This morning I was reading in Tricycle magazine about the city of Chiang Mai in Thailand.  The article was aimed at the Buddhist traveller, and described six temples and other holy sites.  The writing was an immersion for me even though I’m 12,000 kilometres away.

I grew up in Toronto, Canada – certainly a multicultural city, but also one where about 50% of the residents are Christian. 

Tricycle has a series of articles about Buddhism in various parts of the world.  Here’s what the magazine has to say about Thailand:

92 percent of its residents are Buddhist!  A completely different spiritual world from the one I know.

I’ve spent a few weeks in New York City.  On one of my visits, I stayed in the borough of Queens, where 150 languages are spoken.  Marvelous.  For New York City as a whole, here is the breakdown of religions represented (in 2014):

So … my Canadian and American experience has centred on the dominance of Christianity.  What would I be feeling walking the streets of Chiang Mai?

And in June or July, an spiritual immersion of another type is on my menu.  I’ll be attending my friend Prabigya’s wedding in Nepal, where about 80% of the population is Hindu.

Time for my eyes to open more widely

Time for the brand new

A Facebook post caught my eye this morning.  The photo on the right felt part of my history … and it was.  I bought the book “Gramp” decades ago, and gave it away a decade later, along with virtually all my books, DVDs and CDs.

Today I read this:

In 1974, a young man of 23 made a choice that left everyone around him astonished.  While his peers chased careers, friendships and romances, Dan Jury chose a different path: he moved his 81-year-old grandfather, Frank Tugend, out of a sterile nursing home and into his modest apartment, dedicating himself to full-time caregiving.  This decision, viewed by some family members as a waste of youth, became a profound journey of compassion, patience and understanding.  Day after day, Dan learned to navigate the intimate tasks of care – bathing, administering medications, and offering comfort through moments of fear and confusion – lessons no job or social engagement could ever teach.

I no doubt was brought to silence when I first encountered “Gramp”, and the same is true now.  What a gift was given.

And what about now?  I’m about to begin a volunteering career at a care home in Gent.  Will I be a giver?  I say “Yes” … and also a receiver. 

Even though I’m as old as some of the residents, I have been blessed with good health and a kind heart.  There’s a future for us all … together.  I can feel it.

In the spirit of repurchasing things, I went to Amazon Belgium to find “Gramps”.  It was there.  For 352 euros.  I think not.

***

Thank you, Dan Jury, for your love

You inspired me long ago

And today

Shunryu Suzuki was a monk who in the 1960’s popularized Zen Buddhism in the United States.  He founded the San Francisco Zen Center and wrote Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind.

Ryuko Laura Burges tells a story about Shunryu:

A student entered Suzuki’s room at Zen Center not long before he died, and they bowed to each other.  Suzuki was very weak, but he looked into his student’s eyes and said firmly, “Don’t grieve for me.  Don’t worry.  I know who I am.”

I wonder if I do … know who I am.

Sometimes I ask myself what adjectives describe me.  The answer usually comes “kind and determined”.  So is that who I am? 

I sense that the only descriptions that matter are ones that include other people.  I am connected with you.  I could choose the words “I am a singer” but they only ring true when I’m singing to other people.

Then again, maybe I’m often so loose in the brain cells that the word “I” doesn’t resonate.  “Knowing” feels pretty elusive too.

***

So, Shunryu …

Sometimes I know who I am

And in other moments

I am drifting in the mystery of it all

I like shapes.  And I wonder if my spiritual life has been touched by objects that appear in my day.

When I lived in Canada, I often enjoyed a hamburger at Wendy’s.  The juicy quality was vivid … and there was something else: the patties were square.

Years after first encountering Wendy’s, I read about Dave Thomas, the company’s founder.  He loved his grandma, and she often gave him good advice.  Such as …

Quality’s everything, David.  Remember that.  If people keep cutting corners, this country’s going to be in big trouble

And so square burgers became a symbol of being thorough, of ensuring the customer has an excellent experience.

***

Two months ago my old ear buds started shorting out so I went on the Internet to find a cool wireless version.  For some strange reason, I let them sit in their box for a couple of weeks, looking very rectangular.  But what emerged from the package was anything but:

So elegant.  And since starting to use them, their curves have seeped into my soul.  Along with the smoothness, and the shine.

There’s also the ease of opening, revealing the jewels inside:

The buds are comfy in my ears, and when it’s time to return home they simply click into place … magnetic.  It’s a sublime wow.

Like a yummy burger at Wendy’s, I am comforted as I touch the white case.  Naturally, sweet interactions with other human beings transcend the beauty of objects.

But every little bit helps

I took an early bus from Gent to Evergem, and had lots of time before my haircut at Kapsalon Joyce.  So why not explore?

At a side street intersection I saw a sign: Gerardsmolen.  I didn’t know what it meant and Google Translate felt like too much of an effort.  So along a cobblestone path I began …

Soon the meaning revealed itself – a windmill (molen).  You’ll see a pic at the end of this post.  But the real story for me was yet to emerge.

A playground for all of us!  Especially the young ones.  Here we have two swings for the kids to fly high, and one safe one for the wee human beings.  In the background, a colourful slide with a sandy landing.

How about climbing up, climbing down, and crawling through?  And don’t forget the net on the left, which may leave you dangling in the air.

The slide again, loops for hand-over-hand strength moves, and …

The best of the best

A junior zip line!

Hang on tight and feel the wind in your hair

***

I was mightily impressed.  I bet some kids thought this up.  Whoever did the deed … congratulations.  Adventure.  Determination.  Fun.

***

And, oh yes – the windmill.  Very nice.  But it’s not what opened my eyes.

I was having breakfast this morning in a delightful new restaurant on the Langement – Lloyd Coffee Eatery.

A wee dog was enjoying life with their human mom and dad.  I saw person after person sitting or walking nearby brighten to see the little bouncing being.  Huge smiles.  Hands reaching out to pet this doggie who was standing on hind legs with tail wagging.

I didn’t catch any of these moments of contact but here’s an approximation from the Internet:

And I thought … the most powerful being in this restaurant right now is a dog!  Making a difference so naturally.

***

As I returned to the yumminess before me, I glanced up sometimes to drink in the infinite variety of human beings before me.  Tables full of family and friends, black-shirted employees scurrying around delivering orders and clearing tables.

Such a good vibe.  Such aliveness.

One person in particular caught my attention – a server.  She seemed to be dancing.  At one point her partner was a rag and a bottle of cleaner.  No doubt the table had no chance of staying dirty!

And I watched her with people.  Gesturing wildly to a colleague during a conversation.  Hands way high as she explained something to a new customer.

Again the Internet:

A bounce in her step.  No doubt a lilt in her voice.

She’s like the dog!  The dog is like her!

Kindred spirits

How marvelous

May we all feel the joy, move the body … dance

If we add together all of the times when we do not experience life fully because desire and attachment keep us from being present.  And all the times that we try to separate from what is, out of anger or fear.  And all the times that we are spaced out, we end up with a pretty big pile of moments.  What is left over is a tiny parcel of mindful moments when we are fully alive, not lost in clinging, resisting or disconnecting.  This is a shockingly limited way to live.

I forgot to write down who said this.  And that’s okay.  Someone did.

The writer challenges me.  Right now I’m sitting in Lloyd Coffee Eatery, tapping my words to you.  I am awake in my message.  However I’m surrounded by other human beings enjoying their beverages and friends.  I need to cast my gaze on them as well, and send them blessings.  And so I put down my phone for awhile …

***

That was good.  So many folks enjoying Christmas Day together.

Being awake doesn’t just mean sitting in meditation, open in silence to the vastness of life.  It also includes many other moments, ones that can also be bathed in light, if we have the eyes to see.

For too much of my day, I’m walking around with those eyes closed, doing this or that by rote, not seeing.

I ask myself if there’s one thing I can contemplate to remind myself of the grand, to bring more hours of aliveness to my day.  What comes is this:

In the times when I’m with people, look softly into their eyes, even though mostly they won’t be taking in mine

And balance those times with being alone, creating moments that raise me up

***

May I choose a shockingly lovely way to live

It’s a December tradition for me … about thirty years old.  Reciting the poem ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas.  Thousands of kids have sat before me as the words tumble out.

And then there’s today:

I decided to recite ‘Twas to folks I know on the Langemunt.  So …

Staff members at:

1.  Panos

2.  The Press Shop

3.  Izy Coffee

4.  Eyes and More

5.  The Cobbler

6.  Soup Lounge

Such fun!  Such remembering.  Such beginning anew.

The highlights for me were a young girl and her mom listening in the Soup Lounge.  And reciting for five hotel guests and three employees in The Cobbler

For most of these stops, I did both my normal speed version and a super fast one (about 1:10 in length).  I really sputter on that second one!

Here are the words penned by Clement-Clarke Moore.  There is much to enjoy herein:

‘Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse
The stockings were hung
By the chimney with care
In hopes that Saint Nicholas
Soon would be there

The children were nestled
All snug in their beds
While visions of sugar plums
Danced in their heads
And mamma in her ‘kerchief
And I in my cap
Had just settled down
For a long winter’s nap

When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the matter
Away to the window
I flew like a flash
Tore open the shutters
And threw up the sash

The moon on the breast
Of the new fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day
To objects below
When, what to my wondering eyes
Should appear
But a miniature sleigh
And eight tiny reindeer

With a little old driver
So lively and quick
I knew in a moment
It must be Saint Nick
More rapid than eagles
His coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name

“Now Dasher!  Now Dancer!
Now Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet!  On Cupid!
On Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch
To the top of the wall
Now dash away!  Dash away!
Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before
The wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle
Mount to the sky
So up to the housetop
The coursers they flew
With a sleigh full of toys
And Saint Nicholas too

And then, in a twinkling
I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing
Of each little hoof
As I drew in my head
And was turning around
Down the chimney
Saint Nicholas came with a bound

He was dressed all in fur
From his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished
With ashes and soot
A bundle of toys
He had flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler
Just opening his pack

His eyes – how they twinkled
His dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses
His nose like a cherry
His droll little mouth
Was drawn up like a bow
And the beard on his chin
Was as white as the snow

The stump of a pipe
He held tight in his teeth
And the smoke it encircled
His head like a wreath
He had a broad face
And a little round belly
That shook when he laughed
Like a bowlful of jelly

He was chubby and plump
A right jolly old elf
And I laughed when I saw him
In spite of myself
A wink of his eye
And a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings
Then turned with a jerk
And laying a finger
Aside of his nose
And giving a nod
Up the chimney he rose

He sprang to his sleigh
To his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew
Like the down of a thistle
But I heard him exclaim
‘Ere he drove out of sight …

Merry Christmas to all
And to all a good night

Yes … Merry Christmas

About the singing (yesterday’s post) …

The café at Minard was standing room only, maybe 70 people.  I sat there beforehand, enjoying other performers – poetry, singing and playing guitar, and an artist who “looped” harmonies before launching into his melody.  All lovely to behold.

But I was so nervous!  I had a post-it note in my pocket, which said:

Where the earth shows its bones

Of wind-broken stone

I just couldn’t corral these beginning words in my mind.  And there was an internal bouncing around, as I tried to locate the pitch of the first note.  If I started too low, I wouldn’t reach the really low note that came later.

So much for the peace of the Buddha!

Then it was my turn.  I walked onstage, brought the microphone to my mouth, and did something unusual for me: I didn’t tell a story about the song and its writer.  I just … started singing.  Somehow “wind-broken” emerged from my mouth.  And somehow my beginning pitch was perfect, allowing me to touch a note at the very bottom of my vocal range (assisted by lots of oxygen):

I’m caught out of time

My blood sings with wine

And I’m running naked in the sun

I sang softly … loudly … slowly … quickly.  The words brought a spirit of love to many in the audience.  We were longing for a union of souls that would continue for forty-five years.

And I just want to hold you closer
Than I’ve ever held anyone before
You say you’ve been twice a wife
And you’re through with life
Ah but Honey, what the hell’s it for?

After twenty-three years
You’d think I could find
A way to let you know somehow
That I want to see your smiling face
Forty-five years from now

I sat back down and smiled as well

Tonight in the café of Minard, I’ll sing Forty-Five Years, an exquisite love story.  May I be with the audience throughout, with my brain off on a coffee break.  May I see the people sitting in front of me, and reach out with my soul to touch them with lyrics such as these:

Now the summer city lights
Will soften the night
Till you’d think that the air is clear
And I’m sitting with friends
Where forty-five cents
Will buy another glass of beer

He’s got something to say
But I’m so far away
That I don’t know who I’m talking to
‘Cause you just walked in the door
And Honey, all I see is you

My memory has had moments of suspicion lately, such as forgetting to look in drawers for my clothes before leaving an Airbnb.

Pair that with my commitment to memorize songs … so that my eyes meet those of the audience.  No gazing down at my phone.

Two things are difficult for me in Forty-Five Years:

1.  Remembering the first line.  Without that I’ll just be standing there smiling.

Where the earth shows its bones of wind-broken stone

Woh.  “Wind-broken”.  It doesn’t come naturally.  I’ve practiced a lot.  And still the first line rarely flows.  But I will be on that stage tonight, remembering instantly … or not.

2.  Figuring out the pitch of the first note.  Forty-Five Years comes really close to touching the lowest note I can sing, and the highest.  Most songs don’t ask that much of me.

Right now, I don’t want to rely on external aids, such as an app that would give me the starting note.  No words to the audience in the realm of “I’m trying to get this right.”  Just get up there, tell a little story about the song, and …

Sing!

What a fine challenge.  Hit the first note, so I can reach the upcoming really low note, and the high ones later. 

***

This I know …

Tonight the singing will go well

Or not so well

And I will smile thereafter