I talked of The Mother in these pages back in April.  She was a mystic … one whose spiritual world is immense.

I’m reading a book about her and her beloved Sri Aurobindo.  Most of it so far is quotes.  Many of her thoughts are beyond my experience but every few pages I stop and stare.  “That’s me speaking!”

Am I an enlightened sage?  >  No

The answer came without thinking.

Am I a mystic?  >  Yes

The answer also came without thinking.

It’s so easy to elevate spiritual masters onto a pedestal.  I’m sure they don’t want that.  I expect that their ego has been reduced to a whisper.

If The Mother were still alive, I think she’d be happy to have coffee with me.  On one level we’d have an asymmetric relationship – uneven.  Her touch of the Infinite is deeper than mine.  But there’s an also: two human beings roaming through words and eyes, comfy together.

Here’s something The Mother said.  Or was it Bruce … momentarily?

Being this love, I feel myself living at the centre of each thing upon the entire earth, and at the same time I seem to stretch out immense, infinite arms and envelop with a boundless tenderness all beings – clasped, gathered, nestled on my breast that is vaster than the universe

I was sitting just now, sipping my cappuccino, wondering what I’d write.  I knew that something would come … and I’d begin to put words together.  I trusted.

As I thought about the shot of caramel I asked the barista Sasha to add, a word came …

Lighthouse

It slid smoothly down the slope of my mind.  I welcomed it.  Would I say something about lighthouses that’s never been said before?  I doubt it.  But that’s okay.  As long as there’s goodness residing in this post …

***

My first thought: I want to be a lighthouse

My second thought: I am a lighthouse

I found lighthouse quotes.  Most of them didn’t sing to me.  These ones did:

A lighthouse doesn’t save the ships.  It doesn’t go out and rescue them.  It’s just this pillar that helps to guide people home.

Yes, I can do this.  Even though I do good works in the world, that doesn’t feel as big as simply standing and loving.  I’m a presence, someone who’s just here.  Showing what my home is.

To be a lighthouse, you must be strong enough to resist every kind of storm and every kind of loneliness, and you must have a powerful light inside you.

Ten years ago I couldn’t sense any light within.  Gradually though, someone has opened up my dimmer switch to “high”.  The fears and sorrows still make an appearance but they are usually nudged to the periphery.

The lighthouse, like a guardian angel, watches over sailors lost at sea, offering them reassurance that they are not alone.

My life is us.  I’m here to lift up, to cherish, to connect.  I try to leave people with the afterglow of contact.

We are told to let our light shine, and if it does, we won’t need to tell anybody it does.  Lighthouses don’t fire cannons to call attention to their shining – they just shine.

Oh, that’s funny.  I just spent time in this post talking about the light I feel within me.  I hope my cannon fire fades away.

May we all shine

One of my favourite moments shows up after I awaken.  My knees go left and my head right … stretch.

It’s beyond the physical.  My heart is stretching too.  I move farther into the world, closer to all who are alive.

I love this sculpture.  We’re all stretching, together.  We see each other.  We touch each other.  And we’re delightfully “off-kilter” about it all – topsy turvy, with the mind left behind.

***

I’ve discovered on Facebook that if I start with a vertically oriented photo, it doesn’t show up when I post.  So … the really cool photo of the sculpture is right below your eyes.

Soar with the flying folks!

I read an article today written by Alton Frye in The Globalist, an online magazine which aims to “highlight what countries and cultures can learn from each other”.

The article was about two men who have shaped history.  One of them still is.

It is through his voluble speeches and media presentations that Trump invites a basic comparison to Hitler.

His habitual resort to epithets regarding his opponents resembles the Nazi’s style in describing those he saw as enemies – communists, Jews, anyone standing in the way of his quest for unfettered power.

At their core the two men share egos that are plainly narcissistic in the extreme.  And that self-centered focus generates a coarseness of vocabulary and behavior that degrades politics.

Both men exhibit an intense will to power, a drive to dominate that is incompatible with genuine respect for the views and rights of others.

A few definitions …

Epithets = disparaging or abusive words

Unfettered = not limited by anyone

Narcissistic = ignoring the needs of others

Dominate = prevail over all others

***

Will many Americans attach themselves to Trump’s coattails?

Will many Americans say yes to tyranny in order to get ahead?

Will many Americans see those who disagree with them as “things”?

Will many Americans punish anyone they see as “other”?

And … will other Americans stand up to all this?

What does it mean?

I’m scared

November 22, 1963

John F. Kennedy, the President of the United States, is assassinated in Dallas, Texas.  I’m 14.

September 11, 2001

Terrorists take control of planes and fly them into the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, killing over 2000 people.  I am 52.

November 5, 2024

Donald Trump wins the US election.  The Republican party wins the Senate and looks likely to control the House of Representatives.  I am 75.

God help us

I woke up this morning with a thought:

This is all there is

And now to delve into what the this is …

I’m loving Philip Pullman and Stephen King – two authors creating characters who sit close beside me.

Last night I decided to try a new writer on for size: Kurt Vonnegut.  Slaughterhouse Five is a classic. 

I started in.  Twenty pages later I said “What am I doing here?”  The story apparently will be centered on the Allied fire bombing of Dresden, Germany in World War II and Kurt’s time in a concentration camp.  The first pages were a jumble for me, with virtually no character development … no one to love.

I was bored.  I tossed the book on the couch, not knowing if I’ll fall in love during some future chapter.

“I’ll watch a movie.”  I was partway through A Wrinkle in Time and I decided to continue.  A young girl Meg was searching for her father who may have discovered a portal to another universe.  She was aided by three loving protectors: Mrs. Which, Mrs. Who and Mrs. Whatsit.

I was enthralled with Mrs. Which, played by Oprah Winfrey.  When she looked at Meg, she went way deep inside the girl.  Mrs. Which had some wise things to say, but I didn’t care much about that.  It was the contact.

Later in the film there was lots of action, as the bad guys tried to stop the journey.  My heart faded away from the story.  “Hmm … I wonder what’s happening.”

I went to YouTube.  I watched one of my favourite videos – Lara Landon singing The Blessing.  She was seeping through the screen to my eyes.

The Lord bless you and keep you
Make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you
The Lord turn His face toward you
And give you peace

Lara was giving me peace.

***

And then this morning …

What if the only important thing in life is to look into the eyes of another and exchange God stuff?

What if all those well-meaning people praising money, inner peace, nature, self-esteem, comfort, intelligence, fitness, security … are wrong?

Is this all there is?

I wonder

I sat in Lunchroom Martens on the Oudburg this morning, enjoying my tropical sandwich, yogurt and granola, and latté.

Fran (the owner) and Lieve (her mother) were busy assembling chairs.  It’s a lot of work to put ten of them together.

I found myself thinking about chairs.  Why not?  Maybe tomorrow I’ll write about tables.

I reflected on the one I was sitting on.  It was dark brown, worn at the seams, and heavy.  It’s done the job for months.

Soon two of the new ones were assembled and placed at the neighbouring table.  They were bright orange.  I couldn’t resist going over for a sit.

I pulled the orange one out.  It slid easily.  And the fabric … so soft.  My bum felt at home in a second.  Good choice, Fran.

And then my mind went quiet, even as the thoughts continued to roll.  Imagine someone who’s depressed coming for breakfast.  The world is closing in, pressing hard.  But the orange chair beckons in all its loveliness.  Perhaps the hand rubs across the fabric … again and again.  In the sitting is the cuddling.  A place to rest.

It might help

We see the outsides of everything – people, trees, walls …  And there is beauty on the surfaces – the smoothness of the skin, the roughness of the bark, the yellow of the wall.

But what is inside?  In the physical realm there are the bones and organs of the body; the insulation, wiring and wooden studs of the walls.

And there are other realms.

There’s a spiritual history in each home and a soaring of the Spirit in each human being … infinite space within, beckoning the observer to embrace the majestic unknown.

***

Shall I enter your portal and discover who resides there?

Shall I feel the presence of Anne Frank in the attic of Prinsengracht 263 in Amsterdam?

Shall I walk towards the universe of the heart?

I keep thinking back to Thursday, when I had the hospital procedure to explore my esophagus.  It was going to be the first time I’d have general anaesthetic in many years.

I had an idea of what it would be like.  A nurse would take a soft mask connected to a tube and place it over my nose and mouth.  She’d ask me to count back from 100 …  And I’d fade away.

Did that really happen to me long ago or have I just watched too many movies?  I don’t know.

Anyway, that wasn’t the story on Thursday.  A fellow put an IV into my left arm.  I later figured out he was an anaesthesiologist.  He knew I was Canadian and told me about his vacation in British Columbia on the Pacific coast while he did his work.  “What a nice guy to talk to,” I thought.

A nurse stood to my right and we chatted about how great Gent was.  Two cool people.  I was comfy, wrapped in the blanket of lovely human beings.

And then I was gone.

I believe, as well as doing their jobs to relax the patient, both of these medical professionals were simply nice folks.

I thought of the many easy friendships I’ve had in my life, where the conversation is effortless.  No edges, even if we disagree about some topic. 

I imagine talking to a friend late at night, both of us tired.  And slowly, sweetly … we fall asleep together.

Anaesthesia and love

Why not?

I’m loving this novel by Philip Pullman.  Awhile ago, I mentioned The Golden Compass, a film about a 12-year-old heroine named Lyra – based on another Philip story.

La Belle Sauvage is the name of a canoe piloted by young Malcolm, who with his friend Alice is saving the infant Lyra from evil forces.

I love Pullman’s writing.  He creates a turn of phrase that catches the human moment exquisitely.

Here are a few of my favourites from La Belle Sauvage:

1.  He was fond of most things he knew.

So few words to describe a glorious way to live.

2.  This little room was where he felt how big the world could be.

Other than the word “little”, Philip hasn’t described the room.  But I can feel it … where possibility lives.

3.  These other folk, they’re all like us, in the same position, kind of thing, but you don’t enquire too close, it en’t polite.

People may look different than us but we know deep down that they share our thrills and agonies.  We’re so curious … but we don’t reach out to connect.

4.  Everything was saturated, whether with rain or dew or the remains of the flood.  Everything he touched was heavy and soaked and rotten.  His heart was just like that.  He would never manage to light any of it.

Sometimes there’s the hopelessness of life.  The rain keeps falling and the sun is forgotten.

5.  The look they exchanged in the mouth of the cave before going back to the fire was something Malcolm never forgot: it was deep and complex and close, and it touched every part of him …

A timeless moment of contact.  May we all experience such times for the rest of our lives.