That’s her on the left, with her son Faas and Lotte Kopecky.  Ellen has been a professional cyclist since 2006 … and now she says it’s time to retire.

She speaks the truth about loving an activity and knowing it’s time to stop.  And about her frailty as a human being – a frailty that visits you and me as well.

It’s been a very difficult decision for me.  I really love the life of a professional cyclist.  I really see it as a privilege.  I love time trialling, it’s no secret.  That’s my big passion and my big love.  It still is and it will always be.

I also love road cycling, but especially in the last two years I had a lot of nasty crashes.  And this for sure makes me more scared on the bike in the peloton, and it makes me lose the real love of the road racing.  Because of the dangers of the sport, I cannot enjoy the road cycling as much as I would like to anymore.  I feel that the peloton is not my place any more, and it’s time for a new generation.

I had a good spring this year, so when that was going well I didn’t feel retirement calling, but I’ve had some nasty crashes in the past two years and after the spring this year I broke my shoulder.  And in my first race coming back from that, the Baloise Tour, I was involved in a hard crash in the middle of the peloton.  At that moment, I realised that I don’t want this anymore.  We started the next day in the rain, and I thought “no”.  This is not where I feel at home anymore.  For me that was the moment where I knew I was done with racing in the peloton.

It’s time to let go of the old environment

And embrace a new home

I’ve meditated since about 2007.  It’s been a journey of quiet and chatter … the human mind at work.

During the last few years, during some meditation sessions, I’ve had the experience of quieting to stillness.  For awhile, I feel a gentle throbbing in my head.  And then, after ten or twenty minutes, the rhythm ceases.  No movement within the eyes.  A straight horizontal line.  It’s a blessing when it comes.  And sometimes it never does.

Yesterday I sat in my meditation chair.  Voilà:

I had a Zoom meeting with the Evolutionary Collective in two-and-a-half hours.  So I set the timer on my watch for two hours.  “That’s pretty long.  I’ll finish well before then.”

And I began …

Within perhaps five minutes I was gone into the stillness.  There was nothing in the breath … or the mind.  Occasionally the word “love” would enter, and my mouth would curl upwards.  And then that was gone too.

I was softly awake with my eyes closed, fully aware of any sounds that entered the room.  Time melted away.  Even now melted away.  I sat, hands loose in the lap.

Then my watch started vibrating.

Never before a meditation session like this … the peace, the long long time.

As I returned to the world of objects, I was thrilled.  In wonder. 

And here’s what’s so: I may experience this again today.  I may never experience this again.  And everything in between.

I smile at all the possibilities

It’s a week away but I’m already thinking about it.  Next Monday I begin a nine-day silent retreat at the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts, USA.  It will be my eighth time at IMS. 

Here’s a photo of the meditation hall:

There’ll be 80 or 100 of us at this Buddhist retreat.  Every evening one of the teachers will talk to us about what the Buddha had to say … usually about the workings of the mind but sometimes the opening of the heart.  Other than those times, it’ll be pretty quiet!

As well as the silence, we “yogis” are encouraged not to make eye contact with other participants.  Prolonged silence tends to bring up life issues.  There’s no TV, Internet, music or books to distract the mind.  So … the person I pass in the hallway may at that moment be grappling with something huge.  Leave them alone.

I’m a social person.  I love talking and looking into the other person’s eyes.  It’s one of the reasons that my recent spiritual life has focused on the practices we do in the Evolutionary Collective.  But there is a place for another spiritual way.  I’m about to be immersed in silence and a type of aloneness.

I intend that my fifteen days in the US will be an expression of loving the human beings I’m with – in the meditation hall, at the airport, at my pre and post Airbnb, on the streets of Boston.  Asking nothing in return.

A little smile is growing on my face.  I will give to human beings whom I don’t know and whom I will never meet again.  Letting go of relationship, embracing love.

I was standing on the Oudburg this morning.  It’s my street.  Talking to Laurens in front of his restaurant.  We were both excited because planes are in our very near future.

Tomorrow Laurens flies to Thailand with his partner for a two-week vacation … lots of hiking.  On Friday Bruce flies to Boston, USA for a nine-day silent meditation retreat.

Our four eyes were bright with anticipation, and we were enjoying the joy of one another.

And then Salut!  We walked off into our days.

As I strolled away, I felt the upturn of my mouth.  The smile was wide … and it continued.  Over the Zuivelbrug bridge, onto the Langemunt shopping street, to now in Izy Coffee.

And I got to thinkin’.

I remembered past moments when I watched two people leave their conversation with a wave … walking away … smiling.  And how precious those images still are.

Happiness that has no period at the end of a sentence.  No borderline that keeps the experience inside a box.  It continues to flow out into the open air, available to the next human being who comes our way.

***

Just let your love flow like a mountain stream
And let your love grow with the smallest of dreams
And let your love show and you’ll know what I mean

“Let Your Love Flow” (The Bellamy Brothers)

I sat with my friend Michelle in Izy Coffee yesterday.  She was sad.  It was the day of her friend’s funeral.  I’ll call her “Monica”.  The service was to be live-streamed from near London.  Michelle would be watching from Gent.

Monica has had a huge impact on Michelle.  That was clear from her eyes and voice.  What a privilege to have been touched so deeply by another.

Awhile back, Michelle co-ordinated an event in support of Ukrainians who had come to Belgium because of the war.  Monica sent her 250 euros to help cover the costs.  No fanfare … just action coming from love.

Michelle showed me a photo of 75-year-old Monica taken a few weeks before she died.  It took my breath away to see the radiance of her smile.  Now lost to the world … on the physical plane.

And then there were Monica’s instructions for friends coming to her funeral.  Wear bright colours.  No black!  I love it.  Michelle was heading home to put on her red-and-yellow outfit, even though no one would see her.  It’s what Monica wants.

Also: Monica had a request aimed at getting her brother, who no doubt would be speaking at her funeral.  He hates the music of ABBA.  So, with impeccable timing, someone will play “I Have A Dream” as he begins.  The ceremony will be videoed so the whole world will see brother’s facial expression as ABBA launches into the song.  And Monica will be giggling from the other side!

***

Waydago, Monica

You nailed it

Your funeral and your life

When I arrived in Gent two-and-a-half years ago, a word entered my mind and wouldn’t leave: cello.  I’d played as a teenager but not since.

For the last two years I’ve been a cello student at the Poel music school.  Now we’re on a two-month summer break.  I haven’t picked up the instrument for weeks.  This morning, the word again: cello, accompanied by another one: sing.

The vision of my musical future returns.

Far beyond the ego flaring of “I’ll be the only one singing and playing cello” is the truth … I want to do this.

The future is pulling me, in many respects.  “C’mon, Bruce.  Let’s go!  We’ll do this and this and this.”

I look at the photo and see an immense this.  The vision is clear – just replace the young woman with an old man.  (Okay, how about a seasoned man?)

There’s a way to turn the commitment into a performance.  The MuseScore app will help me find a cello harmony that blends with a singing melody.  But that’s not something for July.

What’s here and now is a tiny white candle burning bright, casting its glow to the far corners of the room.

Me

Sitting on the bench in the tiny park just off the Oudburg

With my cello

With my voice

This is actually what my chest looked like for two days in Dour.  I was wearing my Africa/Europe t-shirt.  And people kept coming up and touching my body, pointing to their homeland.  It was fun … and stimulating!

***

I forgot to tell you about a blessing, one which didn’t happen right away.  On the train to Dour from Gent on Wednesday, my esophagus problem reared its ugly head once more.  I was having trouble swallowing, feeling that something was building up in my throat.  It was a huge “Oh no!  Please and please, don’t have this continue for five days!”  I needed the festival to be about dancing and talking, not about my health.

And sometime during Wednesday evening the tightness disappeared, and has remained so.  Thank you, whoever takes care of such things.

***

It was in the early hours as I lay in bed.  The nearby music was still blasting.  I heard footsteps outside.  And projected on the wall of my tent was the shadow of silent dancing.  I think it was a woman.  She floated by, her arm in the air, a ribbon trailing behind.  Magical.  Timeless.

***

Thank you, Dour, for the several eating areas full of picnic tables under a huge awning.  A place to sit down, whether I had refreshments or not.  A refuge from the sun.  An opportunity to talk to groups of young people sitting beside me.  Just basic human needs, addressed by the organization.

***

The live music touched people

Such as me

And about 200,000 other souls who came to Dour 2025

I’m sitting in a train at Saint-Ghislain Station, waiting for a départ to Brussels, and then back home to Gent.

The body is tired after five days at the Dour Festival.  And the smile is big.

Last night at the De Bazaal stage was the peak of my dancing.  If I would attach a number to previous days, I’d say moments of 70, 80 … even 90%.  But yesterday!  Some of my body gyrations were truly 100%.  Giving everything of feet and hands in the service of expression, of joy that rises above the earth.

I hit my pillow before midnight, in advance of Charlotte de Witte’s grand finale to the festival in The Last Arena.  And I was fine with that.  I’ll see her in the not-so-distant future.

And God willing, I’ll be back at Dour next July to shake a leg once more.  Dancing is a realm where I’d set an artificial boundary of potential aliveness.  These five days have said it loud and clear … Silly me!

I’m amazed …

That I could sleep each night when the driving bass beat at the nearby stage went on till 3:00 am

That my 76-year-old knees just kept vibin’ – no collapse into agonized stumbling

That lots of young people talked to me, some shaking my hand, many high fives

I made people laugh

I sang “O Canada”

I lasted five days!

My home away from home is The Village, an assortment of tent-like abodes, each hosting anywhere from ten people to one person (Me!)

Beyond my slow motion showering, another morning ritual is two visits to the “Bar” kiosk.  No, not for alcohol, but for cappuccino.  After a few days of this, the staff know me.  Yesterday I asked my favourite server to sing me a song.  She waved her hands and shook her head.  And more versions of “No!” came my way from other staff members.

So … I sang “O Canada” in French.  I was greeted by wide eyes and polite applause.  It was fun.

Early morning today it rained, and the skies were still grey as I approached my friends for another sample of liquid refreshment.  The corners of four mouths lifted.  And I thought “I make a difference with these folks.”

A young employee looked me in the eyes and said …

Tu apportes le soleil

You bring the sun

In the hours from then till midnight, I couldn’t imagine my day getting any better.

***

Last Dour day.  The body is slow and likes sleeping a lot.  Tonight in De Bazaal I will dance in farewell, accompanied by hundreds of young people I will never meet.  Why not give ‘er one more time?

It’s afternoon after a rain of an hour or two.  I spent the time horizontal.  The sun has returned and so has my chair in the shade.  Think I’ll do something quiet and sweet, such as writing this post and reading The Amber Spyglass.  “Why not?” indeed.

***

Just sittin’ and readin’ about the adventures of Lyra and Will – two teens who have inspired me through hundreds of pages to be Bruce.  Definitely unique (just like you).

***

Back on the festival site, for the last time this year.  In The Last Arena, we danced …

And two night shots:

I’ll tell you about my evening dancing tomorrow

Goodnight

Well … there appears to be a crashed person sitting in this chair at 12:30 pm on Saturday.  Despite what I wrote yesterday, I did go dancing in De Bazaal last night.  Sweaty random whole-body twistings and turnings.  And now the music is only in my toes.  My feet, legs and arms haven’t got the memo yet.

Gosh I’m slow in the activities of daily living today.  The showers are excellent here.  I have my own cubicle to wash this, that and the other thing, and to shave.  Perhaps I’m not the only beardless male at Dour but it’s an open question.

Did I really take 45 minutes in my washing space, or is that my heat-addled brain talking?   One thing: long ago I experienced first hand the lingering itch of athlete’s foot.  Knowing I was coming to a festival full of thousands of sweaty feet, I brought my watershoes.  Who knew it would take so long to put them on, and then take them off?

Everything was performed in slo-mo, with nary a knock on my door.  No time limit!

***

I whiled away the afternoon hours lying in bed, watching the Tour de France on my phone.  Decadent.  No dancing.  Hardly any moving.

Now it’s evening.  Here are a few photos of Dour:

Voilà the entrance.  You go left or you go right.  What’s ahead are twelve back-and-forth lanes before you get to security.  Plenty of opportunities for silliness across the fences.  A guy and I came up with the names of countries as we kept passing each other … Uganda!  El Salvador!  Italy!

Inside the festival site as the evening crowd starts to build.  Two hours later there’s still green grass to walk on … but your choices are fewer.

It poured rain for half-an-hour but then the sun broke through.  Would you believe I’d just finished giving a speech to these fine folk?

No, I wouldn’t believe me either

***

And … I do believe that dancing is in my near future