Monthly Archives: July 2018

Visible

To be seen or not to be seen? Especially when I have no smile in me and my thoughts seem like bouncing balls in the basement of my mind. Or maybe I’m within the crush of life and the world is pressing down hard. Aren’t those the times when pulling the covers over my head would be prudent?

Speaking of which, who ever came up with that word “prudent”? The dictionary calls it “showing care and thought for the future”. Okay then … I disagree with myself. Being prudent sounds like a fine thing to do.

Hmm. Maybe this moment is a good illustration. Shouldn’t I just delete my righteous pronouncement about the word “prudent” in the interest of maintaining my dignity?

Speaking of which, who ever came up with that word “dignity”? (No, no Bruce. Don’t go there again.)

Now, where was I? Getting rid of the prudent and dignity discussion … so I look better. Naw. There’s no value in that. Picking out the good parts and hiding the naughty bits is a strange way to be visible. There’s contraction all around if I venture down that road.

What if I allowed the cool and uncool elements of Bruce to be plastered on some neon sign (such as this blog) and truly got that I’m the same as you – chock full of virtues and foibles, insights and nonsense, transcendence and stumbles? Well … perhaps that would be deeply okay.

Maybe I’m on this dear planet Earth to express myself, and then do it some more. So – write, speak, sing, smile, frown, bliss out and get pissed off. Nothing wrong with that. Maybe some other folks would see me as a worthwhile example of letting it all hang loose.

I’m participating in a global community of consciousness explorers. It’s called the Evolutionary Collective, and members of the group can meet live online as many as five times a week. Last night, Patricia Albere, the founder of the EC, asked for a volunteer to do the “mutual awakening practice” with her. The practice is a 1-1 half hour where the partners answer the question “What are you experiencing right now?”

I froze.

I’d shared in the group many times but this would be hugely different. I’d be groping my way into whatever I was experiencing, with an audience of forty people or so. And I was terrified. It felt just as horrifying as riding my bicycle beside those semitrailers three weeks ago.

I didn’t volunteer and fell into an agonizing pit of self-loathing. I love myself regularly, but not then.

I was not willing to be seen, in all my potential beauty and warts. (Sigh) As the clouds darkened and brooded, I sank lower. Thoughts jumbled. Fear screamed. And then – wonder of wonders – a tiny shaft of sun poked through. Somehow, somewhere, I was all right. The past moment of hiding away didn’t have to create a future of seclusion.

Next Tuesday evening, Patricia will be in the online session again. She expects to ask for more volunteers to do the practice with her. I’ll answer the call. Of course she may pick someone else but my triumph will be clicking the “Raise Hand” button.

On I go in my life. Participate or hide out. Express or fall silent. Live with huge sweeping strokes or tiny jagged lines. I get to choose.

Tenderized

When I was away in B.C., my massage therapist Nicole sent me a wonderfully supportive e-mail as I was dealing with quitting the Tour du Canada bicycle ride.  She’s so much more than a rubber of my skin.

Today I had an appointment with Nicole.  I had a laundry list of body parts that hurt, and I could feel myself sinking into “I am old” mode.  That’s a deadly mind space – I know that – and sometimes I have trouble bringing myself out from under that particular rock.  My mind tells me that I shouldn’t need another human being to do the heavy lifting for me, but today Nicole did just that.

There I was, naked under a few sheets, and feeling naked in my soul.  My right thumb, my right calf, my right knee and my left ankle all cried out for attention.  Plus my heart needed some massaging too.  So Nicole set to work …

“I’m falling apart!” I joked to the dear therapist.  Except that deep down I wondered if I really was.  The words stayed inside but here they are: “The cane will be next, then the walker, then the wheelchair, and then perma-bed.”  How my fragile mind does proliferate!  I realize that these possible futures may indeed become part of my aging life but why jump to it with such haste?  I smiled under the sheets.  “Bruce Kerr, you are a strange dude.”

Once I was past this burst of self-pity, I returned to the job at hand … welcoming Nicole’s touch.  Sweeping pressure, nodes of pain, a sense of caress – they all made their appearance.  Throughout the hour, I was being held, nourished, given to.  Hours later, my pains have less oomph and I know I have been lifted up.  Some of what Nicole did was her professional and compassionate touch, some was her sharing the athletic exploits of her daughters and the family times centred around farm chores.  She sure loves her hubby and kids.  And I was enlivened by her aliveness.

Okay … now it’s my turn.  I’m fully capable of lightening the loads of my friends and neighbours.  No need to remain stuck in my story, my deficiencies, my “Woe is me’s”.  We’re too important to each other to stay down when we’re down.

Here’s to raising each other up
Salut!

Without Distinction

“We are aware of a desire to value all persons equally, responding to their integral concrete being as unique selves, rather than ranking them according to certain abstract qualities by which they can be classified.”

Beatrice Bruteau

I like some folks far more than others.  I find some women sexually attractive and some not.  I don’t want to spend time around mean or distant people.  I love the spontaneity of kids and don’t enjoy being around humans who never use the word “fun”.

Okay.  That sounds like a normal human being.  I include some, I push away others.  Overwhelmingly though, I include.  But what if I could broaden my range of vision to embrace everyone?  What if the quality of consciousness beaming back to me didn’t matter?  What if the only thing that counted was what I put out there in life?

As I read what I’ve written, it sounds simplistic, pollyannaish.

“I know it sounds that way.  But don’t you see, Bruce, that we naturally rank those around us, in order to discover who we want to spend time with?” 

“Well … yes, I get that.”

“Could it be, though, that while one level of your being operates that way, there are more inclusive realms that you can touch?”

“Well … maybe.  But I have favourites, you know.”

“Oh yes, I know that.”

“So stop trying to make me into a Superman.  I’m no perfect person.”

“Yes … I certainly agree with that!”

“Just leave me alone, will you?”

“Okay.  But may I plant a seed?”

(Sigh)  “Sure.  Plant away.”

“What if, once in awhile, you looked out at the world with different eyes?  Most of the time, continue with your comparing mind, but save a little space for something brand new.  As in human beings just don’t go there.  Would you enjoy doing something that you’ve never done before?”

“I don’t think “enjoy” is the right word.  And what you’re suggesting just sounds so weird.”

“Perhaps new stuff is always perceived as weird by people who don’t want to participate.”

“Probably.”

“So give me a chance here.  What do Adolf Hitler, Donald Trump and Karla Homolka have in common?”

“They’re extremely mean people.”

“Many of us would agree with you.  At the same time, they all need love.  They all want to be included in the human race.  They were all kids once.”

“Oh …puleese!”

“The possibility exists of being good to people simply because they’re on the planet, knowing they face the same sorrows and illnesses and fears that we do.”

(Silence)

“It’s easy to love the lovable folks.  They probably receive lots of that.  As for Adolf and Donald and Karla, love is probably in short supply.  Perhaps we should send them some.  No one left out.  No one alone.  No one thrown out of the human heart.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe …”

What Nourishes Me?

I sit quietly and wonder about the activities I choose to do, the thoughts that I allow to proliferate. Will the choice I make right now enhance or diminish my life, and the lives of others?

I wonder some more. Here are the nourishments I’ve discovered while sitting under a tree in London’s Victoria Park:

1. I need to open my heart, when I’ve allowed it to close, and keep it open throughout the day. My eyes need to be soft as I gaze out at the human beings near me. I need to feel into their joys and sorrows and let those energies sit within me. More than anything, I need to “be with” my fellow travellers, in a state of union, rather than separation.

2. I need waving leaves and dappled sunlight. To see the massive trunk of this maple tree sink into the earth and to feel the softness of the grass beneath my feet. Simply, I need to be outside in the natural world.

3. I need to have conversations that matter with one human being at a time, hopefully many throughout the day. To look into each other’s eyes and see the universe there. To touch each other’s essence and smile in response. To see who’s there.

4. I need to have children in my life, to bathe in their spontaneity and giggles. For that to happen, I’ll keep volunteering at the elementary school nearby, probably staying in Grade 6. Many of those 12-year-olds love to talk. I need to show the kids one example of a positive male role model, and let them decide whether to emulate me.

5. I need to write for an audience. “Bruce’s Blog” will do just fine. Whether there are three of you out there or three hundred, I hope that my words touch you and contribute to your life. I intend to continue saying what’s true for me, knowing that my heart is good.

6. I need to meditate, to close my eyes and watch what appears, to allow anything to emerge. The stillness opens me to life’s energies and allows me to be in place. I am being held gently by something very big and I’m grateful. I need these moments of awareness.

7. I need to move … walking, the elliptical at the gym or (gulp) riding my bicycle. The last choice still elicits huge fear, so it remains on the back burner for a bit. But I need to feel the tendons stretch and the muscles press, the deep grabs of air, the bowed head of fatigue.

8. I need to sing. I need to harmonize with others. I need to have tender love songs fall from my lips. I need to speak lyrics that tell of the human condition, in all its sweetness and despair. I need to vibrate way down deep.

9. In the spirit of “not this”, I need to be vigilant, to avoid that which has me contract: mean people, surface conversations, overeating, mindless TV watching, the urge to keep busy, wondering “How am I doing?”

***

I get to choose
And those choices determine my impact on others
Choose wisely, Bruce

Just This

I’m sitting on my back patio, facing the farmer’s field.  I get to be in the shade in the early afternoon and my lawn sprinkler is waving its way across the lawn.  All is well.

Tiny corns are starting their summer’s journey and the traffic on Belmont Road to my left is carrying souls to their destinations.  Way in the distance, past the trees at the end of the field, Harrietsville Drive stretches left and right.  My friend Barry’s barn pokes above the leaves.  A weathered barn and a probably unused silo say hi off to the right.  When I first moved in, verging on two years ago, I was disappointed that there were roads and traffic and buildings out back.  Not any more.  Now there are friends out there, some stationary and some moving, reminding me that we are part of a very large family.

And there are birds.  When I got home from my long meditation retreat last December, I was also disappointed that the builder had planted deciduous trees every twenty metres or so along the back edge of our separate condo homes.  “They’ll wreck my view.”  How silly my brain can be.  Those trees are now twelve feet high and love fluttering in the breeze.  My view is still supreme.  And there are birds sitting on the branches.

My two bird feeders are about two metres away from my loveseat, slightly to the left.  As I tap away, a couple of brave souls hang off the sides, rooting out the seeds.  Oops … now they’re gone.  But how marvelous that they came to visit this up close human being.  Sometimes the moments of bliss are so fleeting but I thank God that they happen.

I think I’ll pause the writing and see if any feathered ones return to their food.

Five minutes later.  One male goldfinch (brilliant yellow!) sits on the tree beyond, sizing me up.  Now he flutters to the feeder pole.  Now he descends to the sunflower seed sanctuary.  I worry that my tiny typing will scare him away – but no – he’s still there, craning his neck to get a better view of me.  At least five other birdies are zooming around but so far he’s the only brave one.  Pretty special to make a new friend from a distance of two metres.  May I always be a benign human.

Three metres straight ahead, at the edge of my patio, sits an 18-inch statue of the Buddha.  He’s in full lotus position, something I can’t do (but who cares?) and his hands touch.  His eyes descend.  Mr. Buddha is simply here, and now, and he’s silently cheering me on.  Smart guy, Mr. Buddha, up there with Jesus in figuring out what leads to happiness.  Right now he doesn’t have much to say.  Just sitting will do fine.

A few minutes ago, I noticed two flutterbys in the grass – one large and grey, one itsy bitsy and white.  But now they’re gone too.  That’s all right.  I trust they’ll be back, just like I trust moments of transcendence will return in their own sweet time.

Did I mention that all is well?

 

Emerging

In any given moment, such as this one, what is wanting to be born? What is just over the edge of the horizon, beckoning to me? I wonder … and wondering is so uncertain, not solid, unknown. I like the not knowing.

I’m sitting in the beer garden at Sunfest, a world music festival in London, Ontario. When I arrived with my trusty cell phone, I had made up my mind to blog about the wild group I danced to last night – Five Alarm Funk. I was going to talk about my wounded knee and still my determination to move the body. But sitting here right now, the story of yesterday isn’t on the tip of my tongue. It’s not pulling me forward. Since Five Alarm Funk isn’t alive in me right now, I don’t want to tell the tale.

And so I sit, watching what I’m drawn to do. Fifteen minutes ago, the musicians on the stage moved me to tap out the rhythms on the table. There was no thinking, just my hands starting to caress the wood. Soon all that morphed into playing table piano, and then this Samsung phone found its way into my hands.

There are about ten people in front of the stage, dancing. I look inside and see that dancing is not emerging, and so I’m still at the table.

What’s real now? The leader of the group onstage has just invited all of us to dance to their last song. What’s bubbling up is leaning over to the woman sitting to my right and saying “I don’t want to dance.” She smiles and says she doesn’t want to either, but she’s happy to tap her toes. Smile returned.

What if I felt into each moment and looked for what wanted to express itself? No judgment, no have-to, no contraction. That sounds like a very sweet way to lead my life. Let’s do it.

Now there are about forty folks dancing in front of the stage. Good for them. I love dancing and I don’t want to join in. Good for me.

And the next moment is about to burst forth.

Saying Yes to Kindness

I phoned Greyhound today and found out that my bicycle has arrived from the west coast.  I felt myself contract, knowing that I’m nowhere near ready to get back on the saddle.  But it was time to pick ta-pocketa up.  Happily, my boxed steed fit nicely into Scarlet and it was off to Cyzzle Cycles.  Sygnan was out and about somewhere when I arrived but would be back in half an hour.

I knew that around the corner was Cyprus Pizza and I thought it would be a slice to show up there.  Tony was very friendly and I headed outside to eat and drink.  The wooden bench I aimed for was in the sun, and it was a hot and humid day.  Tony intercepted me and moved the bench into the shade.  How very kind.  He was sitting with Koula, his sister-in-law.  Since there were no other customers, the two of them were luxuriating under a tree.

Immediately the three of us were cozy together.  Those were real smiles looking my way.  I asked if they were from Cyprus and the answer was yes.  With great longing, they described the beauty of their homeland, an island near Greece.  Isn’t this just the way life should be … instant friends chatting in the shade?

Their pepperoni pizza was thoroughly yummy and I made sure to tell them so.  Little grins appeared.  Koula asked me about Belmont, my home village, and we three were off to the conversational races.  She offered me strawberries, cherries and a peach from her tray, and I unthinkingly said “No thanks.”  After all, I was perfectly immersed in pepperoni.   But there was a niggling something in the back of my head, which didn’t move into the thinking part of my brain for a few minutes.

Was Koula’s head a little lower than it has been a bit earlier?  Was there a slump in her body?  I believe there was.  Seconds later, she asked again if I’d like some fruit.  Without consciously sensing my earlier mistake, I said “Yes.”  Her glow and her outstretched hand said it all.

The gift is in graciously receiving the other’s gift.  It’s a two-way street of generosity.  From unconscious to conscious, I made the course correction.  It’s what the world needs.

Koula, Tony and I waved goodbye after the strawberry of life was savoured.  We knew what had happened and we were glad.

Shaking Again

After I quit the Tour du Canada, my body took over.  I was so scared on those B.C. highways, and my right hand shook sporadically for days afterwards.  Pure stress.  Pure imagining my death on the side of the road, brushed aside by a semitrailer.

Today was worlds away from terror, but the result was magnified: my whole body shook.  I’m taking a course on relationships – it’s live on the Internet.  For some of the time, we do a practice with one other person, who could be living anywhere in the world.

A woman and I were having a fine old time this afternoon.  In response to her question “What are you experiencing right now?” I found myself clinging to a huge ball, and so was she, and so were many other folks.  As my mind let go, our arms lengthened and soon we were all holding hands … and smiling. The ball was rolling and there was a great sense of ease among us.  When the ball rolled over someone, he or she would pop up laughing.  Nobody knew where we were going but we all knew it would be good.  We were safe.

I’m loving these images when suddenly some huge energy ripped through me.  My arms, my legs, maybe even my internal organs were vibrating madly.  And this lovely human being was watching me unfold from her side of my laptop.

I had experienced something like this before, during a long meditation retreat.  But now I was on public display.  Embarrassment flew from me to her but my friend stayed with me.  I could feel her calm presence inside my head.  “No thing is wrong,” she said.  So comforted, I let go into it.  I wanted to name the energy, figure it out, but that mind subsided … and I just shook.  And then, near the end of our conversation, it stopped.

Back in the large group, it was time for sharing.  I decided to tell the folks about my ungluing, from the safety of “This happened back then.”  So I did.  Partway through my words, the shaking resumed.  “Here it is again,” I told my companions.  Now it was naked time.  Something that others might label as negative was coursing through me … right now.  No escape from the eyeballs of my fellow travellers.

Soon it was on to the next sharer but I knew that if the participants had their screens set for “Gallery View” they’d continue seeing all of us, in little rectangles.  My head jerked a bit and my arms wouldn’t stop.  The laptop on my thighs jiggled.  Some energy, of a spiritual nature I thought, was having its way with me.  I closed my eyes and let it be there, also trying to be okay with the attention of others settling on my trembling body.

There is no badness here, no deficit.  Our evolving group consciousness seems to be stirring something deep inside me.  “Well, Bruce, let it stir away.  Who knows what worlds you’ll visit?”

Hours later, I’m still.  In the days to come, as I go back online with these folks, the universe will decide how it wants to use me.

Bill

If ever there was a William who truly is a Bill, this is it.  Bill Gilbert, my neighbour and friend, died a few days ago.  He was, and is, an immense human being.  How many of us look every visitor in the eyes and send the wordless message “I’m glad you’re here.  Tell me all about your life”?  Precious few, I suspect, but this was thoroughly Bill.

I went to the great man’s funeral today.  Clearly, he was universally loved.  Bill’s daughter Stephanie had the courage to speak about her dad.  Or maybe it didn’t take courage – just a loving daughter revering a loving father, the fellow who held her tiny hand decades ago, who walked her down the aisle, who gratefully accepted her hand in the days before his death.

Throughout her life, Stephanie heard Dad say “You can do anything.”  Clearly, that included giving his eulogy.  It wasn’t “Dad did this … Dad did that.”  It was “Dad loved here … Dad loved there.”  I chuckled at what a committed environmentalist Bill was, years before it was popular, with multiple bins in the garage for all sorts of recyclables.  And how sweet that as he neared death, he wanted to make sure that the expired batteries from some device would be recycled.

As Stephanie said, she had a front row seat for the beauty and kindness of Bill Gilbert.  What a privilege.  And she gets to say to her kids, “You won’t see grandpa, but you will feel him.”  Yes.  Those young ones will become 30-somethings and then 60-somethings and they’ll still sense grandpa beside them, cheering them on.

As Stephanie spoke, her son Devon sat nearby, facing Bill’s family and friends.  He was clearly torn up at losing someone he deeply loves.  I was touched by his courage, with tears close by, and him fully visible to all.  Then he stood and recited beautifully a poem which I believe Stephanie created for her grandpa.  So perfect for honouring Bill.

Towards the end of the service, Pastor Art said something about Bill, or something about what’s important in life (I can’t remember!).  I nodded in agreement, and just as I did, the electric candelabras on either side of the sanctuary flickered.  They too were saying yes, to a fine human being, and to the rightness of loving and being loved.

Well done, Bill
Look what you’ve created
It shines in your family’s eyes

Ouch

I went to see the fireworks last night at the soccer fields in Belmont.  I saw lots of people I know and love.  As I was moving over the uneven grass with my chair, on the way to the best spot, a sharp pain in my right knee said hello.  After sitting a bit, I went for a hobbling walk with two wonderful kids.  It was fun to talk to them.  But then it was time to sit down and await the light show.

The sky was full with bursts of colour.  I especially liked several explosions that looked like the multiple blossoms of a rhododendron.  So cool.

Alas, all good things come to an end.  As I got up to leave, the knee shrieked.  In the dark it was hard to see the subtleties of grass contour and I paid for my missteps.  For awhile I held on to the top of a low fence as I muddled along.  Not good.

The strangest thing was that I smiled through it all.  Despite the pain, I felt peaceful.  Somehow I knew that all would be well.  I crawled into bed and strategically arranged my legs for comfort, trusting that life would continue working.

Early this morning, there was trouble in River City.  Rolling over sent shoots of yuckiness through the bod.  “All right, that’s enough.  Go to Urgent Care in London.”  I’m getting better at obeying those commands.

Walking in the bedroom was in slow motion.  I tried to keep my right leg straight and pretty much dragged it along.  Still I was fine in the head.  Remarkable.  I then took the most careful shower of my life.  Images flooded back of the ruptured tendon I had in 2003.  That produced a tendon transfer surgery and 17 weeks on crutches.  Then those pictures floated away.  I remained calm.

Once I was shoehorned into Scarlet, driving was fine.  I parked in the garage at St. Joseph’s Health Care and began a tedious shuffle towards the door of Urgent Care.  How humbling to be so slow, to make sure there were no cars for 100 metres before crossing the street.  I felt very old … so why was I happy?  I don’t understand me.

As I reached the receptionist, words unfolded in my head: “Be good to them, Bruce.”  Well, of course.  That’s why I’m on the planet.  And I followed through with that intent.  I made the triage nurse laugh and she made me comfy in a wheelchair.  I also shared chuckles with the X-ray technician.  Plus the doctor (“Call me Danielle”) and I reflected on the mysteries of the body while she expounded on the meniscus, a collateral lateral ligament strain, Tylenol, Advil and ice.  She told me that I wouldn’t damage the knee any more by walking on it, so I said no to crutches.  “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she smiled, as we said goodbye.  And the same from me.  Thanks for helping me, doc.

I’m happy.  I’m icing.  I’m medicating.  And I’m going to the visitation tonight for a dear friend and neighbour.  Bill deserves my presence, even a limpy version.