It happened two days ago but the feeling lingers. I wonder what it means … perhaps nothing.
My dear wife Jody died at 54. My dear friend Jo died at 70. And here I am – in a new country with new friends, immersed in the Belgian cycling culture … and still waking up every morning.
I cherish the days when there’s nothing physically wrong with me. How strange that sounds.
I cherish this, sitting in Izy Coffee writing my daily blog. Jetpack tells me that I’ve tapped out a post for 132 days in a row. I’m allowed a “Wow!” about that.
I’m singing at open mic sessions, I’m struggling to become a true cellist, and I’m meditating.
Plus The Evolutionary Collective is a family to me. I love our meetings on Zoom.
In Dutch, alles is goed
***
I remember photos on school walls of students who died so young. I remember a loved colleague at Lethbridge Community College who was killed in a car accident in her early 20s. I remember a fellow life insurance agent at The Mutual Group who committed suicide, age 32.
And I’m still waking up every morning.
My friend Lydia insists I will live till age 104. I’m willing. Maybe I should get a start on things and buy my walker and anti-dementia pills now.
Or … I can keep flying, keep loving, keep smiling.
A phone call this morning … and an invitation. My friends Chris and Marie-paule were in Gent and wanted to go for coffee.
“Yes!”
We sat upstairs at Panos Langemunt. I tried to pay with my Basic-Fit membership card but Chris was too fast for me.
We talked about the challenges in families when mom and dad no longer love each other. So sad.
Then somehow the conversation moved to meditation. I remember now – Marie-paule asked what I do during my days. I’ve meditated for 17 years. My friends wanted to try it. I gave them simple advice for starting: watch the rhythm of inbreath and outbreath, and let the inevitable thoughts be there.
How about if I meditate for five minutes while you two keep talking? I’ll hear everything you say and it’sunlikely to distract me.Unless you yell!
So I did.
As I sipped my cappuccino afterwards, I wondered whether to share with these newbies what has emerged for me in meditation over the last year.
“How can they possibly have the ears to hear?” I thought. Is it fair to their minds to paint a picture which would be foreign to them?
But then I felt my own need … to tell someone what I was experiencing. So words bubbled up:
Usually my mind goes quiet quickly. I welcome as friends the thoughts that come. Almost always there emerges a soft and slow throbbing in my eyes. It’s gentle.
It used to be that it took twenty minutes or so for the throbbing to disappear. What is left is stillness, no movement at all, a tiny horizontal line.
Recently the twenty minuteshas become more like ten.Only when a thought intrudes does the emptiness move back to throbbing.If I’mat peace with the thought, it floats away, allowing the stillness to return.
It’s rarefor the supreme quiet to not come at all.
Let’s just say this isn’t my usual writing style. I speak of heart matters when I write here. But for the last few weeks I’ve had another audience: Belgium Immigration.
Every year, from February, 2023 to February, 2027, I have to prove to Belgium that I’m a good person to live here. If Immigration likes what I write, and the documents I provide, I get to stay.
So I’m focusing on detail, and on saying things in a way that an Immigration official will understand. Precision, please.
In the paragraph above, “CPP” stands for Canada Pension Plan, one of the three pensions I receive. Belgium needs to know that I won’t become a financial burden on the country.
Yesterday I sent ten e-mails to my lawyer Amira, each with attachments. My “Visa Renewal Notes” file guides Amira and the government through the information I’ve sent. If she doesn’t think that a certain sentence will “fly” with Belgium, she’ll ask me to revise it. “Speak to your audience.”
I’m proud that I’ve accomplished this. Well, 95% accomplished. I await two documents from the Government of Canada, coming by physical mail.
I’m a determined human being. I will get the job done, with correct grammar and spelling. I will stay in Gent (my home) until I die.
Speaking of which, today is my birthday … 76 years on the planet. I intend to make good use of my visa for the next 20.
I’m fresh from my Music Theory class at the Poel school. The teacher introduces concepts that feel beyond my awareness. I stare at the white board, often lost. I look at my classmates and sometimes they too shake their heads. Plus for me the teaching is in a language that skirts around the edges of my knowing.
And all of that is okay. I’m home in Gent. I’m where I want to be.
After class, my fellow student Jan talks to me about ChatGPT, the AI site that will answer every question under the sun. Jan suggests the app will help me with incomprehensible Dutch.
We were still in the classroom and Jan took a photo of a picture on the wall, showing two women. Then he talked to ChatGPT: “Make up a story about these two people.” Thirty seconds later … voilà! A story of several paragraphs. I was shocked. Has technology really left me this far behind?!
And here’s the kicker: Jan asked ChatGPT to change the wording of the story as if William Shakespeare had written it …
Lo and behold, there appeared a new version, festooned with words such as “betwixt”, “o’er” and “mirthful”. Huh?
I remain astounded.
***
Today also brought other wonders:
1. As I sat in The Cobbler for breakfast, I watched my server Sévrine carefully choose little pieces of red currant, blueberry, apple, pineapple and grape for my little jar of wonders. There was such care in her hands.
2. I walked into Panos on Langemunt and said to Eric “I’d like to speak to someone more intelligent than me.” To which he responded “Of course, how may I help you?”
Yes!
That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear
3. I waved and smiled at Paul from the street as he worked inside The Press Shop. He did the same. How simple and profound … “I see you.”
I just had a fine conversation with Paul, who manages The Press Shop on the Langemunt. He talked about a friend of his who does good works anonymously. The fellow’s kindness made me smile.
I turned to leave with a wave goodbye. And I walked into the street. A minute later I noticed that the smile was still there. Lovely.
Now I’m in Izy Coffee, cuddling my cappuccino with a dash of cinnamon syrup … thinking. How one moment gracefully bleeds into the next.
I wonder if it’s all cumulative, if the sweetness keeps building through the day if our hearts are open. And … can the world feel what emanates from me when I’m swimming in goodness? For most people passing my way, the answer is probably “No”. But there are a few human beings who see me. I’ll hang around with them.
Is Paul still with me as I look out at the world through the big windows of Izy? Yes. Will I carry the warmth of Izy and the smile of Paul as I head home soon to work on my visa renewal application? Yes again. So my morning moments will help me continue to live in Belgium.
***
The events of my day aren’t contained in boxes
They flow from one to the next in the heights of the air
Mud dominated the cyclocross races yesterday but there was so much more … people, for instance.
1. On the train from Gent, I researched how I was going to get from the Dendermonde station to the race. I could take a bus for awhile and then an hour’s walk. Not the greatest, but so what? I was going to watch my heroes give everything.
I heard some young men talking about “Wout” in Dutch. I approached them and asked how they were getting to the race site. English smiles came my way … “Come with us! We’ll show you.” No generation gap here.
2. When the bus arrived at the station, we crammed in. Most of us were standing, with scarcely room to breathe. I looked past the standers to three men. They took up two two-seaters. Their backpacks were piled on the fourth seat. I watched them talk merrily away, apparently unaware (or unconcerned) about the press of humanity standing. I sighed … sadly.
3. Google Maps had given me the wrong info. Turns out the walk after bus was thirty minutes or so. Yay! It was me and a flood of cycling fans. The humbling news was that hundreds of them passed me on that half-hour walk. “Oh well,” I muttered. “I’m still a happy human being.”
I did pass one person. He was limping. I made sure to say “Goedemiddag” (Good afternoon). He smiled.
4. During the men’s race, I could tell when Wout van Aert was approaching. The murmur of the crowd became a crescendo. Then it exploded in raucous decibels as Wout rode by my spot. What a rush! The man is an icon in Belgium as Maurice “Rocket” Richard used to be in Canadian ice hockey … revered.
5. The funnest spots to stand during a race are on a hill, where you see the athletes grunting upwards, near the end of their reserves. Sadly for spectators like me, that’s also where the footing is uphill or sidehill. Yesterday I knew that me standing for hours hurts a lot, and if I add a tilt to that, I’ll never last. So I chose a flat bit of ground to call home … and ignored the Bruce protests about advancing age.
And so I had fun.
And isn’t that what we’re all supposed to be doing?
Would you believe that’s me on the bike? No, I didn’t think so. Actually it’s Wout van Aert, a legend in the world of Belgian cycling.
Today I went to the cyclocross races in Dendermonde, east of Gent. Rain decided to accompany me on the journey. It inundated the women’s race and the first half of the men’s.
And the happy mixture of water and dirt creates this:
These men and women are my heroes, persisting through the elements because they love racing their bicycles. So strong, so unwilling to give up.
Here’s the civilized part of the proceedings: fans out of the rain, well lubricated with good Belgian beer, eardrums throbbing with the music coming from the vicinity of those blue lights at the far end.
I was so cold for so long … feet slurping through the mud and hands sometimes mittless to take photos or to check my phone for the current placings of the riders.
After the women’s race, I left my position at the rail to wander back to the tent. I saw immediately that I needed some momentum. If I stepped too slowly in the mud, my feet would get stuck! Then I’d crank a foot up with a “schlop!” sound and build up some speed.
Once reaching shelter from the (sometimes) downpour, I noticed that my mitts were off. You’ll be pleased to know that it took me around five minutes to get them on. The first thing was I couldn’t get my thumb into its compartment. I wiggled and wiggled to finally accomplish the task. Then my job was to pull and pull to get my entire hand covered. Five minutes … not bad. I felt like an athlete.
More pics! A woman from the front and another from the back. There’s a common theme here … and it’s dark brown:
I’m back home now, after lengthy transportation adventures. And I’m warm!
It was a hoot – my afternoon in Dendermonde. I’m so happy I did what it took to get there and to thrive during the two races. Two separate orders of fries with mayonnaise helped a lot. And Pepsi Zero. Plus smiles from my newfound companions.
My friends Cara, Petra and Pascal went out to dinner with me last night at Urfa on the Sleepstraat. We talked easy, we laughed and Cara gave me a Christmas gift – a t-shirt that says “I’m not old … I’m classic”. I’ve always wanted to be classic!
When the group of us go out, Pascal has the bad habit of paying for everything. Not last night. As I got up to go to the bathroom, I looked fiercely at him and said “Don’t you dare pay while I’m gone!”
I paid.
After dinner we walked over to Salvatore’s on Sint-Salvatorstraat, where I would be singing a song. I loved that my friends were coming to hear me but their presence also scared me.
I talked about being nervous. Petra said she admired my courage, and told us a story. As an 11-year-old, she had to stand in front of her classmates and sing a song. Afterwards the teacher told the kids that the lowest mark she gives for the singing is 2 out of 5. Petra received a 2 … and never sang in public again.
Teachers are so important. They have the power to lift up a child or to squish them. I’m sad that Petra had to experience this.
I stood in front of twenty people at Salvatore’s and told them a story. A Buddhist monk announced that he was going to die soon. The students sitting in front of him lowered their heads in despair, some of them crying.
Suddenly a voice was heard – someone laughing wildly. It was the monk. “I could die tonight!” Shock and awe from the devotees.
Then I sang “The Parting Glass”. The monk’s story has inspired me for years. Slowly I’ve realized that as my moment of death approaches, I want to sing this song for my loved ones.
It’s a goodbye, where my friends are raising a glass to me, and I to them, and all of us to life.
I sang. I felt the tenderness of dying. I met faces. I reached faces.
And I sang the last line as if I was breathing my last …
The drawing takes a swipe at Americans for their lack of knowledge about world geography. It’s such a stereotype about US consciousness.
Many of us, from wherever on the planet, don’t know people whose lives are different from ours … whether they live down the street or on the other side of the world. Too many humans aren’t even curious about other cultures, races, languages, personalities, perspectives. “I like staying home.”
When I lived in Canada, I sometimes heard questions such as “Is Alberta a nice city to visit?” (Alberta is a province) I’d laugh inside (not outside) about the person’s “ignorance”. Sadly, I’d occasionally fall into the definition called “stupid” rather than “not knowing”. Today I feel guilty about those moments of unkindness.
This morning I was reading a story about the opening of the 2025 professional road cycling season in Australia:
The final chapter of the top-level early season racing in Australia takes the peloton further east, with riders this time taking the flight from Adelaide to Victoria.
I asked myself “I wonder what those two cities are like.” Touché! (Victoria is an Australian province) If I’d shared my thought with someone from Adelaide, they’d probably be laughing (on the inside, kindly).
Look at how much fun this girl is having! It’s taken me 60-odd years to discover the glow that’s in her eyes as pen meets paper (or finger meets phone). Good for her.
And good for me. Jetpack tells me that I’ve posted there and on Facebook for 123 days in a row. Today will be 124. I love what I’m doing. My heart soars when an idea comes … and my finger leads the way in the meandering.
I’m a fan boy of Philip Pullman, the author of His Dark Materials novels. They are Northern Lights, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass.
I just had a thought: You’re blogging toomuch aboutPhilip. The man himself would be “tut tutting” at me for such words. “If you’re drawn to it, say it.”
Here are some Pullman thoughts aimed at kids, and my responses …
***
I learned to become a conduit for what came to my imagination.
I love that word! Something is flowing through me and demanding the fresh air of the outside world.
***
In one direction, the writer has complete control over his work, and in another, he’s fully accepting of the fickleness of his muse.
Who knows what thought will show up next in the story of my day? I often have no idea. My brain might be saying “Walk left” but my feet may have another idea.
***
Write what you want to write, be the next big thing and not another iteration of a phase that will pass.
Well I don’t want to be “the next big thing”. My thing may be large or small. As long as someone is listening, I’m happy.
***
Kid: “Why do you think it’s so important that young people read?”
For the same reason that I think it’s important that they breathe, eat, drink, sleep, run about, fool around, and have people who love and look after them. It’s part of what makes us fully human. Some people manage to get through life without reading. But I know that if I’d had to do that, an enormous part of my mind, or my soul if you like, would be missing. No one should be without the chance to let their soul grow.
Some of us stay in this world. Some of us also explore other ones. I meet new people on the street and on the page.
I love flesh-and-blood people in my life and characters who slip out from between the covers.
***
Kid: “How do you choose your themes and storylines?”
I don’t exactly choose them so much as surrender to them. I couldn’t write at all if I had to choose, in a sort of cold-blooded way, between this idea and that one. If they both excite me, I’ll write about them both.
The expression I love is “Does it make my heart sing?” Whether it’s a person or a song or a place, do I want to be close? Writing demands contact with what is loved.
***
Kid: “What advice would you give to anyone who wants to be a writer?”
Some people would say “Always write about what you know”. I don’t think that’s good advice at all. Nor is the advice to write what you think people will like. I think that’s just silly. We shouldn’t bother about other people at all when we write. It’s none of their business what we write.
A wee bit of me wants folks to like what I write. A huge part of me wants them to be touched, jolted … their eyes opened wide.
First of all, my eyes need to open wide.
***
Kid: “I cried when I read ‘The Amber Spyglass’. Have you ever cried while reading or writing a book?”
Oh yes. If I write something sad, I cry. If I write something funny, I laugh. If I write something boring I . . . What do I do then? I cross it out and try again.
Once in awhile I cry as I write. Perhaps I’m being touched gently on the forehead or torn apart by a savage beast. A person or a story can do that to me.
***
Kid: “When you wrote ‘Northern Lights’ did you already know the plot of the other two books in the trilogy?”
No – at least, not in any detail. I had a rough idea of where it was all going, and I knew a few things about some places I wanted to stop at on the way. I knew it had to end in a garden. I wanted to bring in the hornbeam trees along Sunderland Avenue in Oxford, where I live. I thought I might have to go to the world of the dead. That’s all. I discovered most of it as I went along.
Sounds like life … “I discovered most of it as I went along.”
***
I read “The Lord of the Rings” when I was 18. I read it greedily, lapping it up, eager for more. But I haven’t read it since then, though I’ve tried. It doesn’t satisfy me any more, and I think that’s because Tolkien, who created this marvellous vehicle, doesn’t go anywhere in it. He just sits where he is. What I mean by that is that he always seems to be looking backwards, to a greater and more golden past. And what’s more, he doesn’t allow girls orwomen any important part in the story at all. Life is bigger and more interesting than “The Lord of the Rings” thinks it is.
Please, Lord, help me write about the “big”. And often I don’t know what that means. I just know I need to go there.
And yes … women and girls need to be centre stage.
***
Work every day. Get into the habit of it. Work when you don’t feel like it, when you’ve just broken up with your girlfriend or boyfriend, when you’re feeling ill, when you’ve got homework to do. Put your work first. Habit is your greatest ally. Get into the habit of writing when you’re young and it’ll stay with you. Sixteen is a very good age to start.
123 and counting, Philip. Also 75 and counting.
***
Don’t listen to anyone who tells you you should study what the public wants, and give it to them. They don’t know what they want, or they’d be writing it themselves. It’s not their job to tell you what to write. It’s your job to write something they could never have thought of, and then offer it to them.
I write for you, trusting that what I say has goodness in it. But really the whole thing is a mystery.
Bruce's Blog 