I sat in The Cobbler this morning for breakfast … and also for looking around.
I had cool conversations with three staff members: Lie, Pascale and Yanisha. It’s precious to be known.
Out the window, far away, sat three birds – one on a roofline, one atop a stepped gable, and one perched on a chimney. I loved the winged ones.
There were lines of connection between my eyes and theirs. I celebrated their different shapes, sizes and sitting spots. The largest spread its wings at photo time. Later he or she held that openness for at least a minute. Such grace.
And you know about windows and birdies. I’m looking out into the world and suddenly there are wings on the right edge, swooping across the panes and disappearing on the left. So cool! It’s a symbol for me … of people and experiences appearing, lingering and then passing past my sight. A natural rhythm.
Another ecstasy for me is watching a bird swoop down and vanish beyond a roof. Ohh … I expect there are few people who share my passion here. C’est la vie. I will continue to wonder at the speed, the descent, the “goneness”.
I told my companions at The Cobbler that I would write about sitting in their midst this morning. Fait accompli!
“The fact that an opinion has been widely held is no evidence whatever that it is not utterly absurd; indeed in view of the silliness of the majority of mankind, a widespread belief is more likely to be foolish than sensible.“ (Bertrand Russell)
Oh, Bertrand. So well said.
Sometimes I let myself be hypnotized by casual truths – ideas I’ve grown up with and really not thought about. I bet many of them are subconscious – no exploring involved.
I don’t want to be hypnotized. I want to be awake … unhampered by what my neighbours think, by what my mother thought.
How about this one? Aboriginal Canadians are lazy, drunk and just plain bad. I love meeting new people of whatever race. I want to see what’s within their eyes. But has part of me been co-opted by the majority opinion? If so, I need to fight that seduction.
People with university degrees are intelligent. In their area of expertise, I guess that’s right. But what about intelligence in living, and in treating other human beings well? Some of them yes, some of them no.
Kids don’t know as much as adults. Well, they haven’t accumulated as much life experience. They haven’t learned all the intricacies of navigating the events of their days. But what about fresh thinking, outside of the boxes that older people create?
Being rich with material comforts creates happiness. If I believe stories about depressed millionaires … not so much. I think happiness comes from experiences of deep contact with other humans.
Men can’t do X. Women can’t do Y. Absurd. I rejoice with male nurses and female mechanics.
A friend of mine disappeared from my view months ago. We used to frequent the same coffee shop, and had many fine conversations. We never shared contact information … and one day he was no longer there.
I’ve been sad about his absence and scared that something had happened to him.
This morning I was walking past a restaurant in Gent centrum. I looked in the window. Sitting way at the back was a familiar jacket and a familiar face.
We both smiled on the approach. He invited me to sit down. As he started telling his story, something happened to me. I was flooded with a softness … something floating down from above and leaving me limp.
I was with him, falling into his words. They were spoken in English – not his mother tongue. He’d often search for how to say it and I searched to understand.
The letting go continued. It was no longer important to figure out the meaning, to ask clarifying questions. It didn’t matter that the conversation was one-sided – all about him.
Eventually I told him that I had to go. I had an appointment at the hospital. I offered a hug and he received it gladly. We both hoped that our reunion will continue.
Hour Two
When I was in the hospital a few weeks ago, the doctors found some blood in my urine, though I’ve never seen any while peeing. So today I met with Dr. Goedertier, a urologist. He was one more example of doctors in Belgium being thorough, exploring all the possibilities when there’s a problem. Thank you, doctors.
Dr. Goedertier wanted to put a camera into my bladder to see if everything was okay there. I said yes without getting the implications of that decision.
Soon it was pants down lying on a bed. Doctor and nurse were ready to go. He pointed to a narrow tube (maybe 45 centimetres) with a camera. “That’s what we’re using.”
Under my breath, I uttered a four-letter word that started with “s” and ended with “t”. Pain isn’t my best subject.
He placed a gob of anaesthetic at the entrance of my urethra, waited for a few seconds, and then started in.
Ouch! “That’s the worst part.” Oh good. As he explored, the pain came in waves. I was being invaded, all for a good cause. I grimaced and uttered stuff that was definitely not under my breath!
A minute later there was an exit. The nurse said “You did very well. Some men yell.” Guess I’m a discreet guy.
My response at the end?
I still have a penis!
Results will come later, as will an appointment for a CT scan down below. I am being cared for.
The penal pain continued as I left the office. The friendly nurse: “The anaesthetic needs to be peed out. Drink lots of water first.”
Okay. So I sat in the lobby for thirty minutes or so, downing two big water bottles full of the good stuff.
On Saturday I climbed the Kappelmuur on my feet just before 140 women cyclists climbed it on their bikes. I was not going to miss these precious moments.
And then there was the descent. My legs tightened up and my knees screamed on the downward cobbles. I had an hour before my train left. I needed most of that.
How amazing to be inching down the hills – wobbly … tentative … in pain. I imagined a little boy passing by saying to his parents “Look at that old man.”
I guess he was right. But only old in the body. There is so much more in life.
I slept nine hours on Saturday night, eleven on Sunday. Yesterday, before 9:00 pm, I felt myself slumping on the couch. “Go to bed, Bruce.” I obeyed orders.
And then there was 8:00 am. I smiled.
So what’s in my future? More climbs of the Kappelmuur in Geraardsbergen? Dancing my legs off at Tomorrowland? Being on the cross-trainer at Basic-Fit for an hour? Climbing the forty steps to my apartment till I’m 90?
Maybe
And maybe not!
What I will say is this:
I promise to be fully engaged with the future moments
I promise to be spiritually connected with whomever is willing to join me
Here I am again, after nine hours of sleep. My finger is ready to recommence.
***
I found a spot near the start line, ready for all those riders to roll out. A mass of motorcyclists, camera people and cars were part of the race staff. And then we the crowd yelled out the coundown from “10” to “Go!” The speed was incredible as the prime athletes started their pedals turning.
Wow! What a rush!
And I had a plan.
I began walking to the Gent Sint-Pieters train station. If I really stretched out the legs, I’d have time to catch the 2:05 bus to Geraardsbergen – the town that was home to one of the most fabled climbs in Belgian cycling – the Kappelmuur. “Muur” as in “wall” … 1.1 cobbled kilometres with an average gradient of 9.3% (maximum 19.8%). Ouch!
There was a problem. I had misinterpreted the tiny icon for the trip to Geraardsbergen. It meant “train” not “bus”. More brisk walking from one end of the station to the other. I climbed the steps to Platform 7, looked to my right and saw the word “Geraardsbergen” at the tail end of a train that was pulling away. (Sigh)
The next train was at 3:05. And so began the calculations. That train was scheduled to arrive at 3:55. Usually Belgian trains are on time, but sometimes not. Google Maps told me it was a 25-minute walk from the train station to the Muur but I’ve discovered that Google walks faster than me. And by definition those 25 minutes would be uphill – a challenge for my much-better-but-still-recovering body.
A cycling website estimated that the riders would be climbing the Muur at 4:50. That sounded like a half-hour buffer to me. But who knows? As I sat in Gent Sint-Pieters, a smile showed up on my face. There was a possibility I’d miss the whole darned thing.
One detail that escaped me in Gent was that my phone charge was wearing down. Oops. Flying blind in Geraardsbergen wouldn’t get the job done. And there were no outlets on the train.
I speeded off the train at my destination and searched for an outlet in the station. There was one, which was the perfect number for me. I plugged in at 4:00 and made the executive decision to charge until 4:10. Ahh … the tightness of time.
Then I started hustling through town, staring at a tiny screen all the way. A carnival was alive and well on the city streets. Lots of music, candy floss and games of skill. Here’s what the cyclists would see in a few minutes:
What you see is “moderately uphill”. Soon it would just be one of those words.
As I climbed the cobbles, I was joined by other cycling fans timing their journey to the top. The energy of expectation was brilliant!
The road narrowed, twisted and tilted up. There was only room for spectators on the right side.
I walked up to two young men on a curve. According to them, we were about a hundred metres from the summit. They said this curvy spot was the best. We’ll be able to see riders coming up from below and then watch them climb beyond us. Cool.
I stayed with the two guys. It was 4:40.
About 4:55 a marshal blows his whistle and starts waving a red flag. There’s a group murmur from below … growing.
And then the colours of cycling jerseys and the whirr of wheels:
I cheered my guts out. “Bravo! Allez! Magnifique!” A wall of yelling and clapping surrounded me.
Oh my God … I’m here!
I turned to my right. Some of the fittest athletes in the world were straining upwards. Their faces! Their legs! The wild calls of the crowd!
I will remember those moments for the rest of my life. My favourite cyclist, Puck Pieterse, flashed by me in sixth place or so. A mass of riders climbed together. And later there were the stragglers … urged on just as stridently.
I woke up to two beckoning adventures. The first was an all-morning Dutch class, my second at Level Two. The teacher Jelle is so nice and often so incomprehensible. She speaks basic Dutch slowly … but I listen even more slowly! It’s so humbling.
Today we started exploring the past tense. As an example, switching from “I walk” to “I walked” is “Ik wandel” to “Ik heb gewandeld”. My mind rebels.
It’s probably not true that all the other students were nodding as Jelle presented new material. It just seemed that way.
We had a test after the break, focusing on family relationships, such as “grandmother”, “cousin” and “father-in-law”.
I’m ready!
I wasn’t.
I was presented with a Dutch paragraph about family, chock full of words I didn’t know. And grammar that was over my horizon. I panicked … and then remembered that breathing is a good thing.
It was multiple choice plus writing about family members and friends, including what they’re good at and what they like to do.
I stumbled through the test, occasionally resting within humility but mostly tight as a drum. It brought bittersweet memories of Level One. The sweet part is a mystery but it was there (barely). The grandness of life occasionally made an appearance … shining through my “not knowing” test responses. Oh well, today had a Part Two.
***
In my 30s, 40s, 50s … I loved watching European cycling from my Canadian living room. I saw the fans on the side of the road going crazy with cheering, and I thought:
Someday I’d love to go crazy too!
I’ve been hoping that today would be that day. The first major Belgian race of the season – Omloop Het Nieuwsblad – starts in my hometown.
After class I walked to ‘t Kuipke, the ancient Ghent velodrome. Early in the afternoon, about 140 women cyclists would set off on a rock-and-roll journey of 127 kilometres. And I’ll be there!
First, though, each of the 23 teams was presented to us adoring fans inside the velodrome. Two interviewers asks friendly questions of a rider or two from each team. Everybody got cheered (with an extra dose for Belgian cyclists).
I watched the teams that were just presented ride out of the building. Almost every rider high-fived the kids leaning over the barriers. So cool.
Well folks, I’m officially tired. There are many racing stories still to tell but my right index finger wants to sleep. (That’s how I type, by the way.)
There was so much oomph in my day – from the angst of not understanding the questions to all the colours of all the teams climbing all the hills.
It started simply. Last night I was watching a Netflix series on World War II. I have two candles that sit by the windows of my living room. They had melted down to little nubs of wax.
“I’ll light them and let them burn out while I’m watching TV.” Just another task to be completed.
As death filled the screen, I’d occasionally glance at the flames in my room. They were diminishing. I was entranced with the undiminished beauty. And I went to the future end of my life.
I was drawn to the story of war … and to the soon-to-be ending of light. Then my eyes turned to the window. I turned off the TV and beheld the right candle, more advanced in its fading than the left.
Closer now …
I smiled as the glow became a glimmer. And I wondered what my last moments on Earth will be like. I hope they won’t be wracked with pain. I hope I will be giving thanks for all the magnificent human beings who have come my way.
There was a final spurt of brightness … then only one tiny dot of light … then black.
I am slow. It seems that I’ve always been slow … and that looks like my future too.
These days I’m slow of both body and mind. It’s not that I can’t think things out. It has nothing to do with reasoning, with analyzing. Rather it often feels like there are spaces between my words, a lingering in the conversation. And it’s not that I’m speaking more slowly.
Occasionally the letters themselves start separating from each other and float away. So LOVE may drift off as O … E … V … L – no longer a word.
Perhaps this sounds to you like an emotional breakdown. It’s not. Sometimes I’m taken into the sky, watching the alphabet float by.
Much of the time, of course, I’m grounded in the “realities” of daily life. But then there are those other times!
When poetry replaces prose, as the words bubble up and flow together …
When my feet wander a few centimetres off the ground …
When all of life and its inhabitants pass by in slow motion …
Sometimes I contract, and tell myself to speed up. But I’m getting better at ignoring that squawking. There’s a softer voice, with a built-in smile, that wants to be known.
I opened my eyes after meditation yesterday afternoon. Soon the words were on my lips:
Go to a room and love everyone there
And then the room appeared in my mind – Café Barrazza, just off the Langemunt in Gent.
I walked in and sat at my favourite table. To my left was a snoozing cat named Sam. He looked so comfy. I decided to let him be. Petting would have been mostly for me. I loved him a metre away.
My server was a nice young man. I ordered a Westmalle Tripel and a croque monsieur while silently loving him.
There were only two other customers – two guys across the way, fully engaged in their conversation. I loved them too.
See those picture frames on the far wall? A young woman walked in and lingered back there, facing left. She burst into smile, greeting someone hidden from my view, someone I hadn’t noticed. She opened her arms in greeting and moved towards a hug with the person unknown to me. I loved the two of them.
A couple sat down to my right, beyond a potted plant. Their names were Bart and An. Soon I was playfully complaining that Sam was approaching them, and also the hidden couple … but not me! We smiled. And then Sam took up residence on An’s lap. More Bruce angst.
***
It’s not that I was running out of energy to love all these folks but my beer and sandwich had disappeared, and it felt time to leave. I put on my coat and stood with my neighbours, whom I had been loving. They invited me to sit with them and offered to buy me a drink. I said yes … to the company and to a ginger beer.
After talking about this, that and the other thing, I heard my head ponder telling them why I was at Café Barrazza. An and Bart were “strangers” but not at all strange. They were lovely in fact.
So I told them my day’s story, about how I’d been loving them for the last little while. They were happy I had gone to the truth, and also about the nature of that truth.
I think it was 24 years they’ve been together … and deeply in love. They live in Antwerp and somewhere else.
I wish I could remember what they said but their words have floated away. It doesn’t matter. What was fine is that we connected as human beings, ones who share all the nuances of being alive. Our stories differed but our hearts were the same – open. I was happy.
We hugged goodbye, them heading to the train station and me to home. New friends.
It was an afternoon well spent. And many other rooms beckon me …
Some human beings leave memories of themselves on the city streets. The future gazes in wonder at the creations of the past. And we the future present are richer for it.
Who were the emergers that touch me today? I say they’re my brothers and sisters across time. I can’t hold their hands but I can feel their art vibrating … trembling me.
Is there a way we can sit together with our coffee and talk about life? Can I summon you in my mind? Will you stay awhile so we can be blessed by each other’s presence?
Yes to all of this … even though your body is no more.
I wandered yesterday and today, looking for beauty brought into the world by hands and hearts. Here are some things I found. Gifts given two hundred years ago or perhaps two hundred days …
Bruce's Blog 