Author Archives: Bruce

Ella

I went to see a fine movie last night.  Cinderella was beautiful, which is nice, but far more importantly, she was courageous and kind.  She was asked to be that way by her dying mother, and she did as she was asked.

When Ella came to the young king’s ball in a stunning blue dress, and started down the grand staircase with all eyes on her, I thought of Jodiette.  Especially one time at a bed-and-breakfast in Nova Scotia.  I was sitting at the breakfast table with other guests when my darling walked slowly down the stairs.  “It’s my lovely wife,” I said.  I was in love, and still am.  I cried when Ella came walking down, with her friend the king smiling up at her.

Later the two of them danced, swirling around in a flurry of blue, loving each other’s touch, eyes shining.  Oh, how Jody and I loved to dance!  The joy in her eyes.  The moving and the grooving.  I miss my girl.

Ella was so kind, to the mice who were her friends, and even to the people who oppressed her.  Near the end of the film, as she and the king were leaving her home, hand-in-hand, Ella looked  up at her stepmother, slumped halfway up the stairs.  With great presence, Ella simply said, “I forgive you.”  And I knew she had.

May we all have the love that Ella and the king share, that Jody and I share, and may we all be kind.  The world needs us.

Investment Journey

Jody and I bought shares of ATCO Gas in Alberta a few years ago.  I’ve wanted to buy some more.  Last week, I closed the joint account that we had with the brokerage TD Waterhouse and opened one of my own.  It was active as of Monday and my goal today was to buy 300 shares.  But it wasn’t totally easy.  If I delivered a cheque to TD today, it would take a day or two to clear and only then would I be able to do the trade.  Should I serenely wait or do all I can to make the purchase today?  Well, I had a goal, didn’t I?  So I went for it.

Going for it would mean withdrawing the cash from my credit union and plopping the money on TD’s counter.  Both institutions are in St. Thomas.  Then go home, phone the brokerage and consummate the deal.

Step number one: show up at the credit union.  “Having that amount of cash ready for you will take about two hours, sir.”  “Oh.  Okay.”  It was 11:00 am and I didn’t want to go home.  What to do?  In my driving wanderings of the past few days, I’d noticed a new asphalt walking path that led from Pinafore Park in the south part of town, north a few kilometres to downtown.  Oh, I love exploring.  So I parked at Pinafore and sauntered northward, trees to the left and trees to the right.  (“Hi, Jody!”)  It was lovely.  The sun was shining, the temp was a degree or two above zero Celsius, and the huge banks of snow from our recent storms were melting to beat the band.  Quiet little streams flowed over the asphalt, glistening.  And there were black wrought iron benches every 400 metres or so.

I sat.  I looked at Jody’s trees.  I talked to my dear wife.  I talked to many passersby, who seemed as delighted with the new path as I was.  And I thought of the snow.  Such a bad case of piles, all dripping away.  Slowly fading.  And in a week or two?  Perhaps nothing.  Just as in our lives … shining in the sun, big globs of energy, but slowly moving towards diminishment, and eventually disappearance.  I closed my eyes.

After much pleasurable dipsydoodling of the feet, here was Talbot St. and further along, a mom and pop eatery serving an all-day breakfast.  They even had those little containers of peanut butter for my toast.  I rested.  I ate slowly.  It was good.

Then off I ambled a few blocks to my credit union.  1:15.  Perfect.  A smiling young gentleman teller greeted me with “Hello, Mr. Kerr.  Your money is ready.”  After a few signings of this and countings of that, the cash found a home in an envelope and in my coat pocket.  “Bye.”

It was a 20-minute walk to the TD Bank.  Was I nervous?  Okay, a bit.  I hoped that I was walking normally – nice, relaxed gait, not too fast, not too slow.  Nothing to get potential criminals sniffing around.  Actually, I smiled a lot.  Never before had I walked the streets with such a load of moola.  Sort of exciting.  A bit James Bondish perhaps.  I heard the nervous voice inside … “Bruce, you should have driven to the bank” … but truly, who cares?

I found a few back streets between credit union and bank, and discovered new and rare snow sculptures on my way.  And I didn’t think the left breast of my coat was bulging at all.

In the front door I strode, like a wealthy industrialist from downtown Toronto.  The staff were very nice.  Fifteen minutes later, the delivery was complete.  More smiles.

I continued my loop trip and eventually made my way back to the wondrous path.  Still sunny, still dripping, still happy.  Half an hour later, I was with my trusty vehicle Hugo, and homeward we went.

I phoned the brokerage at 3:58.  The Toronto Stock Exchange closed at 4:00.  Too late.  Hmm.  But tomorrow is another day.  They open at 9:30.  I’ll be there.

Who knew investing could be such fun?

Meditating

I used to want to be a better meditator.  I was full of ideas about “good meditation” and bad.  But that seems to have faded away.  I remember decades ago hearing some martial arts master say “Just put yourself on the mat.”  So … I just sit, sometimes for a short time, sometimes longer, and take whatever comes my way.

Thoughts sure throw themselves at me, and I’ve learned to welcome them.  The idea of trying to eliminate them feels silly.   My brain is getting quieter but it still spews its output.  This morning, while sitting in my cozy chair, I thought about sex, about the wind that was whipping outside, about the sun that started breaking through my eyelids.  Later, I fantasized in detail about what will happen on the meditation retreat I’m going on in two weeks.  It was so lovely .. and then I noticed what I was doing.  My response was “Oops!”, rather than “Bad Bruce.”  Just more mind stuff, which is perfectly fine.

I settled back into a rhythm of very quiet breathing, in fact silent breathing.  Everything so slow.  The wind buffeted my home.  The sun peeked in and peeked out.  All was well.  Strangely, I had no aches and pains as I sat there.  And I wasn’t nodding off towards sleep, a usual tendency of mine.  I could feel pride settling in, and I smiled.  “Hello, pride.  Thanks for showing up.”  A bit later, it floated away, soon to be replaced by … nothing.  Just breathing.

I have a little Tibetan bowl which I hit with a wooden mallet at the end of my sitting.  How do I know it’s the end?  It just feels right to stop.  I tap the bowl three times, letting the sound hang in the air and completely disappear before I do it again.  That feels right too.

Today I meditated for 50 minutes – neither good nor bad.  I returned to my daily life slow and sweet.  Makes me happy.

Faster Than A Speeding Bullet

I set off today to do some rediscovering.  I started with the gym.  Two weeks of bronchitis have left me weak, lethargic, and constipated.  I know that balance is key … physical, emotional and spiritual.  And that man does not live by Buddha alone.  So off to the  elliptical I went.

As I packed my gym clothes this morning, I selected a vibrant t-shirt that Nona and Lance gave me for Christmas.  It’s a greenish lizard flashing a peace sign on  a mottled purple background.  So cool!  But my reaction today?  Fear.  Fear of what the workouters will think of me.  How strange.  I love wearing funky clothes, especially t-shirts with funny sayings on them, and today’s purple shirt went exceedingly well with my bright orange shorts.  Has Bruce gone on a vacation, sort of missing in action?  I guess I’m allowed that once in awhile.

Happily, I didn’t adjust my wardrobe, and apparently went unnoticed by varied exercisers.  Soon I was flinging all body parts around on the elliptical.  I could feel stats rearing its lovely head (such as total distance covered in 30 minutes), and I tried to get my convalescing body to take it easy.  I was doing a moderate pace on the machine when I realized that I was feeling good.  “But, Bruce, what about an hour later?”  Ignoring this well-meaning but irritating voice, I sallied forth, and ended up doing 4.22 kilometres, the most I’ve done since Jody died.  “Okay, Bruce.  Now moderation.”  Well …

A few years ago at Gold’s Gym (now World Gym), I started loving Jacob’s Ladder.  You strap yourself in and step on a wooden rung, then the next one.  Basically you climb in place.  And it’s a workout.  So early this afternoon, there I was – attaching the belt.  Back in the good old days, the max I had been able to do was 400 feet.  Today I decided that 100 would be a worthy goal.  “Oh, Bruce.  Don’t wreck yourself.”  And I didn’t.  But I did do the 100 feet.

There’s the experience of being in the moment and then there’s pressing towards a goal.  This nice little Buddhist guy has decided to embrace them both.  Why not?  The world of Spirit (what I’ll call the formless) and the world of form (all the people, places and things we run into every day).  Let’s celebrate it all.  So yay for 4.22 and 100.  Nice round numbers.  And they look so good on me when I’m a lizard.

No Bad Guys

Lord Krishna appeared before one king, who was known to be wicked and cruel … “I would like you to travel throughout the provinces of your kingdom and see if you can find one person who is truly good” … “My Lord, I’ve done your bidding, but I have not found one truly good person.”

Then Lord Krishna went to the other court ruled by a famous queen named Dhammaraja, who was known to be kind and gracious … “I would like you to go throughout your kingdom and find one truly evil person” … “My Lord, I have done as you asked, but I have failed my task … I’ve seen many people who act unskillfully.  Yet when I really listened, I only found people who are misguided.  Their actions always came from fear, delusion and misunderstanding.”

Several people have been mean to me in my life, and in my wiser moments I’ve realized that they weren’t evil, but just full of fear.  Perhaps fear of what would be left if they dropped the “act” which they felt they’ve needed to survive.  Sometimes the act is “I know what I’m doing” or “I’m better than these other people” or “Life is a win-lose game.  If I’m going to win, the other person has to lose.”

I remember one particular supervisor from so many years ago.  He hurt people, all sorts of people.  He smiled his watery smile when face-to-face and yet sabotaged us when we were gone.  A friend of mine heard what life was like for this person when he was a child: lonely and suppressed and sad.  It made me think, about him and also about karma.  Whatever energy you put out in life will come right back to you, sooner or later.   I wonder what’s become of my former oppressor, and I feel sad when I imagine the karmic results that are coming his way.

He’s not an evil person.  None of us are.

Struggling

I bet it’s been five days since I’ve written a post, by far a record for me, unless I was away somewhere.  Illness is so humbling.  A few posts back, I was feeling poorly but I still wrote my daily thoughts.  Later, things changed.

I’ve had bronchitis for 13 days now, and the coughing has worn me out, plus my ribs have been getting awfully sore.  Whenever I ate, coughing would start.  And the worst has been the vague nausea I’ve felt after eating.  Didn’t even seem to matter what type of food.

Gosh, I don’t want to sink into “poor me”.  But it’s been quite the experience.  I’ve been worlds away from putting fingertips to keys.  So dull in the head.  Sometimes I’ve felt guilty for not writing, but I’ve usually been able to let that go.  Thank God.  I see my need for rest.

In the back of my agitated head has been the fear that this is not really bronchitis.  It’s lung cancer … exactly what took my lovely wife away from me.  Today, my doctor Julie had me get a chest X-ray, to rule out the really bad stuff.  If I don’t hear back from her by Tuesday, I’m fine.  And she thinks I’m fine.  I thought my meditation practice would prevent terror from seeping through, but good luck with that thought.  Fear has overwhelmed me at times over the past few days.

It’s so amazing not to be me, not to kibitz with folks I meet each day, not to move my body and sweat, not to love deeply.  Just blahness, fear and an overcoat of nausea.

I had bought a ticket for a concert that was held in London last night – a marvelous folk duo from Newfoundland called “The Fortunate Ones”.  Turns out that Catherine and Andrew were recently engaged.  They were so happy on stage.

I sat in the front row, trying not to cough.  A lot of little wheezes.  A couple of times, they asked the audience to sing along … and I couldn’t.  Again such a strangeness for me.  I love belting out the melodies, and sometimes the harmonies.  It’s okay, Bruce.  Your body doesn’t have it right now.

My aliveness returned in the moments when Catherine and Andrew sang to each other, and when each rocked forward towards the loved one, her caressing the accordion and him picking out the melody on his guitar.  It was like they were making love as they leaned in.  So beautiful to see.  And Catherine’s voice especially touched the heavens.

The coughing continued, and the nausea, but the world was a lighter place.  Thank you.

There.  I’ve actually written a post.  Hallelujah.  Hopefully, I’ll talk to you again tomorrow.

Acting – Part 3

Last night, I sat in my man chair and watched my obsession continue to unfold.  Why not find reviews of Jake’s Women on the Internet?  And it was cool.  I found all sorts of amateur productions of the play, and what the reviewers thought of each actor and actress.  Mostly, the Jake’s of this world were doing a bang-up job with the character.

I also looked on Amazon to see what books have been published about Neil Simon.  And guess what?  There’s a volume of monologues from Neil’s plays, including Jake, so I did what any skewed human would do in the circumstances – I snatched it up.  A used copy set me back $ .01 (CAD) plus $6.49 for shipping and handling.  Bargoon!

After such an achievement, I sat some more and wondered what the next expression of my fanaticism would be.  After all, I’d already bought the script and was starting to memorize Jake’s words.  How could I possibly top that?

As I continued to look for reviews, I came upon the official site of Samuel French, the publisher of Neil’s plays.  There was a long list of his creations.  I clicked Jake’s Women and up came a map of North America, with seven green, upside down teardrops scattered over the surface.  It took me a few seconds to absorb what I was looking at … places where the play was being performed, or would be soon.

I know my Great Lakes, and towards the easterly end of Lake Ontario, on the north shore, was a little green blob.  I stared, and then clicked … The Pinnacle Playhouse in Belleville, Ontario; April 7-25, 2015.  Belleville is a city of 50,000 souls, two hours east of Toronto.  And I’m only 2 1/2 hours west of T.O.

Do it!

Do what?

It!

On to the site of the Belleville Theatre Guild.  I could see the evening performance on Thursday, April 23.  I could take the train.  I could find a B&B.

“Well, you can’t just go for one night.  See Friday’s production too!”

“Isn’t that a bit excessive?”

“No, excessive would be watching Saturday’s finale as well.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Thank you.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

You’ll be happy to know that I have done it, sitting in the front row each evening – seats A3, A12 and A9 (that one right in the middle).  I get to study Jake, Julie, Maggie, Molly (ages 12 and 21), Karen, Edith and Sheila … up close and personal.

I leave on VIA Rail from London at 11:00 am on Thursday, April 23 and arrive in Belleville at 5:00 pm, giving me lots of time to detrain (15 minutes), walk to the Place Victoria Place Bed and Breakfast (30 minutes), drop my stuff (15 minutes), walk downtown (20 minutes), eat at a groovy restaurant (60 minutes) and stroll over to the Pinnacle Playhouse like I own the place, all set for the 8:00 pm curtain.

Oh, what a good boy am I!

Daytime on Friday – move and groove in Belleville.  Same for Saturday.  Lots of parks, riverside walks and funky stores to explore.  Benches to sit on as I pour over Neil’s script.  Thoughts to roam in and out of my lovely head.

A leisurely Sunday morning leads naturally to a rendezvous with a train at 3:25 pm.  Gaze out at lots of Ontario from my window seat.  Back in London at 9:00 pm and home in my trundle by 10:00.  A perfectly sane way to spend four days, I’d say.

I wonder what the actors will think when they see me front and centre three nights in a row?  “He must really like the play.”

Indeed I do

Illusions

A man sees a coiled rope in the dusk and mistakes it for a serpent, and is therefore frightened.  When day dawns, he sees that it was only a rope and that his fear was groundless.  The Reality of Being is the rope.  The illusion of a serpent that frightened him is the objective world.

I see lots of serpents.  What if they’re all unreal?

***

This bronchitis is bad.  It causes me great suffering.

I’m going to be alone for the rest of my days.

Jody isn’t with me anymore.

I can’t memorize long speeches, especially the hundreds of lines that Jake speaks in the play Jake’s Women.

I’m getting old.  My skin is sagging.

Nobody understands me.

I don’t have enough energy to write this blog post.

I’m no good at sex.

I should be interested in politics.

I won’t be strong enough in 2016 to ride my bicycle across Canada.

I’ll never get good at meditating.

I should sell my house and settle for a little apartment in London.

I am deficient.

Time is running out for me.

I shouldn’t walk around downtown London at night.

It’s too hard for me to learn how to fingerpick on my guitar.

500 copies of Jody’s book is way too many.

People won’t like my acting.

This summer, when I’m driving through Western Canada on my road trip, I won’t be able to find a place to stay at the end of the day.

Life isn’t fair.

Life takes all my energy away.

“Life is hard, and then you die.”

***

Silly me

Proof Positive

A couple of weeks ago, I thought that by March 6 I’d be pretty close to welcoming a UPS guy on my doorstep, laden with boxes and boxes of Jodiette:  My Lovely Wife.  It wasn’t to be.  I wrote to you about how it took me a couple of hours before I had the gumption to even open the package containing the proof of Jody’s book.  After a quick perusal, I remember thinking that all I needed to do was have Blurb change the colour of the tree painting on the back cover.  Plus make the print level at the bottom of the pages.  No sweat.

But then I looked more carefully.  A very long time ago, someone told me that in your writing, and in your speaking, don’t give the audience any errors that they can focus on, rather than paying total attention to your message.  So … I looked through the 193 pages of our story.  And I found lines such as these:

My   queen   is   safe   at   Victoria   Hospital.        Her   nurses   are   all
marvelous human beings.  I love her quadruple oodles.  All is well.
Thank you for your prayers.  I see them in Jody’s eyes every day.

I loved the words.  I didn’t love the spacing.  What I did in response was spend at least six hours looking for opportunities to put hyphens at the ends of lines, so that there wouldn’t be huge gaps between words.  Not too many hyphens – that would be distracting too.  Moderation in all things, so I’ve been told (but not necessarily lived).  This time, I did.  It looks better.

The image of the tree is so central to Jody’s and my journey.  The back cover of Jodiette is graced by the most lovely of creations, coaxed into existence by Kym Brundritt, an artist from Kingsville, Ontario.  Kym’s tree is radiant … bare curlycue branches set against a yellow background.  Except the proof rendition’s context is a heavy orange.  It doesn’t shine.  My friend Neal has worked his magic on the photo, and now the yellow will reach out and touch the reader, revealing the life of the tree.  I’m happy.

Then there’s the centerpiece of the whole shebang … Jody’s eyes and smile looking out at all of us from the front cover.  The proof was too dark, and too red.  Jody, with a sunburn, was sitting in a dark room of the Chez Temporel restaurant on Rue Couillard in old Quebec City.  Not so.  The photo needs to glow, just as my darling wife did in life.  Just as she still does.  Neal made the adjustments.  I’m happy some more.

On Wednesday I uploaded the second incarnation of Jody’s book to Blurb.  I should have the proof by Friday, March 13.  May it be a lucky day.  And I’m definitely not waiting two hours to tear open the cardboard.

Pathless

Buddhism asserts that the spiritual journey is unique to each individual.  Therefore, of course, it cannot be held, circumscribed, limited, or even ultimately judged by any institution, tradition or external authority.  The unique journey that lies before us does not exist in any text, external person, or religion.  In fact, it does not exist at all, but only lies ahead of us, to be discovered literally as we go.  Thus it is that the spiritual journey cannot in any way be preconceived or predetermined; it is not humanly constructed or fabricated.  The journey to ourselves is truly a journey into the unknown, a setting forth onto a sea that has never before been sailed and never before been fathomed or mapped.

Reginald Ray

So what is spiritual life?  You don’t get to say for me, and I guess I don’t even get to say for me.  It’s unfolding as we speak.  But this doesn’t mean a rejection of the wise teachers who came before, such as Jesus and the Buddha.  No, I can absorb what they say about living a good life, and see to what extent I make it my own.

Take “The Sermon on the Mount” and “The Metta Sutta”, for instance.  Who am I to argue with the Beatitudes, which honour the “merciful”, the “pure in heart”, and “those who hunger and thirst for righteousness”?  Or with the Buddha’s assertion that “Even as a mother protects with her life her child, her only child, so with a boundless heart should one cherish all living beings, radiating kindness over the entire world.”

My conception of Spirit has been nurtured by decades of spiritual practice.  More and more, I breathe life into what I’ve drawn from my fellow travellers, from books, from meditation retreats.  I’m happy about that.

But Reggie Ray is pointing to a mysterious sea.  I don’t know where my voyage is taking me, and you don’t know where yours is taking you.  We’ve thanked the guideposts along the way, but now … there aren’t any.  We point the bow of our ship to the horizon, and wait.  Will we fall off the end of the world?  No.  Will we fly?  Yes, I think so.

I await my future.  I will write a new song and sing it out loud.  And may your melody be sweet.