This is New York City in 1932.  It’s a lunch break for the construction workers building the Rockefeller Center.

Look at those faces in conversation.  Digging into their lunch boxes, sharing a smoke, taking a swig of some magic liquid.  So normal.  So relaxed.

So terrifying!

This is so thoroughly not me.  I get a bit woozy looking down into the Leie River from a low bridge.  I’m astonished at the differences between us humans … even though we share the same joys and sorrows.

I can sing for an audience at an open mic session but put me on a log crossing a creek and I freeze.  Impending death in one situation but not in the other.

We all need to hold our heads high, to laugh in the rain, to do a wee little dance when the mood strikes.  We are miracles … together we’re all the colours of the rainbow.

Someone created a great painting

Something good is coming back into my life – spontaneity.

I walked into Panos on Langemunt this morning, spread my arms to the staff members I know, and said …

Ik ben dik!

Probably these marvelous serving people had never seen anyone celebrating fatness, face lifted to the sky and a smile filling the space.  They were confused and amused.  And I was having fun.

Minutes later, a 50-something English-looking woman was gazing across the Leie River towards ancient buildings.  I couldn’t help myself:

Someday all of this will be yours!

She whirled around with a huge smile and said “I doubt it!”

Okay, I was on a roll.  The Cobbler beckoned – one of my favourite breakfast places.  I know the server but I’ll protect the innocent with anonymity.

She talked about her boyfriend … and maybe someday he’ll give her a ring.

Give me his phone number.  I’ll set him on the right path

Soon thereafter, I was pretend-talking into my phone to the young man, suggesting a wedding next week, or maybe the one after.  And The Cobbler hosted more smiles.

***

Perhaps that’s enough being “out there” for one day

But you never know!

Her name was Elizabeth Eckford.  She wanted to go to school.  These people didn’t want her to.

It’s 1957 in Little Rock, Arkansas in the United States.  See the hate in the woman dead centre in the picture.  Elizabeth hears the taunts.  She keeps going.  There’s momentum in courage.

Usually people exclude each other quietly.  Not returning e-mails.  Averting the gaze.  Not continuing a conversation that the other one had started.  It’s just as violent as the crowd in 1957.

Too many of us look in the mirror, see a certain variety of human being and see the image as the “gold standard” for humanity.  “You should be like me.”  Except I’m often not.  I’m remarkably like me.

I wonder if Elizabeth is still alive.  I’ll look her up on Google.

…

She is!

Still a civil rights activist at age 82

Lots more walking in her future

As I sat in Izy Coffee, I watched people on the street.  Many of them turned this way.  Finally I realized that there was someone or something that they were looking at.  There’s a sheet of paper taped to the window, and behind that a pillar.  Behind that was … ?

There’s even a family gathering to have a photo taken next to …  I pondered.  What could draw such focus? 

So I imagined.  Was it Beyoncé?

Don’t we put famous people on a pedestal, seeing them as some type of God without ever having met them?  What strange behaviour, Mr. Kerr.

Or perhaps Michelangelo’s statue of David resides outside of Izy.

The human form coming into glorious being through the hands of the sculptor.  What could be more divine?  Millions have come to the Accademia Gallery in Florence, Italy to witness “what one man can do”.  Perhaps ten people on Gent’s Langemunt are doing the same.

How about a world where it could be any of us eight billion folks standing behind that pillar?  Someone ordinary, maybe down on their luck, sagging under the weight of the world.

It could be someone like the fellow that Gordon Lightfoot sang of in “Home From The Forest”.

His tears fell on the sidewalk
As he stumbled in the street
A dozen faces stopped to stare
But no one stopped to speak
For his castle was a hallway
And the bottle was his friend
And the old man stumbled in
From the forest

***

May we have the eyes to see

***

P.S.  Behind the pillar was a puppeteer pulling the strings for a young violinist

I’m experiencing a lot of stress in two areas of my life: learning to speak Dutch and Zoom hosting for meetings of the Evolutionary Collective.

Okay … that’s simply true.  Now what?

I’ve chosen to live in Belgium.  Most people in Gent speak English but the dominant language is Dutch.  I want to be able to speak to everyone.  One of my favourite words is “conversation”.

I’ve been going to Conversation Tables at Amal, an organization for newcomers.  Five or six of us who are at Level 1 or 2 of the language training sit with a native speaker for two hours.

Often I’m lost in the talking, making out certain words but not getting the sentences, and therefore the meaning.  Bad words show up in my head: hopeless, exhausted, giving up.  But I won’t.  I will keep going to these sessions “until the cows come home”, as grandpa was fond of saying.

I want to be deeply here … not a tourist rooted in Canada.  I shall persevere.

And then the other.  I’ve been Zoom hosting at EC meetings for about five years.  I’ve really struggled to master the skills and now I’d describe my Zoomie performance as “adequate”.

Over the past few months, my stress level in the role has climbed.  So many rapid-fire decisions need to be made … and my brain seems to be falling behind.  Many more mistakes than before.  And often great fear before getting on the call.

I know my Zoom hosting work is appreciated by the members of our community.  I have served with love.  Now to decide whether I need to offer a different expression of that love.

I’ve told two leaders of the EC that I’ll make my decision about whether to continue hosting by Wednesday, September 4.

***

A new chapter?

Extending this one?

It’s uncertain right now

Time will tell me

Two days ago I wrote about a snake – the kind that goes down your throat to your stomach.  My body shakes in anticipation.

Months ago, the snake showed that there was a small ring of flesh in my esophagus.  It was causing irritation but the doctor thought a medication called Pantoprazole would fix me up.

Yesterday my family doctor recommended a second visit by the snake.  “Irritation” is now far too small a word.  Based on my symptoms, he thinks the ring has grown.

My doctor gave me the phone number of the gastroenterologist I saw last time so I could make an appointment.  So I phoned – a consultation six weeks from now!

Oh well … the rich textures of a life lived.

In the spirit of a silver lining, Dr. Lagae had some good things to say:

1.  He expects that the stomach doctor would offer me the option of full anesthesia, sparing me the terror of last time.  Yes, please … especially since the next insertion is likely to be longer.  Not only looking around but also widening the esophagus so the good stuff can flow freely.  I vote for being knocked out!

2.  Essentially doc said “Do what I tell you to do.”  Drink at least two litres of water a day and eat very slowly – much chewing.

About the first, I bet that throughout my adult life I’ve averaged about half a litre of water a day.  Drinking a lot more has always been in the realm of “a good idea” … and never acted on.  “Okay, Bruce.  Now we’re in the realm of ‘essential’.  Get over it and put your lips to the water bottle!”

About the second, prolonged chewing has never lived in my universe.  Even though I’ve perceived myself as a slow eater, maybe that’s not true.

In general, I think Belgian folks eat quickly.  I see a funny moment in my future – actually Christmas Day dinner with my dear Maarkedal friends.  I’ll be chewing on my appetizer for the rest of time and they’ll be digging into dessert.  And so what?  Let’s laugh about it.  What we’ll most enjoy is each other’s company.

***

So the body keeps playing tricks on me

“Gotcha, Bruce!”

I bet yours does the same

Here are two American singer-songwriters:  Kris Kristofferson and John Denver.

I love their music.  They’re both poets of the melody.  Sadly John died in a plane crash but they’re both alive in my heart.

A few days ago, I wrote six Canadian friends whom I’d dropped away from.  Amongst my updates was this:

During the winter and spring I sang at about six open mic sessions but that’s also been absent in the summer.  So … back on the horse!  The next open mic is on Friday, September 6 – that’s two weeks and two days.  I promise you that I’ll sing Kris Kristofferson’s “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down” that evening.

Promises, promises.  I’ve loved Kris’ song for decades.  He speaks of things I don’t know (being a heavy drug user) and things I do (being lonely).  Over the years I absorbed some of the lyrics but the process of learning the song is far from done.

Yesterday I tackled the task and soon realized that producing the result within two weeks is “a bridge too far”.  Sure, I usually live from “Go for it!” but I don’t have the energy or focus to perform this ballad at the Salvatore’s open mic.  I know this to be true.

So I choose to switch gears to Mr. Denver.  I had worked on putting two of John’s songs together – “Spring” and “Summer” –  and singing them on July 5 but I was in hospital then with a blood infection.  Too bad, because the seasonal timing would have been perfect.

September 6 is still technically summer but my heart is turning toward fall.  No matter.  They’re two great merged songs and the lyrics are in the back of my head somewhere.  I will bring them forward over the next two weeks, stand before the audience and sing …

Silently the morning mist is lying on the water
Captive moonlight waiting for the dawn
Softly like a baby’s breath, a breeze begins to whisper
The sun is coming.  Quick!  You must be gone

Smiling like a superstar, the morning comes in singing
The promise of another sunny day
And all the flowers open up to gather in the sunshine
I do believe that summer’s here to stay

This will be fine

When my body isn’t being nice, I get so scared.  Guess I have a really low “toughness” rating when it comes to physical stuff.  “Please, no pain … or at least not much.”

I don’t expect that I’m all that different from you.  Perhaps we share fragility and despair and terror when the body hurts.

Last night I ate pizza, and shortly thereafter I had trouble swallowing.  With endless burping.  And a scared mind.  All that continued in bed … until I eventually fell asleep.

I’ve been down this road before.  The lowlight was a gastroenterologist feeding a one-metre “snake” down my throat so he could look at my stomach.  “Gosh, that hurt.”  (Said he with a thoroughly wimpy voice)  The bottom line is I’m terrified to go through that again.

I see my family doctor tomorrow.  If he orders the snake procedure, so be it.  Finding out what’s wrong trumps avoiding physical pain.

Part of me is saying “You should have written about something else.”  Most of me disagrees.  My stomach is here and now.  I have no interest in “there and then”.

The musical “Hair” opened in 1968 on Broadway in New York City.  In 1979 the film version came out.

The photo shows Cheryl Barnes singing “Easy To Be Hard” in the movie.  It’s my favourite “Hair” song.  Here are some of the words:

How can people be so heartless?
How can people be so cruel?
Easy to be hard
Easy to be cold

How can people have no feelings?
How can they ignore their friends?
Easy to be proud
Easy to say no

Especially people who care about strangers
Who care about evil and social injustice
Do you only care about the bleeding crowd?
How about a needy friend?
I need a friend

The words hurt me way back then … and they hurt me today.  I woke up this morning with Canadian names on my lips, friends whom I said goodbye to when I crossed the ocean eighteen months ago.

I didn’t intend to be cruel, but I was.  I responded to their e-mails but perhaps not once did I initiate contact.  “I’m busy with my new life” was what I seemed to be saying.  And I was busy – still am – with all it’s taken to become a Belgian resident.  But that shouldn’t be the end of the story.

I woke up today sad and embarrassed.  “Especially people who care about strangers” sounds like me.  I haven’t been a good friend since leaving Canada’s shores.

I wrote all six of them this morning … telling the truth and seeking a renewal of our connection.  So far one of them has replied, so pleased to hear from me.  I told her that I intend to visit Eastern Canada next Spring.  I will visit.  We will hug.

May the other five human beings also be in my face-to-face future.  They all deserve my kindness.  No one should be left out.

Vellore Eruthukattu posted these photos on Facebook two days ago.  They’re both of Oostende, a Belgian city on the English Channel.

First in 1899:

And the same scene today:

The eyes behold truth

The mind doesn’t have to compose endless words about that truth