Author Archives: Bruce

Dancing

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve left a lot of life’s goodies behind.  “Sure I did this in my 20’s but not anymore.”  To which I say “Why not?”  Take dancing for instance.

Last night woke me up.  I went to hear Angelique Kidjo sing.  She’s a dynamic songstress from Benin in Africa.  She strode out onstage with a huge smile, wearing traditional garb – a red, yellow and white “sari” and a headdress that matched.  I know that “sari” isn’t the right word but it’s all I know.

Angelique belted out all these fast African songs, each with a great beat.  And she danced!  Throwing her head back and zooming all over the stage, arms and legs moving every whichway.  And she was so happy!  I marvelled at the expressions of a full human being.

And then … towards the end of the concert, Angelique invited us all up on the stage to dance with her and her band!  1100 of us.  About 100 human beings took her up on it.  And there I was, boogieing my butt off in close quarters with dancers of all ages (including one 7-year-old girl, a whirl of limbs).  The music blasted, the audience wowed.  I looked out from the stage and took in all of Koerner Hall … such beauty in the walls, on the ceiling, in the seats.  And I too was happy.  I remembered other dancing times and smiled beneath the sweat:

1. Jody and I at an evening street dance in Vieux Fort, a tiny town in St. Lucia. We all were so packed in at that intersection that the only place to move was up and down.  So I bounced!

2. A staff Christmas party at a fancy restaurant in downtown London.  Jody later told me that people stared as I vibrated all body parts at a frantic pace in some skewed version of dancing.

3. Last summer in London’s Victoria Park, I threw everything around with hundreds of others to the music of Five Alarm Funk at Sunfest, our world music festival.  I looked around at a lot of 20-somethings, and precious few 60-somethings.  Too bad for those who missed out.

The truth is … I don’t want to miss out!  I want to dance.  If I’m to be with a lovely woman again, may she love to move and groove.  And if no such blithe spirit comes my way, I’ll dance alone through my remaining years on the planet.

So there.

Unmoved

I love music.  All types of music?  Apparently not.

I went to a concert last night to hear Nicolas Altstaedt, a world-renowned cellist, and Fazil Say, a similarly honoured pianist.  Being an optimistic person, I expected to be enthralled.  I wasn’t.

On the surface of things, I should have been transported to heavenly realms.  Nicolas was outrageously handsome, in his 30’s, with longish hair that fell over his eyes as he played.  His fingers flew on the strings and his tone was of a virtuoso.  In his passion, he would lean every which way as the music took him.  Sometimes he would lift his eyes and stare long into the recesses of the hall.  Then those eyes would close as he bowed a tender passage.  He wore a black turtleneck and often pulled on the sleeves to let his hands flow free.

It was supposed to work.  Isn’t a young, handsome, brilliant male what society says the world is all about?  Well … not for me.  The bare truth was that I didn’t like the music.  I saw myself yearning for sweeping melodies, and they were not to be found.  Shouldn’t I be gushing over the brilliance of the musician?  No.  “Should” doesn’t fit in this conversation.  Either my heart opens or it doesn’t.  Either I’m swept away or I sit inert.

So I applauded politely for the efforts of the two human beings in front of me but the hands fell back into my lap quite soon.  And then the final piece.  At its conclusion, the performers bowed and my hands came together as my butt remained fixed to the seat.  Around me, folks gradually stood.  I felt the cheers begin to soar and soon I was virtually the only person near me who wasn’t standing.  I smiled.  When I’m moved, I usually stand immediately – the complete opposite of the current moment.  Nicolas and Fazil left the stage and returned three times as the hearty applause continued.  Mine had long since stopped.

There’s no right and wrong about all this.  I’m happy that I was true to myself.  Sweet melodies often lift my soul to the heights.  No harm, no foul if my heart isn’t moved to open.  It’s just the rhythms of life saying hi once again.  As one wise one said:

When you’re hot, you’re hot
When you’re not, you’re not

Dad

It’s a word that has never been sent my way.  Jody and I didn’t have any children.  That’s one of only two regrets I have in life:  Her early death at 54 is the other.

When I’m out there in the world, I often hear a kid call the man beside him or her “Dad”, and a little bit of me winces.  Oh, to sit on the couch with my son or daughter, watching TV, eating popcorn and chatting about the events of the day.  But it’s not to be (this time around anyway).

I love volunteering in the Grade 5/6 class and sometimes imagine that I’m dad (or more accurately grandpa).  I’ve had many fine conversations with kids, and I like to think that I’ve made an impact on many of them, but at the end of the day they go to their homes and I go to mine.  And that’s okay.  At least we get to talk some on the days when I show up at their school.

Yesterday, the class was on a field trip to a conservation area – a well-treed park surrounded by farmland.  We had fun, especially the geocaching experience, where we used our handheld GPS units to find spots in the woods where tiny treasures were hidden in Tupperware containers.  Our group found one about six feet above the ground in the crotch of a tree.

When it was time to get on the bus for the return trip to school, a Grade 5 kid asked me to sit with her.  I’ll call her Sarah.  We talked about the day we spent exploring both technology and nature.  We talked about the training I’m doing to get ready for my bicycle ride across Canada this summer.  Her assessment of the hours I spend on the elliptical at the gym?  “Crazy!”  Well, maybe I am, but I’m going to be fit enough to traverse my country, starting in June.

Sarah is a hockey player.  This winter, I’ve gone to a few games featuring kids from school, but I’d never seen her team play.  “Next year, I’ll come to a game of yours.”  She smiled.

Apparently, Jayne, the teacher, plays a game with the kids just before lunch every Friday.  Sarah asked me if I’d come to volunteer some Friday morning so I could play too.  I said yes, and was very pleased that she invited me.

Getting off the bus, Sarah wanted to know which car was mine.  “That red one over there – Scarlet.”  She seemed amused that I named my cars.  For me, it’s always felt like a natural thing to do.

These kids spend some time with me and then next year they’ll be off on new adventures.  Elementary school turns into high school turns into whatever’s next.  They’re building their lives, step by step.  Even though my time with them will be brief, I’m happy that I get to have moments like a simple bus ride back to school.

On last fall’s meditation retreat, one of the teachers said “When you’re in the presence of one of life’s wholesome moments … Don’t miss it!”  So true.  May we all be awake to the people who come our way, whether they’re 10 or 82.

 

Merging Exhaustion and Inspiration

Point number one: I was on the elliptical for four-and-a-half hours today.  I’m dull and weak.

Point number two: I listened to a live broadcast of Patricia Albere’s mutual awakening work tonight.  It focuses on a shared consciousness between two people, rather than getting better at relating to each other.

Point number three: I want to write in my blog and have my words mean something.

The best I can do is quote what Patricia was saying tonight and add my two cents.  So here goes:

You learn to place your consciousness so you can feel the other person like you feel yourself

(Okay, I’m just too tired to think.  On the morrow)

And here’s the morrow.  What would that be like, to be so “with” the other person that it feels like you’re inside them, feeling what they feel, yearning for what they yearn for?  I want to find out.

To be seen deeply calls forth the depth of who you are

Jumping around trying to get people to see me.  Here I am!

How can you possibly experience love if you aren’t seen?

Very rarely in my life have I felt truly seen.  “Wow, this person really gets me.”  Do people understand that my intentions are virtually always to enhance life, not diminish it?  Do they understand that I want a type of contact with them that opens our souls?

I knew I was home

Geographically, it doesn’t matter where I stand.  Home is an inside job, including both  me and you.

We accept the assumption of our separateness.  There is always a quality of being alone.  I’m here and you’re there.

I don’t have to continue seeing it like this.  I can choose something new and different.

We were together.  I don’t remember the rest.
(Walt Whitman)

So simply and beautifully said, Walt.

A group which first sees each other before addressing their mandate and their tasks

Imagine a family, a team, a classroom, a church, a government.  Makes me smile.

Hiding

Sometimes I need to.  Be away from people for awhile, but maybe watch them from a distance.  Hunker down into my shell rather than embracing all that life sends my way.

Late this afternoon, I was hungry after a workout at the gym.  I decided to go to Mai’s Café in Wortley Village, a funky area of London, full of cute shops and comfy restaurants, with a tiny library just down the street.

I walked into the itsy bitsy Mai’s and felt right at home.  To the left of the front door was a two-person window table wedged in between two walls.  If I was with a dinner partner, she would just have been able to squeeze past the table towards the chair.  Immediately I knew it was perfect.  But why?

I looked out on the world from my secluded niche, a window wall on the left and another one straight ahead.  I smiled at my need to be protected and yet to see Londoners passing by on the sidewalk.  I was a voyeur, and happy.  The walls so near were comforting.  I was friendly to the waitress as I ordered my pad thai but I really wanted to be alone, revel in the flavours and check out the sports section of the Toronto Sun on my phone.

The thought came: “I should be more ‘out there’, engaging with human beings.”  But goodbye, dear thought.  That wasn’t what Bruce needed at the moment.  I didn’t want to hide myself under a blanket on my couch but nor did I want constant conversation.  Just give me my little spot, please, and leave me alone.  I’ll fantasize about the Toronto Maple Leafs.  I’ll watch the infinite variety of folks out on the street, going from here to there.  That will make me happy.

Near the end of my meal, I had a good conversation with Kai, my server.  She told me I was funny.  Assuming she meant “funny hah hah” rather than “funny ooo”, I smiled.  Just a little bit of human interaction was all I needed.  And the food was so good.

Tomorrow I’ll throw myself more fully into the arena.  Today?  Table for one, please.

 

Crying

For the first twenty years of my life, I don’t believe I cried.  Maybe for an owwie when I was three.

At age 25, I went to a performance of Jesus Christ Superstar in a Vancouver church.  Afterwards I sat in the dark under a tree in Queen Elizabeth Park and cried for an hour.

My wife Jody died in November, 2014.  For the next year at least, I cried every day.

Now it feels like I’m on the verge of tears a lot … eyes moist, soul overwhelmed with sadness or beauty.  But it’s not about me.  It’s about all of us, in our agony and joy.  It’s about moments of grace.  It’s about the acts of kindness I see.  It’s about the largeness of life, whether “positive” or “negative”.

Yesterday I sat with Karen at a Toronto Island church, listening to a string quartet.  I wondered where her boyfriend Barry was.  I had seen them together before I went on a meditation retreat in September.  Karen told me … he died on February 5 of melanoma.  Two weeks earlier, she and Barry were married.  I’m crying now about their lost love.

I grew up in a life where no one seemed to cry.  Certainly mom and dad didn’t, at least in my presence.  Aunts, uncles, family friends, teachers, ministers … no tears.  Maybe actors and actresses did in movies but I must have been watching the wrong films.

And then there are desperate situations in the world that would force anyone to shut down their emotional life:

I once heard a young man talk about his life as a child in Cambodia.  All of the children in his village spent years imprisoned in a barbed-wire encampment.  Four times a day, people were brought to the outskirts of that encampment to be killed.  The children were all lined up and forced to watch.  According to the rule, if one of them started to cry, then he or she would also be killed.  This boy said that each time people were brought to be killed, he was absolutely terrified that among them would be a friend, neighbor or relative.  He knew that if that happened, he would start to cry, and then he would be killed.  He lived with this terror for years.  He said that in that circumstance the only way he could survive was to completely cut off all feeling, to dehumanize himself altogether.

How immensely sad, and terrifying.

I was reading to the Grade 5/6 kids today from The City Of Ember, a fascinating novel.  Lina, a 12-year-old girl, was sitting with her grandma.  As she cared for her ill loved one, Lina thought of her dad:

In the back of her mind was the memory of the days of her father’s illness, when he seemed to grow dim like a lamp losing power, and the sound of his breathing was like water gurgling through a clogged pipe.  Though she didn’t want to, she also remembered the evening when her father let out one last short breath and didn’t take another.

“This is how Jody died,” I told the kids and Jayne, their teacher.  The room was very quiet.  My eyes were wet but I fought off the tears.  And I’m sorry I did.  It would have been a fine lesson for them to see a man cry.  “That’s okay, Bruce.  Please forgive yourself for not letting go completely.”  I do.  And now I’m crying for my dear wife.

It’s a tough job we human beings have, but I’m glad we all signed up.  The horrors are real and so is the beauty.  Let’s celebrate each other as we do our best to navigate the maze of life.

Bring It To Mind

What if I could just think about something and have it show up in my life?  I wonder.

During last fall’s retreat, I often was able to reach a deep meditative state when sitting in the hall with other yogis.  I could feel energy behind my eyes and a “shimmering down” of something sweet falling to my neck and beyond.  It was a space of much love and peace.  Everything stopped as I was held in some mysterious embrace.  And then the whole thing would go away.  I learned to trust that it would come back.

Over the last month, this same feeling has occasionally flooded me during the plainest moments – driving down the road, walking downtown, sitting on the toilet.  How can this be happening in “real life”, apart from the seclusion of the retreat centre and the serenity of the meditation hall?  I don’t know, but it is happening … And it’s happening right now.

I’m sitting in a warming shed at the Wards Island ferry dock on Toronto Island.  I’m alone, and yet it feels like the universe is all around.  I’m tapping away to you in a space of “all rightness”.  It doesn’t matter what I say.  Whatever comes out of my thumbs will be just fine.

Last night I went to a concert with my friend Jane.  Afterwards we were sitting in a restaurant enjoying an appetizer.  We talked about lots of things.  At one point, I remembered the marvel of those peaceful moments I’ve just described.  I told Jane about it.  And just like that … I was there: the shimmering, the space enveloping me, the peace.  My eyes widened.  “Jane, what I just said – I’m there.”  How can this be?  It’s just like during sitting meditation.  All I did was speak the experience … and “Voilà!”

It’s three hours later now.  I’ve listened to a marvelous string quartet at the island church.  Most of the time, while listening or chatting, you could say I went unconscious, not at all in touch with the sublimity.  And that’s okay.   Once in awhile, the thought came up “I wonder if I can do this when I’m talking to someone, like with Jane.”  But that’s not it. There’s no doing.  The sweetness just showed up with Jane.  No prompting other than starting to talk about the experience.  No intention to unfold.  I actually tried to reach the space when eating brunch with five other folks … but no go.  Maybe a glimpse for a few seconds, but that was all.  It’s all right.  I don’t mind.

I just had a thought – perhaps saying a single word could foster the opening of Spirit.  How about “This”, in the sense of right here and right now?  As opposed to “That”, with the here and/or the now missing.  No, “this” doesn’t ring true.

During a particular flurry of bows and strings this afternoon, another word  showed up … “Listen”.  That feels better.  It could be a trigger to spaciousness when I’m in the middle of a conversation.  We’ll see.  But isn’t that just more doing?

Now I’m on the ferry back to downtown Toronto.  The peace is back, unbeckoned.  Such a mystery.  In the next few days, when I’m talking to someone, I’ll see if the forces of the universe open me, with or without a word on my lips.

It’s a grand adventure
No control
No pressing for a result
No me

Birdies Come Here

Nature keeps teaching me stuff.  I hope I’m listening.

I live in a condo in Belmont, Ontario.  It’s a separate building that backs onto a farmer’s field.  I love being here.  Last fall, our builder planted deciduous trees at the back, one for each home.  Mine is about 12 feet tall.

Just outside my bedroom window, I have two bird feeders – one with nyjer seed for finches and the other with sunflower seeds for everybody else.  I love hearing the birds in the early morning and seeing them crowd around the feeders.  There is even a crew of mourning doves that rummage on the ground for stray seeds.  They’re all family to me.

The last three days, however, it feels like my family has gone on vacation.  I haven’t seen a single bird at the feeders.  Some folks hang out on the bare branches but they keep their distance.  And I get to watch my mind.

1. “There are more birdies on the neighbours’ tree than on mine.”

2. “Something is wrong with the seed.  Maybe it got wet in all that rain.”

3. “The birds like the neighbours’ seed better than mine.  I probably made a poor selection.”

4. “They’ll never come back.  My family is broken apart.”

5. “It just goes to show you that things don’t work out in life.”

Oh, Bruce.  Such a Negative Nester you are.  Didn’t you just spend three months at a meditation retreat, sharpening up your mind?  Well … yes I did.  But sometimes my thoughts still carry me away.

Much of the retreat was about letting go of things and people that I thought I needed to glom onto.  A birdless feeder is simply another teacher.

Can I be happy even if the birds don’t come back? > Yes
Did I do something bad that caused the birds to go away? > No
How about if I put new nyjer seed in the feeder and see what happens? > Yes
Do I really want to tie myself in knots whenever something goes wrong? > No
Can I control what other beings do? > No
Can I let go of all this angst? > Yes

Good.  Now go to bed and sleep like a baby.

Two Parking Spaces

It was a long time ago.  I was visiting mom and dad in Toronto, from my new home in Alberta.  I wanted to visit my old favourite bookstore on Hoskin Street and borrowed dad’s car.

I was creeping along Hoskin, trying to remember what the storefront looked like.  And there it was!  Plus an empty parking space.  I put on my turn signal, pulled alongside the car in front, looked over my shoulder, and prepared to demonstrate my parallel parking skills.

And then … horn blaring from behind.  Again and again.  A car was right up to my rear bumper.  I couldn’t back into the space.

I was shocked, and that noise kept blasting into my head.  Every muscle contracted and so did my brain.  I put dad’s car into “Drive” and sped off.

On a side street, I gathered myself (sort of).  Heart still pounding.  Fear in my throat.  Shame in my soul.  Why did I give in?  Why did I let another human being abuse me?  Well … maybe because I was 35 and scared of everybody.

Over the years, I’ve looked back at that moment and cringed.  Over the years, I’ve become a Buddhist and have seen peace grow within me.  Equanimity.  Doing no harm.  But in the midst of “letting go”, over and over again, I also see the need to stand up, stand tall, and defend my rights.

Yesterday, I was creeping along Dundas Street in London, seeking a parking space near Aeolian Hall.  And there’s one!  I put on my turn signal, pulled alongside the car in front, looked over my shoulder, and prepared to demonstrate my parallel parking skills.

I started backing and began turning the wheel when I was opposite the car’s rear bumper … Honk!  Honk!

Glancing into my side mirror, there was the front end of a car inches from my rear.  Honk!  I couldn’t risk going back further.  Honk!  But neither could I risk sacrificing my soul on the altar of peer pressure.

I held Scarlet at the severe angle.  Two more honks.  I sat.  Silence.  And then the driver behind squealed their tires around me.  I nodded.

Behind was another car, a more patient variety.  I checked my mirrors and pulled into the spot pretty well.

I sat some more.  No fluttering heart.  No mega-pulse.  Just quiet inside.

A lot has happened in the years between.  I guess I’ve grown up.  And something else too.  In the nighttime of Dundas Street, my eyes moistened.  I thought of the honker and felt so sad for him or her.  What kind of life must it be if you have to block a fellow traveller from his simple mission?  Does every little thing cause pain for this person?  And what’s it like for their family?

The world needs kindness, assertiveness and happiness.  May we all live here.

Mutual Awakening

I want to write in my blog today.  Whatever I communicate, I want it to be real, natural and not forced.  I want life force to flow through me as I tap the keys and have it reach you the reader.

I’ve been enjoying a book by Patricia Albere called Evolutionary Relationships.  It feels natural to write about it.  I’ve selected passages and recorded them on white index cards.  The only trouble is that I’m at the London Public Library and the cards are in Belmont.  I do have the book with me, however, since I intended to read it in the library.

So I did what any normal human being would:  I skimmed the book up to page 137 and picked 14 paragraphs to comment on.

What else is happening in my mind?

1.  I’m so determined to write, even if the writing turns out to be not so great.

2.  My mind and body are still tired from yesterday’s elliptical work.  “Too tired for writing, Bruce.”  Should I believe that mind of mine?

3.  Okay, I have 14 page references in front of me.  Surely I’ll have trouble merging them smoothly into this post, so that you folks get what Patricia is talking about.

These are all reasonable thoughts, but who cares?  Just write.

Okay.

What are the depths of relationship possible between two human beings?  And not restricted to a sexual connection with a life partner but available with any person seeking spiritual union.  A relationship that fosters not only an opening between two people but also the evolution of humanity.

Well, Patricia has a few ideas:

“Then out of nowhere it came.  I felt the most intense longing arise within me.  It was like a tornado unexpectedly appearing in the midst of a clear day, tearing through the countryside and rearranging the landscape.  My heart and then my whole body started to burn with intensity.  It seemed to force its way into my awareness, cracking through the surface of my contented life, leaving me aching with an inexplicable, inconvenient, overwhelming desire for love.  I wanted to love and be loved – passionately, deeply and completely – but in a way I had never considered.”

What in your life is calling you
When all the noise is silenced …
The meetings adjourned, the lists laid aside
And the Wild Iris blooms by itself
In the dark forest …
What still pulls on your soul?

In the silence between your heartbeats
Hides a summons
Do you hear it?
Name it, if you must
Or leave it nameless
But why pretend it is not there?

(Terma Collective)

Oh my.  This is so true for me.  I don’t know about you.

“Young people grow up online with hundreds of virtual friends, but as a recent New York Times story put it, technology allows them to ‘end up hiding from one another, even as they are constantly connected to one another.'”

“In this type of relationship, we are inspired, touched, moved, excited and creatively ignited by each other.”

The agony and the ecstasy.

“Regrettably, some relationships do have a limited or specific ceiling while others have skylights that open to cosmic realms you may never have dreamed existed.”

“You also feel the other person from inside their experience.  It may sound strange, but the separation disappears.  Somehow you are inside each other and feel connected to something that is bigger than both of you, as though your connection with each other is a portal to all of existence.”

“If you have the courage to explore mutual awakening, you will be amazed at the degree of intimacy, vulnerability, beauty and connection that is possible with another person.”

Bring it on!

“The first time I engaged in the mutual awakening process, I sat across from someone I did not know, except for her first name.  As we leaned into each other, I had the profound and profoundly simple experience of falling into love, of being pulled into the field of love that existed between us.”

(Vibeke)

“Imagine two dancers who are not really engaged.  They shuffle halfheartedly around the floor, out of time with each other and the music.  Now imagine those same dancers fully engaged with each other and the dance.  Their every step bursts with vitality and is perfectly synchronized with the rhythm of the music.”

“Often we are shy about showing how much beauty, goodness or power we possess because we’ve gotten used to sharing the more superficial layers of ourselves.”

“Out of fear of upsetting others, provoking anger or disapproval, or disrupting the status quo, we tone ourselves down, hold back our fullness, dampen our beauty, mute our magnificence.”

Silly humans.

“When we try to separate, announce to our partner we are leaving, or pretend we’re no longer related to those with whom we’ve created strong bonds, the only way to manage the pain is to shut down and disconnect from ourselves and our sensitivity to reality and love.”

Sad.

Even if you fall, you will be held
If you let go, things will be okay
If you let yourself not know
You will be guided
If you do not manipulate
You will be taken care of
In a way that is appropriate for you 

(A.H. Almaas)

Thank you, Patricia and friends.  May we have ears to hear.