assistants made sure to include this volunteering human in the festivities. In fact the whole exercise brought us all together – no one escaped the highlighter, or the laughter.

4. On the yard at recess, two Grade 2 or 3 girls came bouncing up to me. One stood in front of me, took my hands in hers and started in on a clapping and slapping and singing game, in which I got to share my favourite colour, my favourite number, and other stuff that I can’t remember. She was directing my hands to go this way and that in co-ordination with hers, laughing all the while. Her friend stood off to the side, beaming. Then it was their turn. The two of them did the whole patter at the speed of light. Giggles all around as the old guy was brought into the realm of the 8-year-olds.

5. It was nearly home time, and Jayne had let the kids out a few minutes early. They were bouncing basketballs, swinging on the swings or just chatting. And here come the Kindergarten kids, some seemingly with backpacks as big as them. Those little ones look at me and launch into yesterday’s chant: “Mr. Kerr! Mr. Kerr!” Oh my God. All this for me. They kept it up and I tried to shhh them but some hardy souls kept up the beat … out of their mouths and out of their eyes. Thanks, kids.

6. Minutes ago, I got in Scarlet and headed to London for a house concert. The hosts aren’t expecting me for weeks. I pulled onto the 401, our local freeway, something I’ve done hundreds of times. Seconds later, fear flooded me. Even though no bicycles were allowed on this road, the speed was the same as in B.C. This time I was in a car, not emotionally naked on my bike. Still, I started shaking.

And then something opened inside. Some force or some person, perhaps my lovely wife Jodiette, was there with me … calming me, holding me.

I give
I receive
All is well

Homecoming

For what indeed is home?  Whether it’s blood relations, a circle of friends or a class full of kids, home is the experience of loving and being loved.  Such was my day.

I got home from B.C. at midnight and proceeded to sleep for ten hours.  I woke up knowing that Jayne, the Grade 5/6 teacher with whom I volunteer, had invited me to the class’ potluck lunch and the school play day all afternoon.

A tiny part of me wanted to hide out, safe under the covers, but I love those kids, so tiny did not defeat huge.  My car Scarlet and I drove to the school.  As I pulled into the driveway, three or four kids were bouncing up and down and waving.  Oh my.  I’ve had horror stories in my head about the kids being distant because I didn’t complete my ride across Canada.  What a silly head I sometimes have.  When I think deeper, I see that children “see” me.  They know my heart is pure.  And usually their hearts respond in kind.

I went in the front door of the school to sign in.  There was some kerfuffle in the hall but I blocked it out.  As I walked out of the office, the whole class surrounded me, smiling and yelling something.  Jayne rushed forward to hug me.  I was being held.  I tried holding the tears back but I was deeply touched by their love.  I felt electricity smash through me and it all seemed headed to my right hand.  It started shaking and appeared to have no interest in stopping.

Back to the Grade 5/6 portable for the communal eats.  My head was reeling, thoughts were jumbled, and I even struggled to get the meatballs on my plate.  I was invited to sit with a group of girls and happily obliged.  My eyes moistened again and again.  I stuttered.  I knew I was surrounded by love but the fear of my bicycle days had not disappeared.  The hand continued to shake.  One girl reached out and put her hand over mine, trying to still the unruly beast.  What a sweet thing to do.  When she lifted her hand, mine went vibrating again.  Later another girl did the same, with the same results.  I guess my body has things to do.  There must be a natural rhythm that can’t be rushed.

There was a sign on the board welcoming me home.  Little hearts adorned some of the names.  Some kids came up to say they were proud of me.  I walked around stunned, feeling disoriented, embarrassed at the result I’d produced, sad at the loss of a dream, and scared still about nearby semitrailers whizzing past.

After eating was done, I was going to take something to the office for Jayne but she asked me to stay in the portable.  We had a fine talk.  She’s such a marvelous support for me, and I hope I am for her.  After a bit, she held out a red “Canada” t-shirt and asked me to put it on.  “Jayne, did you buy me this shirt?”  She smiled, and I’d guess the answer was “Yes”.

The dear teacher then led me out of the portable.  I glanced towards the back corner of the school and saw a Grade 5 girl and some young kids standing there.  They seemed to be saying something.  As I got closer, I made out “Mr. Kerr!  Mr. Kerr!”  Sure seemed to be a loud chant for a few kids.  As I rounded the corner, spread before me in a long line were all 230 children and all the staff members.  The first group held up a sign with the flag of British Columbia.  Then it was Alberta … Saskatchewan …  “My God!” I thought.  “I’m crossing Canada.”  Oh … I was being held in the arms of love.  I have failed as a cyclist able to cross my country and I have succeeded as a human being.

A teacher gave me a bullhorn and I told them all that I loved them, and I do.  I haven’t talked to every one but I know their hearts.  Those vital organs were on full display along the length of the school.

Blessings show up unbidden
We see each other
All is well

Day Eleven: The Plane Again

Off I go into the wide blue Eastern yonder. In my life as well, the yonder beckons. Unknown. Moments that show up unbidden, by grace.

My day started in the breakfast room of the Abbotsford Travelodge. I sat near a gentleman named Tim and we got talking. I wavered between drowning in my sadness and rising above it. As expected when I’m in the throes of something, I started coughing.

Tim told me it was his birthday. I know me … I had to sing “Happy Birthday” to him but my throat was saying no. “Don’t listen to it, Bruce. Sing.” So I started, soon losing air and grinding to a halt, but then beginning again. I finished the birthday wish. Tim smiled.

I found out that my companion sells health products with an accompanying commitment to improve the immune system of malnourished children across the world. Scientists have developed a powder that’s added to local food. So far, 14,000,000 servings have been shared with kids. My goodness, wow.

I realized that I was sitting beside a true hero, although he would never describe himself as that. Deep down, I saw that my commitment to humanity is no less than his. My focus is just different … deepening the quality of the moments I share with folks who come my way.

I’ve often glimpsed that comparing myself to others is without merit. Just do and say what my heart is leading me to. “And while you’re at it, Bruce, hold your head up high. The world needs your elevation, not your descent.” Okay. Tim gives. I give.

22F was my spot on the plane from Abbotsford, B.C. to Edmonton. A window seat, selected on purpose, and I hardly glanced outside the whole trip. The reason? A young woman named Kalysha sat down in 22E. She was pretty, and that’s nice, but our contact was infinitely more than that.

Kalysha is a committed Christian and has recently been a missionary in Nepal. Soon she’ll be heading out on another spiritual adventure, to Papua New Guinea. Right now, she’s going home to Mayerthorpe, Alberta to be with her family for a few precious weeks.

Kalysha’s eyes glowed as she talked about Jesus. She clearly has a deeply loving relationship with Him. I told her that I was a Buddhist, and later asked if she was tempted to lead me away from the Buddha towards Jesus. She smiled and basically said that she speaks what’s true for her and leaves it up to the other person to make their decision. Cool. So there we were, talking about our spiritual lives, enjoying each other’s presence. My coughing came and went and I felt great acceptance from 22E.

Beyond the words about her family and the Grade 5/6 kids who await me near Belmont, Ontario, there was a stillness between us. Age doesn’t matter. Contact does.

Now I’m on the leg from Edmonton to Toronto. I’m sitting beside an elderly couple. I ordered a burrito bowl and couldn’t open the plastic tube of guacamole. My neighbourly guy did the deed with ease and pleasure. His wife told me they were out west visiting the fellow’s brother, who was sinking through dementia. Yesterday the two had reminisced for a long while, exactly the intention. The couple’s ticket had been selected for today. This morning, in the wee hours, the brother died. Two seats away from me, a grief-stricken senior had opened my guacamole package. Heroes everywhere.

Tomorrow afternoon, I going to the school where I volunteer. There’s a Grade 5/6 potluck at noon and a school play day till the buses pick the kids up. The final event is a water balloon fight between the graduating Grade 6’s and the staff. It was so much fun last year. This time, I’ll be a sitting duck. I can’t throw with my injured right hand and trying to throw overhand with my left would be something to behold. So … I’m going to wing the bombs lefty underhand. No way those kids are going to get the better of me!

Talking to Tim, Kalysha and my current companions has been so therapeutic. The sun is now shining brightly. I can’t wait to see who I can greet on the flight from Toronto to London, Ontario.

On we go.

Day Ten: The Beginning

I’ve been jolted over the last week. Life certainly has the ability to do that to each of us. Here are a few of my lowlights:

1. I was at a stop sign at an intersection. The road to the left curled to the right up a steep hill, with trees blocking my view of descending traffic. As I started forward on ta-pocketa, a car swung down the hill and blasted past me at full speed, missing me by a couple of metres.

2. I stopped to get a power bar out of my CamelBak water backpack. I couldn’t open the clasp with either hand to get the backpack off. Everything just felt so weak. After five minutes of trying, I put the clasp between my teeth and bit down. A power bar entered my mouth a minute later.

3. Yesterday, I was sitting in my hotel room with my left hand on my thigh. The fleshy spot between my first finger and thumb began to vibrate, and I watched, fascinated, as my body did its thing for a few minutes.

All of these painful days are now in my past. I figure there’ll be some residue of fear and sadness for awhile, but basically the question is “What’s next?” What will I bring to life over the next weeks and years?

I take inspiration from today’s World Cup soccer game between England and Panama. England was up 5-0 at halftime. Panama had never scored a World Cup goal. Late in the game, they knocked in a beauty, and fans in the stands and at home went nuts! It didn’t matter that the team was way behind. We can still bring forth joy. So … I commit to:

1. Bringing joy into people’s lives

2. Having conversations that mean something with everyone who’s interested

3. Talking to children and giving them one example of a caring role model

4. Engaging with folks from around the world, as we explore the depths of relationship possible through the Mutual Awakening Practice

5. Making people laugh

6. Being generous with anyone who needs my attention, time and money

7. Being love

***

Here are some wise words spoken by Clarissa Pinkola Estes:

Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good.

What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts, adding, adding to, adding more, continuing. We know that it does not take everyone on Earth to bring justice and peace, but only a small, determined group who will not give up during the first, second, or hundredth gale.

One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these – to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity.

Day Nine: The End

I left the Tour du Canada this morning. I’m exhausted and have been terrified. I’m so sad to be disappointing you folks who have been cheering me on. I’ve failed as a cyclist, at least as far as what it takes to ride across the country. I know, though, that I haven’t failed as a person.

I went to bed last night extremely tired. Before I dropped myself into the tent, I managed to leave my mess kit’s cutlery somewhere and my next day’s clothes piled in some unknown location. In the morning, I was just as exhausted and couldn’t conceive of riding 90 k today. I’d tossed and turned since the wee hours and went to breakfast depressed. My body was making the decision for me: I’m simply not strong enough to do this right now.

I’m so afraid of the fast traffic that’s been whizzing by me a couple of metres away. And when there’s a drop off to the right, I worry about falling down the slope. So I’ve been riding too close to the white line. The bottom line – I’ve been riding too close to the cars. I’m not a safe cyclist.

I don’t know how to control my bicycle at low speeds on angled slopes. Yesterday I missed one of these downward ramps, lowered my head and started crying. “I don’t know how to do this,” I told my companions. And then I blasted myself: “Bruce, you should be far stronger mentally.”

I should be this, I should be that. I’m quite a mess right now. I want to find a hole and crawl into it. I don’t want to be with people, which is so unlike me. But strangely … I’m writing you.

It was so hard to say goodbye to everyone this morning. So many people to thank for helping me. I started crying again … and I’m doing it again right now. I tell myself that with my Buddhist training I should be better than this, but it’s not working out.

So now … the rest of my life. I know I can’t wallow in this. There is much I need to contribute to this world. But right here and right now, at the Travelodge in Abbotsford, B.C., I’m deeply down.

After the cyclists left this morning, I knocked on the door of the campground manager, looking for advice about how to get my bike and me home. Judy and Bernie were so kind as they helped this rattled tourist find solutions. They listened without judgment. They gave me coffee. And throughout the hour I sat in the living room, their dog C.C. licked my legs. Judy said she’d never seen him do that before so that’s a very welcome plus.

I suppose this post sounds too dreary. Oh well. It’s what I have right now. I arrive home late Monday night. It’s up to me to push myself out into the world on Tuesday. I will do that.

Day Eight: Mission

Well, well, well. Here I am in Mission, B.C. I was by far the slowest human being but I got a cheer when I rolled down the driveway of the campground. I have such supportive companions. Today Mike, Ken and Paul specially made sure I was okay. To be cared for is so marvelous. I need to continue letting people do this, because it not only touches me but it’s a gift to them.

What would it take for me to cross Canada? I could do it very slowly, taking all the hours I need. I could walk any hills that are too much for me. In fact, that’s what I did today.

The day after tomorrow, we’re doing a long and steep ride. I have a front light on my bike. Maybe I could show up at 10:00 pm!

I wonder at the possibility that I could actually complete the tour. I’m slow on the bike, and unskilled. But there still could be a way.

I was so down during yesterday’s post. Many folks responded to me but I don’t have a good enough Internet connection to reply. In fact, I don’t know if this post will fly. Thank you all for caring so much about me.

I’m very tired and I’m heading to my tent. May I be strong enough to get to Hope, B.C. tomorrow.

Day Seven: Orientation

I’m overwhelmed. I’ve usually thought of myself as mentally strong but right now I’m mentally weak. I don’t want to sing the refrain of “Woe is me” because that doesn’t serve anyone. So how do I pull myself up?

Yesterday I received many messages from home, encouraging me, loving me. Several Tour du Canada riders have been especially kind. So now what? Pull yourself up, Bruce.

The bike shop at UBC fixed my bicycle yesterday. Apparently something called the headset was a mess. Also the derailleur settings were off. Alex at the Bike Kitchen made me his “afternoon project”. He also put flat pedals on ta-pocketa, since the ones I’ve had, which attach to metal cleats on the bottom of my cycling shoes, weren’t working for me.

When I tried the new pedals out in the evening, I kept catching my shorts on the saddle when I tried to get going. Maybe six of my fellow cyclists watched me stumble, again and again. They made suggestions and also adjustments to my equipment. I died a thousand deaths of embarrassment. Here I am, surrounded by nineteen strong and skilled cyclists, and I can’t even mount my steed. Oh, the sadness.

Okay, all of that is said and done. Time to keep going. I’m not giving up. With a little help from my friends, I’ll roll into the campground at Mission, B.C. this afternoon.

Thanks for listening.