I’m sitting in the back room of Milia’s Coffee, supposedly because that’s the only place I can charge my phone.  The truth, though, is that I need a place of sanctuary … at a distance from other people but still connected within the open spaces of the café.

This is a different Bruce, a weary one.  My Polar watch says my “Actual Sleep” last night was nine hours and thirty-two minutes.  Woh – that’s a lot of snoozing!

Wuppertal boasts many hills and my post-Covid bod is struggling.  But that’s okay: Chris de Burgh shows up in my world tomorrow evening.

My cappuccino companion of the moment is the eleven-year-old Malcolm in Philip Pullman’s novel La Belle Sauvage.

Malcolm had never had a conversation like the one that followed.  At school, in a class of forty, there was no time for such a thing, even if the curriculum allowed it, even if the teachers had been interested.  At home it wouldn’t have happened, because neither his father nor his mother was a reader.  In the bar he was a listener rather than a participant and the only two friends with whom he might have spoken seriously about such things – Robbie and Tom – had none of the breadth of learning and the depth of understanding that he found when Dr Relf spoke.

To be clear, Malcolm is the son of an innkeeper, and most evenings he serves the guests who show up in the lounge.

But far beyond the details, there is a broad meaning in this paragraph that sings to my soul.  Like Malcolm, I yearn for conversations that are real, where we throw our lives into the air and see how they land with the other person.  Not sports scores, not politics …  The joys and sorrows of the Spirit.

Thank you, Philip and Malcolm, for the reminder of what I hold dear.

***

There was a Zoom call with the Evolutionary Collective this afternoon that I had committed to attend.  I was determined to keep my word, and just as committed to not climb the long hill to my Airbnb to take the call.

I sought a park – somewhere quiet.  Google Maps showed me one and I headed there, not realizing that it involved another hill, on the far side of downtown.  “Climb the hill, Bruce.  Covid is done.”

Well, on one level it’s done but my fatigue is lingering.  I would have taken a video of “Old Man Climbing” but it escaped my mind.

I found a bench with a sweet bed of flowers in front.  Voilà:

Minutes later, it started to rain.  Up with my umbrella.  The Weather Network said “It’s not raining.”  The umbrella begged to differ.  The app said rain will start soon and continue for awhile.  It was ninety minutes till the Zoom call.  (Sigh)

I trudged home … down, then level, then up.  All of me was at a low ebb.  Then my Internet connection was wonky during the  call.

Still … I notice I’m alive.  That will do nicely.

Until tomorrow …

Sometimes the “Day One’s” of my journeys are pretty laid back.  Such as today.

Yesterday was my first day back in the world after Covid.  And today was three train rides to Wuppertal, Germany.

I’m sitting in the King’s Head Pub, run by a Brit who fell in love with a German woman.  He’s a happy soul.

Less than a kilometre down the road stands the Historiche Stadthalle.  On Tuesday evening, I’ll join other devotées of Chris de Burgh to hear him sing in the concert hall.

The King’s Head is virtually empty … and I miss the energy of a full pub.  Still, the Ohara’s craft beer and steak and mushroom pie fill up my soul.

How strange to have so little energy.  Three times today a human being smiled at me and offered to carry my suitcase up or down.  No resistance from this guy.  I needed the help.

On the trains I had short conversations with fellow travellers but it wasn’t the 100% Bruce.  I often cocooned into my comfy seat, retreating into my latest beloved book – La Belle Sauvage from the universe of Philip Pullman.  He’s a marvelous creator of human beings.  I wrote a few days ago about Lyra, an “out there” 12-year-old.  In this book she’s been on the planet for only six months.  Her journey begins.

My Airbnb is on a hill way above Wuppertal centrum.  I haven’t figured out buses so my feet are the engine of returning home.  A slow slog.

But now I’m here, on the Zunftstraße.  Ready for some reading.  My zip may return tomorrow … but if it doesn’t I’ll still create happiness.

Goodnight.

Okay, this isn’t a picture of my apartment.  It just feels that way.

Today is my first day out and about after almost a week of isolation.  The Covid symptoms lifted overnight on Thursday.  Et voilà … I’m no longer infectious.

As I walk the streets of Gent centrum, I vaguely remember my newer home city.  Looking out the windows of Izy Coffee, I’m not quite there on the cobbles of the Langemunt.  As James Joyce said in his novel Dubliners, “Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.”  I can relate, James.

I was so dull during those six days.  I couldn’t locate the essence of Bruce, except when I sat down to write.  Thank God for this blog, and for knowing that some people are reading my words.  Like you!

The worst of the lot was the oppressive fatigue, the “I don’t care”, the daytime sojourns in bed – always with the blinds lowered.

Sometimes I talk of my energy flowing out to the people of the world, of loving the folks I walk by.  I lost that connection this week – except for my written words, my reading, and the few times I had the energy to meditate.

I kept people safe.  I kept me safe.  The human beings I encountered and loved were within the pages of Stephen King’s Fairy Tale and in a few Zoom meetings of the Evolutionary Collective.  Thank you, Stephen and the EC, for the lifeline.

Tomorrow I get on a train and roll to Wuppertal, Germany.  On Tuesday evening I hear Chris de Burgh in concert.  May I have the energy for all this new moving.

Jonathan Sacks wrote this …

Life needs its pauses, its chapter breaks, if the soul is to have space to breathe

Well said, Jonathan

On to Germany

“It’s not your writing, Bruce.  It’s someone else’s.  And it has the power to touch.”

The country is the United States.  The sport is baseball.  The organization is Little League, providing team competition for kids and teens from around the world.  Williamsport, Pennsylvania hosts the Little League World Series every August.

It happened in the very first inning of the Southwest Region championship.  Two boys who when they woke up this morning only cared about one thing … get to Williamsport.  Suddenly everything changed, because in real life things happen just like that … things change in a heartbeat.

Kaiden Shelton is the big man on the powerful Pearland team, their big pitcher, their big hitter.  Isiah Jarvis is the shortstop on the scrappy Oklahoma team that had through incredible perseverance made it to the championship game.  One team has already been to Williamsport, the other has never been.

The Pearland team scored 3 runs in the top of the first, but Oklahoma came right back at them in the bottom of the inning.  They scored 2 runs and had a big rally going on.  There was noise everywhere, coaches were yelling for the pitcher Shelton and the batter Jarvis to ”Battle” … “Win the battle.”

Then it happened, a twist of fate.  Shelton lost control of a fastball and hit Jarvis right in the helmet, and Jarvis fell in a heap at home plate.

Suddenly nobody was thinking about Williamsport anymore.  With Isiah laying there and coaches and medical staff rushing to his prone body, Shelton kind of circled around the area between home and the pitchers mound.  The stadium was silent.  Jarvis’s mom stood in the stands, one hand clasped to her face, the other to her heart.  And every mom who has ever sent their boys into these games was right there with her.

The Pearland players took a knee, eventually so did Shelton.  Seconds seemed like hours.  On one knee, Shelton was totally alone with his thoughts.  But going through his mind were the words of the umpire immediately after Jarvis had gone down.  “Oh my God” the umpire had said.

Finally they helped Jarvis to his feet.  On replay you could see how the ball had hit his helmet in a good spot.  It got more helmet then anything.  Jarvis had been more frightened then anything.  He trotted down to first, but now the trouble was with Shelton.

Before that pitch he had only one thought – Battle … win the battle … the words of coaches.  Now the only words he could hear in his mind were the words of the umpire: “Oh my God.”

And just like that he started to cry.  He was standing on the mound crying, and nobody went to him, not his teammates, not his coaches.  Then one person did go to him … Isiah Jarvis left first base, threw his helmet off, walked right to him and hugged him.  That hug said … it’s okay.  It was just what Shelton needed at that particular moment.  I am sure his mom had wanted to rush out there and hug her boy.  Isiah took care of that for her, because Shelton was a big kid with a big heart and he didn’t want to hurt anybody.  He didn’t want to hear an umpire say “Oh my God” over something he did.  He was there to play baseball and make new friends.  He hadn’t bargained for this.

The game resumed, somebody won, somebody lost, one team went to Williamsport, the other packed their bags for home.  It will all be forgotten, but that moment of perfect sportsmanship will live for as long as there is human competition.

Before the tournament Isiah Jarvis said his biggest dream was to make Sports Center.  I think it’s going to happen.

His name is Isiah, and in the book of Isiah there is a famous passage about coming quickly to the rescue: “I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”  It’s almost perfectly symbolic that a boy named Isiah would come quickly to the rescue and do it when it was most needed.

Well, actually one of them is 12-years-old. 

They’re both fierce and loving.  They say what’s true for them.  They stand tall when opposed.

1.  Lyra Belacqua, character in The Golden Compass film

(To other kids chasing her)  If you value your lives, come no further.

…

(To her best friend Roger, who called her a “lady”)  Take it back, or we ain’t best mates no more!

…

Mrs. Coulter: The Magisterium is what people need.  They keep things working by telling people what to do.

Lyra: But you told the Master you did whatever you pleased.

Mrs. Coulter: Ah, that’s right.  Clever girl.  Well, some people know what’s best for them, and some people don’t.  Besides, they don’t tell people what to do in a mean, petty way.  They tell them what to do in a kindly way, to keep them out of danger.

(Lyra no doubt thinking Huh?)

…

Lyra: It’s all bigger and scarier than we ever thought.
Pan: Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.
Lyra: But we’ve got to, though, ain’t we?

…

(Lyra looking up at a huge bear)  Iorek Byrnison, you’re the first ice bear I ever met.  I was ever so excited, and scared.  But now I’m just disappointed.  I heard that bears lived to hunt and to fight.  Why are you wasting your time here, drinking whiskey?

…

We’ll set things right.  We will.  You, and me, and Iorek, and Serafina Pekkala, and Mr. Scoresby.  And my father.  We’ll set it right, Pan.  Just let them try to stop us.

…

Truth to power

***

2.  Kamala Harris, being interviewed by Fox News, a conservative company that backs Donald Trump

May I please finish.  You have to let me finish.

…

I’m in the middle of responding to the point you’re raising and I’d like to finish.

…

You and I both know that he [Donald Trump] has talked about turning the American military on the American people.  He has talked about going after people who are engaged in peaceful protest.  He has talked about locking people up because they disagree with him.

This is a democracy.  And in a democracy, the president of the United States – in the United States of America – should be willing to be able to handle criticism without saying he would lock people up for doing it.

…

Turning the page from the last decade in which we’ve been burdened with the kind of rhetoric coming from Donald Trump that has been designed and implemented to divide our country, and have Americans literally point fingers at each other.  Rhetoric and an approach to leadership that suggests the strength of a leader is based on who you beat down instead of what we all know – the strength of leadership is based on who you lift up.

…

People are exhausted with someone who professes to be a leader who spends full time in demeaning and engaging in personal grievances, and it being about him rather than the American people.

…

Being in the lion’s den

And roaring back

***

I salute you … Lyra and Kamala

What do you do if you have an idea, you’ve had it for decades, and the prevailing wisdom of the world says you’re wrong?  Or even ridiculous?

Graham Hancock is a Netflix hero (or anti-hero) who sees things differently from almost all professional archaeologists.

Here’s what The Guardian Media Group has to say:

Hancock believes that an advanced ice-age civilisation – responsible for teaching humanity concepts such as maths, architecture and agriculture – was wiped out in a giant flood brought about by multiple comet strikes about 12,000 years ago.

…

That’s the danger of a show like this.  It whispers to the conspiracy theorist in all of us.  And Hancock is such a compelling host that he’s bound to create a few more in his wake.  Believing that ultra-intelligent creatures helped to build the pyramids is one thing, but where does it end?  Believing that election fraud is real?  Believing 9/11 was an inside job?

Hancock keeps going.  Season Two of Ancient Apocalypse was unveiled today on Netflix.

Is he right?  I don’t know.  Does he have courage?  Absolutely.

Wikipedia weighs in:

Hancock’s claims regarding the ancient past have been widely rejected by relevant experts.  Hancock’s interpretations of archaeological evidence and historic documents have been identified as a form of pseudoarchaeology and pseudohistory.  They superficially resemble investigative journalism but are biased towards preconceived conclusions by ignoring context, cherry picking or misinterpreting evidence, and withholding critical countervailing data.  His writings have neither undergone scholarly peer review nor been published in academic journals.  Hancock presents himself as a culture hero who fights the dogmatism of academics, claiming his work to be more valid than the research of professional archaeologists.

Charlatan or sage?

I love watching the show.  I love seeing the passion.  I love seeing Graham stand tall in the face of massive opposition.

And one thing he said today has lingered in my mind …

If we’re convinced that something doesn’t exist, we don’t look for it

I woke up this morning to the sound of my neighbour hammering a nail into the wall.  He sometimes hangs new pictures.

Why so early in the morning?

Except a glance at my watch told me the story: 9:47.  I had been in bed for over 10 hours and my Polar app said my “Actual Sleep” was 9 hours and 28 minutes.  O my God!

And my dreams: Are they Covid-induced or is this my actual sleeping mind churning out images?

***

I was watching a men’s cycling race.  All the riders were together, really giving ‘er, the colours of their jerseys an abstract painting.

One sweating man wearing a white jersey was missing an arm.  He was pedalling furiously with just one hand to steady the bike.  How is he doing this?

***

It was an old guy, facing left.  He was deeply tanned and deeply lined in the face.  Unshaven.  Flowing grey hair covering his neck.

And he wore a transparent helmet that extended way beyond his nose.  His eyes, barely seen, said he was at peace.

***

Something big to my left smashed into the wall of my bedroom.  Then there was a hole, the size of a dinner plate.  It was full of stars.

The empty space disappeared, replaced by the orange and black of a tiger’s face, trying to get in.

He squeezed through, with those shining eyes looming closer.  He opened his mouth and latched onto my left arm by the elbow.  But there were no teeth – he was gumming me.

The eyes were fierce, and I could feel the next moment coming, when the flesh would leave the bones …

***

Okay.  Enough of that.

Even though my head’s been pretty spinny today, I decided to meditate.  My history has been that when I’m sick, meditation doesn’t work.  But I gave it a shot.

I’ve meditated for a long time.  For the past few years, by the grace of whatever Spirit is, I’ve usually been able to reach a point of stillness in 15 to 20 minutes.  Not always but mostly.  Before then is a period of inner vibration, some sort of pulsing.  Then eventually it’s gone … and the surface of the lake is glass.  Not a touch of wind.

This afternoon the calm seemed to come very early.  I glanced at my watch: 9 minutes.  So unexpected, so miraculous.

Such a mystery, this Covid.  My night was full of fanciful stories.  My body is weak.  My head is woozy.  But somehow, when I sit in my meditation chair …

All is calm.  All is bright

The Covid test came back positive on Saturday afternoon.  Lovely people in my life stepped forward with their support.

I talked about how important it was for me to write during this, to stay connected beyond the walls of my apartment.

Friend Number One:

Give yourself a break and focus on recovery!

My response:

Hmm … maybe I won’t write tomorrow.

Tomorrow is now today.  I realize that the writing is part of the healing.  And so this post.  Sleeping is another part.  I’ll go there once the words peter out.

***

I wrote about contacting folks whom I’d seen before getting the test result.

Friend Number Two:

Your care translates to action, so rare in this world and so beautiful.  Love in action is everything.  Be well and heal soon my friend.

My response:

Thank you for your kind words, ...  I need to serve in action, yes.  The world needs this.

If I did harm to others, I would get a lot sicker than I am now … spiritually.

***

Friend Number Three:

That is too bad.  Be gentle on yourself and let the healing unfold.  Get well soon Bruce!

My response:

Thank you, …  I love the image of my healing unfolding … like a flower.

Slow and steady.  It’s not a race.

***

Ahh … my words are ending

Time for the covers up to my chin

Good afternoon

I woke up this morning with these words:

“I feel like ****.  I’m not going to write today.  I can’t focus”

Well, here I am … briefly.

I’m isolating myself for as long as these Covid symptoms last.  And tomorrow I’ll get an Uber Eats delivery.

But I can’t wall up my life.  I need contact.  And so these words …

The last two nights I’ve slept in my guest bedroom.  It’s quieter.  During one of my sojourns in bed today, I suddenly heard very loud talking.  Was there music too?  I wasn’t sure.

My slowly moving brain tried to make sense of the situation:

I don’t get it.  My neighbours are great – Dirk downstairs and Donia up.  Sure, I hear them sometimes but it’s no big deal.  There isn’t much sound insulation in this old building.  And they’re both kind people.  Why are they talking so loud?

Was it something I said or did?  And my mind started spewing out my possible transgressions … ad nauseum.  My head was floating in some never-never land.  Words tumbled out.

Finally I decided to get out of bed, open my door and see if the noise was up or down.  Was Dirk the bad guy or was it Donia?

One wall in my guest bedroom is also a wall in my living room – the one with the TV hanging on it.  As I walked in, the TV was on, and the commentators were chatting enthusiastically.

Oh!  Before I hit the bed, I was scheduling a future show to record.  I thought I turned the TV off.  Guess I just paused it.

Dull head

Not too aware of things

Thoroughly wrong

I went to the hospital this morning, to what in Canada we call “Urgent Care” rather than “Emergency”.

I was dizzy overnight, at times hallucinating.  I’m sure the medical diagnosis is “out to lunch”.

The doctor said I’d get an e-mail this afternoon if the Covid test came back positive.  And it did.  May it be a mild case.

I’ll be staying away from people for a couple of days … or longer.  I’ll order in food from Uber Eats.

After a few “poor me” moments, I realized I had a job to do:

1.  I had coffee with my neighbour Dirk in his apartment yesterday.  So I texted him, asking that he get a Covid test.  “I hope I didn’t make you sick!”

2.  Also yesterday I had lunch at my favourite Panos sandwich shop – on the Langemunt, and I dropped by there today as well.  An hour ago, the store was closed, and it’ll be closed tomorrow.  “I need to reach these people.”

After some digging, I found a Panos customer service number and left a message.  “Tell them I have Covid and they should be tested.”

The “them” are precious staff members whom I joke around with: Dominique, Gihanna, Shakira, Yvet, Eric, Pieter-Jan and Dafenea.  Friends take care of friends.

And then there was my early morning Uber trip to the hospital.  My driver was Alaa, a very nice fellow.  “He needs to know, too!”

I soon found that writing a message to Uber was a huge challenge.  Typically all that’s available is choosing one feedback option or another.

I tried and tried … and it seemed that Alaa wouldn’t find out about my Covid.  And then finally …

I found a category called “Find lost item”.  A minute later, I was phoning Alaa to alert him.

Yes!

I got the job done

I’m proud of myself for caring

And now I’ll deal with the symptoms