Yesterday I wrote about heading to Amal for their Conversation Table … and being so scared to speak Dutch in a group.

Amal is a marvelous organization for newcomers to Belgium.  The sign says it all (almost): welcome to people of all nationalities, religions, ages (leeftijden), sexual orientations, gender identifications, folks with or without limits (met en zonder beperking).

And … all Dutch-speaking abilities.

I’m low down on that scale.  But I’m on it.

It was my fifth time at the Table.  One would hope that there’d be progress but it was the worst experience I’ve had there.

At my table there was a native Dutch-speaking facilitator and six learners from various parts of the world.  Here’s what’s true about my two hours:

1.  I didn’t understand a lot of what people were saying.  I could pick out words but I didn’t grasp the sentences.  Afterwards the facilitator told me that some of the speakers weren’t speaking “good Dutch”.  Whatever that means.

2.  I couldn’t hear three of the participants.  They spoke softly.

3.  I had trouble filtering out the conversations coming from other tables.

4.  The facilitator spoke pretty quickly.

5.  When I tried composing sentences, two or three good-intentioned participants tried to help.  I was brought to silence in my confusion.

I had told myself before the session to love my Dutch partners while we spoke, no matter the problems I was having.  There were moments when this happened, but they were few.  My head often dropped.  I sighed a lot.  I deflated.

In the evening I was on a Zoom call with the Evolutionary Collective.  I knew I had to speak about my afternoon angst, about being thoroughly not good at something.  If I hadn’t, the unspoken would have intruded into the practice I would do later with a randomly-selected EC partner.  And that wouldn’t be fair to them.

So I spoke in the large group.  The truth works.

I often write “On we go” in these posts.  Some disappointment, fear, sadness, etc. arises.  My choice is to fade away or continue.

I continue

I woke up this morning swimming in fear.  When I could breathe again, I had the thought that this was strange for a spiritually evolving human being.  But in truth … not so.  The human part of the being continues on its roller coaster.

The source of my fear is two hours of my afternoon.  I’m heading back to the Dutch Conversation Table at Amal – newcomers to the language trying out their speaking and listening.

Here I go again, for the fifth time, throwing myself into a situation where largely I don’t know.  I’m going towards the tension, the exasperation, the despair.  Does this make me a masochist?  No.  It says that I am brave.

***

I say words to myself.  They help me stay in the experiences I want for my life.  They assist me in having many moments of my day be animated, shone upon, vivid, true.

Love the fear

Hug the fear

In my better moments, I “go towards” whatever and whomever is with me.  That won’t be easy today at Amal but I shall persist.  I’ll be tender with my terror.  The image of lingering in a hug helps me.

Love them

Hug them in my mind

Everyone.  Every soul who passes before my eyes today.  The ones at Jagger’s, Et Alors, Amal, on the street, on the evening Evolutionary Collective Zoom call.  Wishing them great happiness.  No one left out, not even the ones who are mean or distant.  Not even … Donald Trump.

Loving me

Hugging me

I need to do this a lot.  It’s so easy to forget about this particular person.  He too is part of the human family.

“You’re never too much!”

That’s what a friend of mine said awhile back.  I know what she meant … that my expression of who I am need not be diminished.  Fear of being considered weird is just not worth it.  If I’m being kind and true to people, let the light shine.  No dimmer switch.

Of course my outpouring into the world must not include meanness.  Our planet doesn’t need any more of that.

***

Now here’s another discussion:  How much can I expect of myself physically?  How deep are my energy reserves?

Yesterday afternoon I went to an Amal Conversation Table – one native Dutch speaker and six newbies to the language.  For me it was two hours of intense focus – trying to understand, trying to compose sentences.

Three hours later I showed up on Zoom for a special ninety-minute meeting of the Evolutionary Collective.  Patricia Albere, the founder of the EC, was introducing new material and inviting us into practices – sometimes with one other person, sometimes with three.  I was fully engaged the whole time.

Immediately thereafter, I was the Zoom host for one of the regular EC calls.  The teacher teaches and I make sure everything works well technically.

I did pretty well but I made a few mistakes in areas where it’s usually easy for me. 

***

Hmm …

I wonder if there’s a lesson here.  Where does “too much” come in?  Maybe it’s all in my head, rather than my prolonged ability to concentrate.

Perhaps I’ll leave it up to the “mystery” of living a life.  Or maybe I’ll make changes.

Questions feel bigger than answers

What a great word.  Rising above the earth.  Feeling the toes wiggle in the air.  Untethered.  Flying.

There is something beyond as we breathe in the sweet air.  We are free.

In the last two days I’ve watched two soaring Olympic athletes.  Gifts received.

Watch Yaroslava Mahuchikh of Ukraine bend above:

The mouth, the fingers, the feet about to snap upwards.  Poetry.

***

Here’s more bending, this time with the pole of Sweden’s Mondo Duplantis:

We climb to the heights alongside Mondo, waiting for the explosion of arms and feet.  What a blessing.

***

Perhaps we’re all Olympians for each other

Like my nephew Jagger, I like hanging out in churches.  Yesterday I sat in Sint-Salvatorkerk.

On the walls were paintings most likely done in the 19th century.  They depict the journey of Jesus, carrying his cross to the crucifixion.  I’ve seen the same scenes in many churches … but nothing as breathtaking.

Here are photos of people’s reactions to the suffering of another human being.  It’s far bigger than the spiritual teacher Jesus.  And the whole of humanity is on display:

A week or two ago, my friend Lyrinda said that she saw similarities between The Little Prince and me.  She recommended that I read the book.

I had done so twice, in my earlier life.  But I remember hardly anything, other than smiling in response to the words of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

About three years, I gave away virtually all my books.  I wanted to be lighter.  Yesterday I added 300 grams or so.

Look at this … me reading again!

Ahh – the chapters of my life.  Sometimes loving something  >  Leaving it  >  And returning.

Open up any page, Bruce, and see what’s there

Okay.  Page 61.

“The little prince crossed the desert and met with only one flower.  It was a flower with three petals, a flower of no account at all.”

It wasn’t an important flower.  It was simply a flower.  And the only one in this moment.  Something ordinary that deserved to be cherished.  Something with no adjectives.

***

That was fun.  Let’s try it again.  Page 39.

“The second planet was inhabited by a conceited man.  ‘Ah!  Ah!  I am about to receive a visit from an admirer!’ he exclaimed from afar, when he first saw the little prince coming.”

I have met many people who reek of Look at me!  See how great I am.  And under their breath … greater than you.  How tiresome to be in their presence.  So instead of big egos I seek big souls.

***

Once more with feeling.  Page 75.

A merchant: “Computations have been made by experts.  With these pills, you save fifty-three minutes in every week.”

Faster, stronger, more efficient, squeezing every last second out of …  Out of what?  Certainly not life.  I’m done with the compression of moments.  I seek their expansion – into realms previously unknown and unexplored.  Bring them on.

***

Thank you, Antoine.  My adventures with you begin again

Today I don’t want to play the cello.  Same as yesterday.  And the discussion begins …

You should want to

But “shoulds” are useless

Okay … but go find the passion again

How?

I don’t know.  You’re the cellist

Am I?

***

Enough.  I’m getting bored with this conversation.

I visited my friend Harm at Arpeggio Music yesterday.  He’s a cello teacher.  More than a year ago he rented me a cello and pointed across the street to the Poel music school.

Help, Harm

He told me that he didn’t touch his cello in July.  He needed a break from students, lessons and playing concerts.

He told me to do what it takes to return fresh to my cello lessons in September.  Essentially move towards the cello when the body and soul say it’s time.  That might be on August 4 … or perhaps September 1.

No “have to’s”.  No guilt.

He suggested I go to a cello concert somewhere, maybe Brussels.  Right now I don’t feel up to that, but inspiring cello music videos are just a few clicks away on YouTube.

(I stopped writing for a few minutes)

A cello smile has shown up.  Welcome, dear smile.  My downbows and upbows will return, along with soaring melodies and the sweet vibrations of vibrato.

I will be a cellist again

I went.  Simply that.  I could have stayed away.

It was 1:50 pm in the cafeteria of Amal.  I sat with Muhammed, who was in my conversation group on Tuesday.  I wanted a relaxed few minutes before the session started but more than that I wanted to join him.  It would be good for us to struggle together in expressing Dutch thoughts.  It wasn’t much of a struggle for him, and that was okay.

So … I chose the tension of searching for vocabulary and grammar and yearning to understand Muhammed’s words.

And then we were ten, led by our facilitator Mirjam.  I asked my arms to stay long.  (See yesterday’s post)  And mostly they did.  Amid my mistakes of speaking and listening was a peace.  It decided to stay with me for most of the two hours.

Most of us were Ukrainian.  Mirjam kept bringing us back from our mother tongue to Dutch.  Sometimes when my neighbours spoke, I asked myself whether it was in Ukrainian or in a Dutch that was way beyond what I knew.

I was feeling light.  Amazing.  I tried making jokes in Dutch, something I love doing in English.  “Hmm … guess I’m making progress if I’m being silly in my new language.”

An older woman began to stare at me.  She smiled and said something I didn’t understand.  Our answers showed that we were both 75, and her birthday is January 3.  Mine is the 9th.  An older woman indeed.

Since it appeared that she was proposing marriage, I got up, went over, and gave her a hug.  Apparently the whole group is invited to the wedding.

Laughing filled the room.

***

I conclude that learning a new language doesn’t have to be dark and foreboding.  It can include lots of chuckling.

I’ll be back next Tuesday.

I sat yesterday morning in a tiny courtyard before the entrance of Monasterium PoortAckere.  It was quiet away from the street.

I like quiet.

I felt the outstretched hands of the woman, welcoming all who come by.  There was a grace beneath the trees, a stopping.  I lingered on the bench, allowing my life to wash over me.  It’s a good life.  I’m glad I showed up for it.

Occasionally an employee walked by.  One pushed a cart of linen.  Another hauled away a big bag of garbage.  They all wore black shirts.  On the back was written “Your Smile Is Our Passion”.  What a lovely phrase.

I wondered how many of the workers really felt that way.  I said “Goedemorgen” to each one.  Some gave me a real smile back.  Others barely responded.  From those I was simply a hotel guest, not a vibrant human being.  Oh well.

The shirts got me thinking.  I love doing or saying something silly that has others smile.  Laughing is cool too.  For years I’ve told myself that I’m on Earth for two reasons: to love people and make them laugh.  That’s enough.

***

As promised, at 2:00 pm today I will once more be in a Nederlands conversatie with other newbies to Belgium.

About a week ago, I wrote about having “long arms” … feeling loose and soft.  Including everyone.  I wonder.  Is it possible to have such length when I’m in the midst of “not knowing”, of Dutch being a wisp of smoke?

I’ll go for “Yes”