I’m sitting in the Gent Sint-Pieters train station. These young women walked by as I was heading to a chair. Moments before, the hand of the one on the left was nestled in her friend’s arm … so the three moved as one. I smiled at the simple love I saw.
***
Yesterday morning I woke up with these words:
What if it’s all love? … No matter what
And the thought has stayed.
What if we’re all enveloped in the same cloud … of love? Perhaps it’s the air we breathe, unknowingly.
Maybe we bathe in it, luxuriate, as we move through our day. We walk graciously, we rush ahead, we stumble … and still the droplets of love drift down.
We’re peaceful, angry, sad, bubbly and hurt. We’re stubborn, relaxed, friendly and unfriendly.
“No matter what happens in life, be good to people,” Swift said in 2023. “Being good to people is a wonderful legacy to leave behind.”
One person who recently wrote about Taylor on Facebook was sad and angry at the haters:
Your daughters, nieces, and your nephews are watching you run your mouth. And they are seeing the world hate a woman who does so much good, simply because she exists in their line of sight.
Did you know that Taylor Swift quietly donates mass amounts of money to local food banks in every city she performs in?
And online reactions came swiftly …
She is amazing, generous and kind, not to mention getting people to sign up to vote and giving her drivers and staff large bonuses.
So self righteous you are! Swift has become trashy adult entertainment not fit for your daughter or anyone else’s daughter to watch.
…
So glad. You could not have said it better. Thank you.
Sick of hearing about her … me unfollowing you.
…
She brings some joy to this sad world of negative people!!
She’s a molded image that her record label has created. Period.
…
I admire her for the good she has done. She will leave a legacy of humanitarianism. For that, I have a lot of admiration and respect for Taylor Swift.
Prove it. You do realize she has publicists and spin doctors that form her image, right? I’m not saying she doesn’t but I’m not going to blindly believe something about a person who has been molded into an image by her record label and publicists. There are plenty of people behind Taylor Swift shaping her image like clay.
…
Brilliant … in Gratitude for this statement today.
She is trashy adult entertainment. She is the opposite of a good role model.
…
She is an amazing business woman who cares about human rights, equal rights, and children’s rights. In addition, she is a brilliant songwriter. Bravo to her!
Taylor Swift dates guys so she can write a breakup song about them. I don’t think she’s dating for love – I think she’s dating for creativity.
***
I don’t know Taylor Swift. I don’t know her music. Whatever her gifts and deficits, she deserves a small, white candle, as do we all.
And one final quotation, appreciating the man or woman who originally posted on Facebook:
I’m going to a playreading tonight. Maybe eight of us will divide up the parts and launch into “Long Day’s Journey Into Night”. We’ll have fun, inhabiting roles that show all sorts of lives.
As Christmas approaches, I’m remembering a blessed tradition of mine: reciting the poem “Twas The Night Before Chridtmas” to kids. Thousands of them have sat before me to hear the story of Santa Claus.
Now there are virtually no children in my life, but why not say the poem to adults? They’re just big kids! So at our intermission tonight I’ll ask my dramatic colleagues if I can tell them about Santa. I think they’ll say yes. And perhaps the light in my eyes will join with light in theirs.
I learned “Twas” in 1985 or so. Virtually forty years of loving the old man with a red suit and a big white beard. More than half my life making kids and beyond laugh.
I’m smiling as I think of two lines:
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly
It took me forever to memorize that one!
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle
Such poetry … how I’ve loved uttering those words over the years.
Yes, that’s it … open your mouth wide. Let what’s inside come out. Fill the room with the spirit of the song.
I did all that last night, singing “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down” in the café at Minard. For the first time in my singing life, I was more excited than scared. Excited to share the sorrow of the person speaking … to empathize with another human being and hopefully have the forty people listening feel it too.
Before I sang, here’s about what I said:
I like singing songs about people whose lives are very different from mine. This song is about a drug addict. I knownothing about this life. I’ve taken marijuanatwice – that’s the sum of my drug experience.
And I don’t know depression. I’ve often been sad, but not the lingeringdespair, the hopelessness, the dreams that have disappeared.
I want to feel these things and Kris Kristofferson’s “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down” helps me do that.
And so I opened my mouth and sent the words to the back of the room. Lyrics that stab, such as “The beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad, so I had one more for dessert.”
I met people’s eyes. Many of them met mine. A young woman laid her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder. The bartender near the back watched me.
Halfway through the song, I forgot the next words. And then came my favourite moment … I smiled. It thrilled my soul to feel the lightness. My singing was contact far more than performance.
Ten seconds later, the lyrics returned to my mind, and I returned to the emptiness of addiction.
Before I get into the topic that’s swimming in my mind, I thank the woman who was sitting at the next table in Bakkerij Aernoudt this morning. I’d just been to the pharmacy to pick up a jar of Pantaprazol … and I couldn’t get the lid off.
My ego was well engaged! I looked for a trick, a subtle little twist that maybe I’d missed. Nothing. I cranked ‘er hard with all the muscles my right hand could create. Solid. An early grave appeared in my sagging head.
I looked over to my unknown friend and asked her to help. Her hands turned. The lid came off. Easy … except when it isn’t.
It’s okay: older body, younger heart. I thanked her with a smile.
***
My most precious moments are when I connect with another human being. Two pairs of soft eyes finding each other. I usually experience this when I’m paired with someone in Evolutionary Collective meetings on Zoom. And often in my Gent life.
Sometimes I’m lost in my own thoughts, far from a union with anyone, oblivious to the spirit of the people around me.
Frequently, though, I’m seeing the human beings passing by. I’m loving them in the eyes. In those moments, rarely does anyone look at me. They’re busy in their world.
And so the connection is one way.
That’s better than “no way” but part of me wonders whether I’m doing any good. Is the other person sensing any well-wishes flowing from me to her or him? My guess is they don’t. At least consciously. But is it possible that I’m reaching them in some realm beyond our minds? Yes … it is possible.
I’ll keep throwing love into the street without any evidence that I’m contributing to other lives. Maybe I’ll toss the word “evidence” to the winds and watch it drift away. Bye, bye.
***
Tonight I’m singing in the open mic session at Minard. There’ll probably be fifty souls in the audience. For the first time in my singing life, I’m more excited than scared. Wow! That’s so cool.
May the words and the melody and my voice touch those present. Perhaps it will be “Connection Two Ways” this evening.
Before I get to Mr. Nelson, this morning deserves attention. I sat in Jaggers on the Vrijdagmarkt square in Gent, enjoying my croissant, yogurt and granola. I talked to Sabrina, another regular, and watched her French bulldog Diva visit newcomers for a nuzzle. I smiled a lot because the doggie knew how to connect!
As I sipped my latté on the terrace, a young police officer rolled by on her bicycle. She raised a hand and a smile to the employee setting up tables in the restaurant beside us. And then she was gone. Only a moment of contact, but contact nonetheless.
Both experiences lifted me.
***
I love Willie Nelson. His baritone voice has a unique vibration that floods my insides. Couple that with tender lyrics and I am touched. The songwriter’s words seep unimpeded into my soul, helping me truly know the humanity of the person sung about.
And that’s what I want in life, to know the other person, to feel their joys and sorrows. To have them get that I am with them. Not an opponent or a ghost passing on the street … but a brother.
When I sing, I want the audience members to feel other lives. Willie helps me here. And he helps me choose what songs I will learn and share.
And so we come to “Always On My Mind”. I feel the sadness of loving less than fully, of being inattentive to the beloved, of falling way short of my intention.
Thanks largely to your rendition, Willie, I will learn the song, and sing it at open mic sessions in February … God willing.
1. The first is this morning. I was having breakfast at Lunchroom Martens on the Oudburg. I lifted my latté cup from its saucer and revealed this beauty:
The elegance of the arms … the flow of the dance.
2. I wrote a text to my friends in the Evolutionary Collective a few days ago, saying that I’d been discharged from the Düsseldorf hospital and I was coming home.
It’s a four-bus trip. Easy
Minutes later I re-read. Oops. I corrected:
It’s a four-hour bus trip. Easy
Much more understandable.
3. I was walking on the Veldstraat yesterday. Here come four people wearing purple jackets. Previously I’d made the mistake of thinking such folks were Proximus employees (Internet) because they wear jackets that are the same shade of purple.
This time I walked up to the four and asked who they were. “We’re Community Guards” is how they answered, translating from the Dutch. They answer questions about Ghent. So I asked “What is the meaning of life?”
It’s different for each person, responded one of the women
So true.
4. I was strolling by Mister Minit, also on the Veldstraat. The owner has helped me several times with key cutting and shoe repair. I looked at him through the window and couldn’t remember his name. And I wanted to know his name. So I went in.
He was busy with a customer and the interaction kept on going – maybe five minutes. A small part of me turned to leave but a bigger part stayed put. “My time will come.” And his name was “Steven”.
5. I was sending Christmas cards to my brother-in-law Lance and his family in Canada. I sat in Izy Coffee with the cards and Google Lens, getting the translations of the Dutch greetings. For each of my five loved ones, I took the card I had chosen, copied the message in English, wrote a personal note, sealed the envelope and wrote the name on the front. Easy and fun.
Five cards later, I was proud of myself. Now to the postal outlet to buy a big envelope and get my greetings sent off to Canada, in plenty of time for Christmas.
I sorted through the envelopes. Three had names and two were blank. (Sigh) So who was who?
Then a smile. “Oh, Bruce.” I tore open one of the blank envelopes, saw who it was for, and labelled the other one with the correct name. Before me sat one mangled rectangle of paper.
Oh well. I walked the twenty minutes to the bookstore where I bought the cards. The clerk kindly gave me another envelope and soon my postal service was complete.
It seems like half a lifetime ago that I walked into Mitsubishi Electric Halle in Düsseldorf to hear Jacob Collier. Sadly, I had a “tripus interruptus”.
I was excited. I had watched two stunning YouTube videos of Jacob performing magic with the audience. Here I am in front of the hall, with a song in my heart and a delicious pizza in my tummy:
This was going to be amazing. Jacob would be directing us as a choir, pulling four or more harmonies from us as he sang the melody. We were ready.
I enjoyed talking to the couple beside me before Jacob came onstage. They were from the northern part of Germany. The conversation was easy and lilting. After awhile, a message appeared in my head: “Ask them how German people today feel about Hitler and the Nazis.”
Ouch. That was too dangerous, said I. But another I asked the question, admitting to them that I was scared. They were so open in their replies, reflecting on the sadness and a lingering guilt in the background, even though neither of them were alive during World War II.
And then Jacob. As his heart opened and invited ours to join, I drank in the sea of humanity before me:
Marvelous. They’re singing. They’re together … along with me. What can be created in the world with such union?
There were many magic moments for me during the two hours. And much disappointment as well. Some of the music was too loud, more noise than melody, with multi-coloured strobe lights on the edge of assault. And sometimes far too much ego from Mr. Collier in my opinion.
Usually concerts are not a complete field of bliss for me. There are moments that linger in my soul. As it was with Jacob.
He gave us an exquisite rendering of “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You”. We sang. I videoed it but so far Jetpack tells me that it won’t play. (Sigh)
The last note stays in my heart. Seven thousand of us singing “You”. I pray that you get to hear the moment. If the video doesn’t play for you, I’ll try sending it again later in the day.
The postscript to all this was a nausea that grew during the latter part of Jacob’s concert. Food poisoning later took me over. I thank God that it exploded well after the concert, well after we sang “You”.
After being discharged from hospital on Tuesday, I had three hours of daylight left to explore Düsseldorf centrum. How strange to have been in the city for three days and to hardly know it at all.
It was Christmas market time. So many lights, food stalls and rosy-cheeked people enjoying their family and friends. I stared at the true life around me.
Google Maps showed me Hofgarten, a city park with a meandering lake. It looked marvelous and my feet led me onward.
Once by the water, I found a bench for enjoyment. A huge heron was wading in the shallows, watching to see if I was dangerous. (He’s hidden behind the tree.) Seagulls soared and landed and soared again. The lights twinkled. Folks strolled. Finally … the real Düsseldorf!
I lingered. After all, I was on vacation.
Across the way, a daddy pretended to race his young daughter. She was too fast for him, and squealed in delight at her victory. Marvelous.
Deeper into the park, I came upon this statue and pool. Three kids hugging each other, and looking down at … what?
I looked more closely at the direction of their gaze. At the edge of the pool sat three frogs, hugging each other, looking up. So much fun.
I wandered down holiday streets towards the Düsseldorf central station. Thought I’d scout out a place for the next day’s breakfast, before taking the Flixbus home to Gent.
I underestimated two things:
1. The size of the station. It was huge.
2. How exhausted I was. The walk wasn’t really long but I wasn’t really able. The final fifteen minutes back to the Airbnb were s…l…o…w.
***
Wednesday was the four-hour bus trip. I saw lots of stuff in Germany, The Netherlands and Belgium through my big window but those sights were nothing compared to the star of the journey:
Bruce's Blog 