Anaïs Nin was a French novelist and writer of erotica.  She died in 1977 but her spirit lives on in The Diary of Anaïs Nin, published in seven volumes.

As a young man, still living at home, I bought Volume I, touching on the years 1931-1934.  Immediately I was swept up into Anaïs’ prose … and her sexual life.

My mother found the book on my bedside table one day, and began reading.  She too was swept up … but not quite like I was!

Mom shared her horror with me, in a very direct way.  Here was her son, supposedly a good Christian boy, entering the halls of depravity.  I tried to explain, to have her understand, to connect, but it was not to be.  Hopefully mom didn’t lie on her deathbed thinking that I was immoral.  Actually I believe she mellowed over the span of years.

***

Anaïs had so much to say.  Here’s one of my favourite passages:

What surprises me most about humankind is that we get bored of our childhood, rush to grow up, and long to be children again.  That we lose our health to make money and then lose our money to restore our health.  That by thinking anxiously about the future, we forget the present, such that we live in neither the present nor the future.  That we live as if we’ll never die and die as though we’ve never lived.

P. S.  I just ordered The Diary of Anaïs Nin Volume One: 1931 – 1934.  Dejà vu!

What if all words had to be four letters long?

What if all colours had to be light brown?

What if all lines had to be straight?

What if all smells had to be warm apple pie?

What if all buildings had to be perfect rectangles?

What if everyone had to speak only English?

What if the sky had to be blue?

What if all people had to be young?

What if all punctuation had to be periods?

What if everyone had to smile … all of the time?

What if all posts had to be exactly ten sentences?

I’ve spent a good part of the day stumbling over the cobblestones of Bruges centrum (known as Brugge in Dutch).  The left eye is so different from the right until next week’s surgery.  And I smile at the rolling of life.

Here’s a quiet spot.  Except for the frequent tourist boats.  But that’s okay.  I waved to lots of them this afternoon, and many folks from worldly places waved back.

And now … a less quiet spot.  The Burg is a lovely square facing the Bruges Town Hall, which was built in the 1300’s.  Here I’m sitting in a park under the shade trees, accompanied by probably eighty humans on benches and chairs … out of the heat and looking towards what’s been called the soul of the city.

The coolest thing are these chairs.  I’ve counted about fifty of the olive green places of rest.  How marvelous for the Bruges city council to create this – free places to sit for lots of us.

I’m writing about three hours after the photo, in pretty much the same spot.  The carillon from the nearby Belfry is playing a merry tune that’s filling the Burg, and many hearts I expect.

Earlier I sat in two churches: the Basilica of the Holy Blood and Sint-Salvatorskathedraal.  Both contained many reverent people … not tourists snapping a picture then on to the next.  I felt at home in each sanctuary. 

In the Holy Blood, I gazed at the paintings of The Stations of the Cross, especially being moved by the eye contact in this one between Jesus and I’m guessing his mother Mary.

I sat quietly for a long time.  A priest came by, looked at my purple t-shirt and laughed:

I might be colorblind

But I know I look good in green

In the cathedral, I walked into a Mass spoken and sung in Dutch.  I hummed along.

***

It’s a good day

I’m sitting in the waiting room of the Psychiatry Department of the hospital.

No, wait a minute.  I got that wrong.  It’s the Ophthalmology Department.  I always get those two mixed up.  I’m here for my eyes, not my mind.

On the way to the elevator, I passed through the lobby of AZ Sint-Lucas.  And there it sat, adorned with a welcoming sign.  I was rushing to make my appointment on time so I didn’t sit on the stool and move my fingers … but I promise to do that after Dr. Kose sees me.

This is what life should be about:

Come over here and let’s talk

Express yourself with me …

The high notes and the low

I want to hear your music

I often ask people “What’s important to you?”  I’ll keep doing so.  And I hope they ask me too.

I haven’t written for a few days … so unusual for me.  But I’m smiling as I tap.  I let my vision problems and my esophagus problems be bigger than my desire to talk to you.  And that’s fine.

It’s time to start again.

***

I was watching a cycling race on TV yesterday and the announcer mentioned a famous cyclist who died years ago.  His words were “the late great …”  The three together stopped my mind.  And that’s a good thing.

I remember human beings who touched my life deeply before going somewhere else:

1.  Mel Cowie

I used to be a Mason, part of an organization that used secret symbols to teach spiritual wonders.  Mel was one of the few Masons who would sit down with me and talk about spirituality.  He was old.  I was young.  He was wise.  Me … not so much.

2.  Jim Bayly

In my early 20’s, I was a social work student at Carleton University in Ottawa, Canada.  I had a practicum in the family therapy unit of Kingston General Hospital.  Jim was one of my supervisors there.  He was a jolly guy with long, flowing grey hair.  He was old.  I was young.  And he saw me.

3.  Gina Sharpe

The truth is … I don’t know if Gina is still alive.  I’m guessing she’s not.  Either way, she touched me with her life.  I was a retreat participant at the Insight Meditation Society in the early 2010’s and Gina was one of the teachers.  Her words were like honey.  Her spirit filled the meditation hall.  Before or after, I’ve never experienced anything like it.  It didn’t seem to matter what she said.  Love flowed through every word.

***

Thank you

Absent ones who are still so present

The end game is great vision but I’m weeks away from that.  So suck it up, Bruce, as the body has its reactions.

Yesterday was a tapestry of things not working.  At various times, it stuck out its tongue at me in these ways: dizziness, nausea, difficulty swallowing, constipation, exhaustion.  Oh well.

My favourite was how I walked on the streets and at home.  When there were lots of people out and about, I often brushed against them.  “Sorry!”  Plus doorjambs and walls became close acquaintances.  I kept miscalculating the distance between me and the world.

And I’d waver down the street.  Guess I’ve never been a straight-line guy.  Makes me wonder if folks thought I was drunk.

My current remedy for the woes of the eyes and other body parts is hanging out in dark rooms with my eyes closed.  Meditative for awhile … and then boring.

Okay

On I go into the future

Soon I’ll be able to see you very well

I’m 48 hours past cataract surgery on my left eye.  My head is dizzy, with one eye moving towards a new level of acuity and the other one stuck in the old visual world.  My right eye will receive a new lens in two weeks.

It’s a process that will take six weeks for resolution.  In a world seeking instant gratification, a wee part of my brain is protesting the delay.  But the wiser part of me sees the big picture.

I love the title I’ve used for this post.  The next weeks will be an opportunity for me to widen, to see, to embrace the new.  Not a “Woe is me” slog through my vision journey.  What will be revealed?

One thing … To what extent will I write this blog?  I’m guessing that my posts will be shorter.  I certainly feel that right now.  And will I say anything of value if I continue in this woozy state?  Who knows … perhaps my wayward eyes will soften my mind and allow the infinite easy access.  I’m open to that.

As I look through the big windows of Izy Coffee at people on the street, they are more paintings than photographs.  They blend with the background.  No sharp lines.  A good way to live, I’d say.

On I go

See you tomorrow?

Maybe

Handsome dude.  Looks a little weird in the eye, though.  Maybe he’s a pirate … or good at robbing banks.

I had cataract surgery on my left eye yesterday.  My marvelous ophthalmologist Dr. Kose replaced my natural lens with a synthetic one.  In two weeks, my right eye gets the same treatment.  And in about six weeks I’ll be a man of vision, complete with new funky eyeglass frames (I hope).

Dr. Kose expected it to be a straightforward surgery – local anaesthetic, somewhere between thirty minutes and an hour, no pain (!)  I especially liked that last point.

In the prep room, the nurse had me lie flat on my back, a position I hardly ever take at home.  And then a moment of “Oh! Oh!”  I’ve been struggling for months with a fungus growing in my esophagus.  Lying flat brought back the difficulty I sometimes have in swallowing.  I was needing to do it every ten or fifteen seconds, and each time my head moved.  Not good for precise surgery where I’m looking straight up.

I explained my fear to the prep nurse, and later to Dr. Kose in the operating room.  She was unfazed.  “We’ll make it work.”  And she did.  At my followup appointment today, she said that my swallowing was so subtle that it had no effect on the surgery.  Who knew I was such a good swallower?!

Today I’m very tired and my vision is blurry.  I understand them both.  Stumbling a bit while I walk.  These tapped letters looking a lot like other tapped letters.  No TV for awhile.  If I really want to see the latest Netflix show, I’ll watch it on the small rectangle I’m holding now.

The right eye surgery is on July 3.  I’m heading to the Dour music festival from July 16 till 20.  Dr. Kose says it’s fine to dance, “but do it gently”.  Nuts.  I wanted to throw everything into the air all at once!

I’ll be a good patient

But I’m still going to jiggle a lot

Upwards … again and again.

The local beauty of my life is in image number two … so voilà:

This is my favourite spot to sit at the Poel music school.  Often I’m alone here, feeling life wash over me in the gentle light.

Sometimes there are kids everywhere on the padded orange benches, chatting and laughing as their instruments cover the floor.

Lots of students have a class upstairs, and I watch the younger ones bounce up the stairs.  Yesterday a tiny fellow with short legs took his time on the risers – two feet on each one.

Parents hang out, listening for the musical tones of their daughter or son, hoping for success … and especially for happiness.

I love the rising and the turning and the rising again.  I think of life.  The visiting and revisiting of experiences.

***

I’m glad I climb

I’m glad my companions do as well

I’ve been feeling old this morning.  Wanting to head back to bed and pull the covers up to my chin.  Wanting to be alone.

I need to practice the cello before Tuesday’s lesson.  I need to study for my Music Theory exam on Wednesday.  I need to prep myself emotionally for cataract surgery on Thursday.  But sleep sounds like a fine idea.

I walked into Izy Coffee and started talking to an old man.  As I struggled to understand his English, I could feel my life force slipping away.  Not dying … just deflating.

If I was “on” I would have suggested we sit together and share each other’s lives.  But I’m not “on”.

Now I smile when I think of him.  I didn’t learn his name.  He’s 92, never married, no kids, travelled the world.  His smile said it all.  And these words of advice: “Be happy with what you have.  Don’t ask for more.”

Usually I’m the older in the conversation.  Not today.  Usually I’m the more alive of us two.  Not today.  And I accept the dip in my vibrancy.  The unnamed fellow in Izy has taught me.

As did Barbara Marx Hubbard, a futurist who died a few years ago at 89.  When someone asked her about being elderly, she had a quick retort:

“I’m feeling newer!  Not older”

Well said, Barbara

Well said, gentleman of an hour ago

***

Update

I finished writing this post and published it on Jetpack and Facebook.  Then I sat there in Izy and thought some more.

The man-older-than-me was still there.  I walked over and asked to sit down.  He smiled and said something like “Please.”

We talked for twenty minutes or so.  Mostly I didn’t understand his words but I understood his eyes.  I sat there loving him.  His name is Hans.  I took his photo.