Enya writes songs.  She sings those songs.  And she breathes life into them.

As my mind continues to float free, I want to bring this space to singing and playing piano.  What will that be like?  What will be transmitted in words and melody?  Will I soar?

Yes … I’m soaring now.  The people walking by the window are blessed expressions of Spirit.

There are about sixty-five songs I want to learn and sing for the world.  One of them is Enya’s Paint The Sky With Stars.  This afternoon I will sit at the piano with the lyrics.  I will begin.  May the length and breadth still be here.  May these words shimmer:

Suddenly before my eyes
Hues of indigo arise
With them how my spirit sighs
Paint the sky with stars

Only night will ever know
Why the heavens never show
All the dreams there are to know
Paint the sky with stars

Who has placed the midnight sky
So a spirit has to fly?
As the heavens seem so far
Who will paint the midnight star?

Night has brought to those who sleep
Only dreams they cannot keep
I have legends in the deep
Paint the sky with stars

Who has placed the midnight sky
So a spirit has to fly?
As the heavens seem so far
Who will paint the midnight star?

Place a name upon the night
One to set your heart alight
One to make the darkness bright
Paint the sky with stars

I’ll let you know what happens.

***

I’m smiling. I had my moments in the playing and singing, moments when my heart was rising. Stanzas 1, 2, 4 and 6 were easy for my fingers – right hand melody and left hand chords. I sang the words I was reading on my phone. And I played in the key of F, which let my voice go low. The throat and the piano often vibrated in unison … and something beyond took over. The words of the song lit up. And the grand expanse of the last few days was with me.

I couldn’t figure out a chord for stanzas 3 and 5 so it was all focus and problem-solving. If I had tried, “I love you” would have been easily spoken in my head.

So … a beginning, one that was far beyond memorizing words and piano notes. The mechanics will come. Far more importantly, someday soon life will flow between performer and listener.

Here is Paint The Sky With Stars:

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=fI_sBqAsItk&si=o8BgLyJGuNg6fhFv

Yes, I could write about something different but the events of the last two days are still alive in me.  So I continue the story …

I went to The Cobbler for breakfast this morning.  People walking by were still my loved ones.  They were shining.  There was no forcing, no intending.  The softness was simply there.  It was a mist … descending on us all.

I drank in the faces – all shapes, colours and expressions.  Everyone was lovely.  Everyone … even those who were trying to be distant or nasty.

Several pretty young women strolled along.  My eyes rested on theirs.  I didn’t migrate down to their breasts or legs.  There was no need to.  The soul was enough.

Then in The Cobbler.  A woman sat at a window table:

I loved her from afar.  We hadn’t met and probably never will.  But she was mine in the morning.  I delighted in her presence.  Again the words “I love you” were painted in my mind and again the silent speaking could only get to the beginning of “I”.

I tried to stop the vastness, so I’d be able to say the entire sentence in my head.  I blinked several times.  The space would not stop.  I couldn’t remove the beloved from my heart.  I sat in awe.  “What is happening to me?”

Later I was with my friends Geert and Arjen, still floating … entwining.  When I was talking, saying the entire “I love you” was available.  When one of them was speaking, they were God.  The softness was back.  It was especially strong when they were conversing in Dutch.  I knew nothing of the words and everything of the spirit.

This is all unbidden.  I just find myself in the middle of something so soft, so wide open, so far beyond my brain.

Now I’m alone in my living room, tapping away on my phone.  No one else is here and yet the pausing of time is still with me.

***

There is love

The world is glowing

I wanted this post to be about “I’m feeling this right now,” not a day or a minute in the past.  Alas that was not to be. 

Three hours ago, I was deep inside something stunning.  If you read my post yesterday, you’ll sense what’s been happening in my mind.  There’s often a wordless exploding of love in all directions.

I just got off a Zoom call with thirty-five folks.  The connection was vivid across our screen rectangles and the residue of love is still with me, but it’s far less intense that it was when I was gazing at human beings sitting in a Ghent café or walking by.  The photo can’t capture the volume of the moment which resided in my head.

I’m disappointed that I’m not living the shock and awe of a few hours ago. C’est la vie. What I do have is a memory of something Thomas Merton said years ago. He was an American Trappist monk and theologian:

In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all these people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world …

This sense of liberation from an illusory difference was such a relief and such a joy to me that I almost laughed out loud. I have the immense joy of being man, a member of a race in which God Himself became incarnate. As if the sorrows and stupidities of the human condition could overwhelm me, now that I realize what we all are. And if only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.

Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could all see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time.

***

Two people

Separated by decades

Joined in the heart

It’s “elephant in the room” time again.  Sure, I could write about this morning’s music theory lesson, and I could have made it interesting for you.  But something is happening to my mind.

I decided this morning that I wouldn’t tell anyone.  Strangely I have re-decided.  I’m afraid.  Because I think …

Nobody will understand

People will think I’m weird

And stay away

Ahh … but the truth wins.

About a year ago the words “I love you” kept entering my head, usually not directed towards any certain person.  Occasionally, when the words fell on someone’s face, my “I love you” thought came into view but I couldn’t get past the “I” in my silent speaking.  I couldn’t think the rest of it.

Very strange.  “What’s going on?”

***

For the last week, this experience has been with me for much of the day.  I look at someone (actually anyone) and start saying the words.  A tiny “I” and that’s it.  The universe is here.  A grand love is here.  And mostly I’ve never seen these people before.  I even changed the sentence to “Nice to see you” and all that came in thought was “Ni …”.

When I have a purpose as I talk to someone, there is no immensity. At the Hema cafeteria this morning, I asked an employee for some yogurt with mango and strawberries. There was no giant pause, no being overwhelmed by something so unknown.

When my music theory teacher was explaining something in Dutch and I wasn’t understanding anything, the flow of connection returned. I also felt it (without turning around) when a student behind me asked a question. The words were lost on me but there was melody in her voice.

Now I’m alone in the laundromat, watching my clothes spin around. Any sentence that comes into my head is easily expressed internally.

Now I hear a voice singing at the far end of the room. She is shielded from my eyes by a wall. My silent words evaporate once more.

I’m not interested in figuring this out. Who cares if some profound psychological principle is at work? What I’m experiencing is here. It could retreat in the next moment and never return. Or it could be with me for the rest of my life.

In an hour I begin a long journey … learning Dutch.  I don’t have a photo to show you now, but I will – the cover page of the textbook.

I told Lydia that I’d seen the class list.  There are ten men and eight women, and every woman is named “Elise”.  (I’ve determined that the next love of my life will be called Elise, even though I haven’t met her yet.  So I’ll have lots of choice in class!)

***

It’s such a lovely half-hour walk to school. Much of it borders the river. And cyclists are heading to and fro to school or work. Ghent is alive!

***

It’s 8:40.  I’m sitting in Room 13.  No one else is.  Hmm …

8:50. Now there are thirteen. Isabel and twelve of us adult students. A whirlwind of learning is about to take off.

The course is thoroughly conversational and after today no English will be spoken. It’s deep end stuff.

I’m by far the oldest student, and it shows. Over the two-and-a-half hours, the book throws lots of questions at us and Isabel is 1-1 with each of us. In one memorable moment, she asks me:

Uit welk land kom jij?

And I softly stare. I couldn’t remember the question and thus the answer (which is “Canada”). Despite the moment of emptiness, I see the road ahead. I’ll keep walking.

Someday soon all of this will be so easy:

Dag. Hoe gaat het?

Welke taal spreek jij?

Hoe kom jij naar school?

We learned each other’s names and I actually had my first conversations! They were error-filled and silence-filled but so what? We’re in the game together.

I can feel us already being a group, cheering everybody on. We all speak English but it’s the mother tongue for only two of us. Isabel put up a map of the world and we each came to the front to point out our homeland. The map zoomed in to show cities and we shared those too. So cool. Here’s where we’re from:

Bangladesh
Thailand
Australia
Canada
Dominican Republic
South Korea
The Philippines
Ethiopia
Colombia
Argentina
Japan
China

The world!

Here we come, all you native Dutch speakers!

P.S. There are nine women in the class, none named Elise

Lydia and I went for a walk yesterday on the small roads near her farm. We were quiet. It was simple, ordinary, lovely.

We’re coming up on the one-year anniversary of Jo’s death – her husband and my friend. I decided to let Lydia take the lead in our conversation.

We talked about the crops planted nearby. The wide open spaces of her home. Smiles about the people in our lives. Jo was with us, just not in our words.

There is a peace in two friends walking in silence. No expectation of profound thoughts expressed. Happy in the warmth.

It was a long walk. I was getting tired on the rolling roads. I didn’t expect that would happen, and I was sad about becoming older. Once, after a nice sit on a tussock of grass, Lydia offered to help me up.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Bruce …”

I gave in, with a tiny nod. There was a sweetness in the weakness, an admission that things are slowing down. I felt a part of all the human lives that play out across the globe. All was well.

At one point, Lydia asked me what was the happiest moment of my life. What came was a 20-year-old man reaching the peak of Mount Lineham in Waterton Lakes National Park. Oh … the vista of snowy peaks that surrounded me!

Lydia’s moment was giving birth to her son Baziel while singing Dos Gardenias.

And the quiet returned …

Comfy

Together

Take two Belgian cyclists. The one on the left is Eddy Merckx. He rode professionally from 1965 till 1978 and won hundreds of races. Eddy was a serious type. Then there’s Roger De Vlaeminck. He rode from 1969 till 1984. Roger definitely had a sense of humour.

Rouleur magazine had a story to tell:

It was the 1970 Tour of Lombardy in Italy. Roger and Eddy were riding in a big group of cyclists (the peleton). Roger announced that he had to pee. He’d ride ahead into the upcoming tunnel, do his business and then rejoin the pack.

Off he went. As the peleton later flowed through the tunnel, guess what? No Roger.

Merckx was livid. His great rival had lied. He’d entered the tunnel and then attacked (rode faster to get ahead of the group). Cheater! As the riders emerged into daylight, Merckx ordered the other riders on his team to speed up. I bet his language was … colourful.

Mr. De Vlaeminck, however, had hid himself and his bike in bushes past the far end of the tunnel, enjoying the spectacle of the peleton riding merrily by.

Man, they were going at nearly 60 km/h. At first, I had to dig deep to rejoin. Little by little – it must have taken half an hour – I moved up, until I suddenly found myself next to Merckx.

“Hey, Eddy, who is off the front?” I asked.

You should have seen his face. Priceless. As if he’d seen a ghost.

***

Oh, Roger …

I love you

Last night Lydia, Luc and I were sitting around, drinking wine and listening to music.  It was sweet.  We took turns picking our favourites.  One of Lydia’s choices was Dos Gardenias.  As she sang along, her eyes softened.  Wistful.

And she told us her story …

Lydia had long loved the song.  Here’s what someone else said about it:

The two titular tropical gardenia flowers are associated with the two lovers’ hearts. Naturally, the lyrics of such an earnest love song cannot exist without passionate declarations of love, but there are also gentle kisses framed by beautiful flowers and the singer’s lament for the transient lives of the two gardenias that will inevitably wither, thus marking the end of love.

Nineteen years ago, Lydia was in the operating room, about to give birth to Baziel.  She was scared about the Caesarean section that was about to happen.

The anesthesiologist was recommending that he only numb Lydia’s abdominal area.  She wanted to be put to sleep.

“You’ll miss what would be one of the biggest moments of your life.”

Lydia sighed … and agreed.

As she descended into the wonders of the sweetening mind, her mouth opened. Out came Dos Gardenias, a full-throated praising of love.  Her son was coming.  She had to sing.

***

An interlude:

Lydia’s dog Henri just came by for a petting session. It must have lasted fifteen minutes. For much of it, we were eye-to-eye.

***

Apparently the operating room was full of laughter as Lydia sang … and full of joy. Mother and son were dancing.

Lydia glowed in the recounting of a moment in time

Baziel knows the story

Someday he will really know the story

I have a fetish.  Having a very good screen resolution on my TV. 

When I first visited Belgium at my friend Lydia’s home in Maarkedal, we’d sit down to watch a TV show.  And my eyes burst open!  The clarity of the images was far better than in Canada.  And Lydia said her TV was in the middle range while I had bought an excellent one.  This did not compute.

I arrived in Ghent in January.  The internet  provider I’d signed up with was a good one, so I had been told.  Trouble was, although the resolution was excellent during the day, it faded away to 720p or even 480p after supper.  That is … blurry.

Technicians came and went.  Reps on the phone tried this and that.  The consensus?  Everything is fine.  Of course the techs came during the day when indeed everything was fine.

I had many talks with myself, with comments like “You should be more mature, more spiritual.  Sharpness of image is not important.”  Except for me it is!  I’m willing to be seen as obsessed, living at the mercy of the technological world.  Having sharpness on the screen somehow does feel like spirit is entering me, especially if the story is moving.

I changed internet providers in June.  It was more of the same: every evening the blurring, reps and technicians assuring me that all was well.

For all these months of TV viewership, no one at either company said they’d heard of my problem.  Was I this alone in the world?  Was my apartment on the Oudburg haunted?  Was my vision declining so my eyes could no longer detect the subtleties on the screen?

Throughout all this, I have remained determined that somehow the problem will be solved.

Nearly a month ago, a rep named Omaima said “I know your problem and I’ve helped clients solve it.”  Oh my God – no longer alone, no longer perhaps seen as an irrational complainer.

Omaima worked with me in changing the cable connections between modem, TV, TV box and WiFi booster.  For a week, everything was golden, even at 8:00 pm.  And then back came the evening blur – not every night but some.  (Sigh)

“You’re not giving up, Bruce!”

Two nights ago I was on the phone with Gihane, another rep.  For the second time I heard the words “I know your problem.”

Gihane rebooted this and that, installed new software to deal with the bugs, and cheered me on!  “This should work.  Try it for the next two nights.  I’ll phone you on Friday.”

And … the screen resolution was excellent Wednesday and Thursday evening! 

We agreed that Gihane would phone me between 10:00 and 10:15 today.  Almost always when an internet rep has said they’d phone me at a certain time, they didn’t.

So I was ready at 10:00, scared that “one more time” would happen.  At 10:10 the phone rang.  Gihane was thrilled that it worked, that I was finally happy with the images I see.  She gave me her ID number so I can contact her if things fade again.

***

Long live the fetish

Long live the idiosyncrasy

Long live the success

Here’s the Gregor Samsa bookshop on the Oudburg in Ghent. It’s only six doors down from my apartment. And it’s closing – an “endangered species”.

(Sigh)

Harry Glockler created a miracle in the room beyond the lamp. About six concerts a month for over a year. All types of music – jazz, gypsy, folk, electronic … A haven for musicians and beholders. And a space adorned with classic books in English.

Gregor Samsa is a place for lovers of the good, true and beautiful. And there isn’t enough money for Harry to keep it going.

Yesterday evening was my last concert at Gregor Samsa. There will be three more – on Friday, Saturday and Sunday – but friends have invited me away for the weekend.

Merle and Rianto sang together for some songs and individually on others. I forgot to take photos but here are two commercial shots:

Such beauty of voice … blending two souls, making songs of love and life their own. It was precious to sit in the front row, to feel the books smiling, to gaze up at the dark wood ceiling resplendent with beams that aren’t quite parallel.

I walked out the door for the last time, feeling the immensity of sacred space.

And I thought of the phoenix.

“The ancient Greek world regards the phoenix as a magical bird that lives long, dies into flames, and is born again.”

***

O Gregor Samsa

Is there a future for you?

In order to rise from its ashes

A phoenix first must burn