I walked into the Gregor Samsa bookshop last night not remembering the type of music I’d be hearing.

Two smiling guitarists greeted me.  They were warming up for the show.  Marcel from Rio de Janeiro played lead.  Zander from Ghent was the bass player.  (I hope I haven’t spelled his name wrong.)

I was immediately engaged.  May all performers be nice people.

And then they began playing and singing … mostly samba tunes.  It was magnetic.  I was drawn so easily into their world.

Zander’s eyes were only for Marcel.  He did incredible bass runs without looking at the strings.  Sometimes his eyes rolled so only the whites showed.  Zander was lost in the music.

Marcel sang with such passion, in Spanish I believe.  I understood no words and I understood everything.  And when he sang about Rio, all three of us melted.

I was sitting with my friend Anouk before the concert started.  We caught each other up with the events of the last month …  me Amsterdam, Springsteen, Core Festival; her writing songs, rehearsing, giving a talk on archives.

Anouk asked me “How is the cello playing going?” I cringed. “I haven’t done much.” > “Why not?” > “Fear.” (That I won’t be able to resurrect the quality of playing that I had as a teenager – but I didn’t tell her that.)

I told Anouk that I’d been intending to walk through the doors of the Poel music school but I hadn’t. Staff there had told me to come back at the end of May to find out more about their music training program which starts in September – group cello lessons, music theory and music history. And perhaps to register. More fear.

Anouk just looked at me, softly but with purpose. “Okay, I’ll visit Poel sometime this week.” She smiled.

As Zander and Marcel were about to begin, in walked Anouk’s friend Ann. She sat with us. At the break between sets, Anouk introduced us.

The topics ranged wide but eventually returned to playing the cello. “I have a dream: to sit on the bench in the tiny park by the Oudburg … and play my cello.”

Anouk: “Let’s set a date when you’ll do that. I’ll come.”

Ann: “I will too.”

(Gulp)

I opened my phone calendar. I glanced at July. The 7th spoke to me.

“Friday, July 7 at 2:00 pm.” (Central European Time)

Anouk: “Can you make it at 5:00?”

Bruce: “Yes.”

***

So there you have it, dear friends:

1. Poel’s office opens at 3:30 today. I’ll be there.

2. Wherever you are in the world, think of me on Friday, July 7. Do the math for your time zone.

3. There’s a lot of cello practice between now and then!

I love being in the Evolutionary Collective.  We meet on Zoom for 55-minute sessions.  During part of the time, each of us is paired randomly with another participant.  Together we do the Mutual Awakening Practice (MAP).  Usually a profound sense of connection emerges.

Newbies need to learn the practice.  They enroll in a four-session course.  Last night was the first of four and I was invited to be a support person for the new folks.  I love doing this, welcoming people to something brand new.

The teacher and we support people were meeting twenty minutes before the session started.  I logged in.  Before me in their rectangles were about eight supporters.  The teacher started talking.

No sound.

I don’t thrive in the world of technology.  I know how to navigate Zoom.  I know the basics of how to fix problems.

I contracted.  I also acted because I needed to keep my word.  I left the meeting, turned off my computer, turned it back on, and returned.

No sound.

I chatted with the Zoom host, the person responsible for the technical part of our meeting.  She suggested doing what I had just done.  The next step was to leave again and reboot my modem.

I exited, wondering if the faces on the screen sensed what was happening.  My facial expressions were incredulous … and I kept disappearing!

I turned off the computer and unplugged the modem.  I waited ten seconds.  Probably should have been longer.  Replug, wait for the internet to return, start my computer and rejoin the meeting.  By this time the session had started.  There were many more rectangles than before.

No sound.

(Sigh)

I knew I couldn’t participate without talking and listening, and that my continued presence would mess up the Zoom host’s job of having people paired up.  I chatted with her that I was leaving.

Bye bye.

I e-mailed a techy friend in the Evolutionary Collective, describing my problem. And I realized that I had done all that I knew to do.

***

I was sad that I couldn’t contribute to the human beings who were knocking on the door of MAPs.  I’ve learned to let the emotion be there, to fall into it, and that soon it will lessen.  A few hours later I fell asleep in peace.

It’s so tender to not know.  My heart is open, my brain is active … and the solution doesn’t appear. And now I’m smiling. There’s an immensity here.

In the world of doing things, I’ll continue to problem solve today. We’ll see if my friend knows what to do. And I wonder if Zoom Customer Service is open on a Sunday. I hope so.

In the larger world, I am fine, and I’m being held by spiritual friends within my not knowing. I’ll be there for Session Two.

All is well

De Krook is the modern central library in Ghent.  It opened in 2017 and is now considered to be “the place of inspiration for knowledge, culture and innovation”.  And here I am.

I have a problem.  It’s called the ego.  I’ve written for 63 days in a row on WordPress and Facebook.  I feel the drive for 64!

I was walking in Ghent this morning and came upon the immense architecture of De Krook.  So began a spell of wrong thinking.  “This would be a good subject for today’s writing.”  I could feel the forcing even as I thought the words.  The truth was that I wasn’t drawn to write about the library.  My rule has been “So don’t do it!”  But there was the power of 64 pulsing in my mind.

Sitting in De Krook’s coffee shop with my latté, I decided not to write about this spot.  If nothing magnetized me for the rest of the day, my streak would end.  Take that, dear ego!

After the sipping had ceased, I reasoned that since I’m here, I might as well tour the seven floors. One floor down from main was devoted to “Kinderen” so I started walking down to see what welcomes the kids.

As I descended, there were levels of cushions to my right. For the children to sit and think and read. Very cool.

Then, in the spirit of very important young people, this magnificent object presented itself to me:

A chair for royalty … young royalty. I could have sat down but the chair wasn’t meant for me. I thought of all the children since 2017 who have rubbed the leather arms. Good for them.

More exploring led to a wall with large openings full of soft curving comfiness, perfect for leisurely reading. In one large hole dad and daughter were cuddled with a book. So sweet.

Many steps later I got that De Krook was my subject of the day … the kids’ section. Adults (and hopefully children) had given their input about what they wanted in a library and … Voilà! It came to pass.

So I took the photos that accompany my story. Here’s the last one:

What happens on this floor makes me happy

And I like being happy

About forty years ago I was in a leadership program of the organization Werner Erhard founded … “est”.  It offered retreats and courses to foster personal transformation.  We had homework to be completed before landing in Vancouver, Canada for a weekend of training.

We were asked to be “flat” with our lives before showing up in the meeting room.  If we knew we had problems – large or small – we were to address them so that our energy would be fully available for the learnings of the weekend.

For instance, if had a “withhold” with another person – something I wasn’t saying – the homework was to express that to them.

Then there was the “hands on” stuff to deal with.  What messes were there in our home that called for fixing?  And so … behold the refrigerator.  Foods after the “Best Before” date were to be thrown out and the whole appliance cleaned.

I remember grousing about the fridge.  “What does this have to do with transformation?”  But I did it anyway.  I had a responsibility.  I had agreed to keep my word.

Werner was right.  I felt light on Saturday morning, ready to open.

***

Now I’m in a leadership program of another organization – The Evolutionary Collective.  There are about fifty of us who have agreed to a heightened level of commitment.  We’ve agreed to attend certain meetings unless there’s an emergency.

In Europe I’m six hours later than eastern North America.  We fifty can either attend a Thursday Zoom meeting from 6:30 till 8:00 pm my time on Week One or from 2:00 till 3:30 am on Week Two.  The hours are more gentle for North America because that’s where most of our members live.

For us Europeans, the choice is clear: Week One.

Thursday, May 25 was Week One.  It was also the night of a Bruce Springsteen concert in Amsterdam.  I went.

Which brings us to Thursday June 1: Week Two.

I know what’s needed for my life to be unencumbered.  I’ve had many successes and a few failures in that realm.

Thursday evening, an internet technician was in my apartment until 8:15.  I lay down in bed at 9:00 and set the alarm for 1:30.  At 1:50 the coffee was brewing.  At 2:00 there I was – one of many rectangles on the Zoom screen.

Twice the leader asked us to close our eyes for five minutes.  Red flag. “Uh oh. Don’t fall asleep, Bruce!”  And I didn’t.

I did my best during the meeting but my mind was dull.  Actually I think my presence inspired a few of the North Americans.

By 3:45 my head was on the pillow.  So was my smile.  And I slept.

I’m still a bit wayward in the head. And that’s okay. I learned long ago what works. May I continue remembering.

I’m laughing as I contemplate my words of today.  Is this merely an advertisement – something that would show up in the “Help Wanted” section of the newspaper?  Also, I like including a photo or two in my posts.  The obvious choice would be a picture of a woman.  But who?

Okay … I found an image.  The first thing you readers will see is the title and this woman.  Maybe you’ll think she’s the one.  Except all I know is that she lives somewhere in the world.

Enough analysis, dear man …

***

I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life.  But this morning I got it one more time that I’m not willing to settle.  If “The One” never shows up then I will remain single till the end comes.  Oh, I feel good saying that!

Look at that face.  Look at those eyes. Laugh lines. A real smile. Yep … that’s who I’m looking for. Someone who’s in love with life. Someone who brightens easily.

I bet she sometimes skips down the street. She’s often mistaken for a kid despite her long flow of years. There’s a lilt in her voice. A wonder in her words. A sense of “What if?” What if we do and say whatever is yearning for expression? Possibility.

I don’t know how old she is. I suppose 60 and up would be good since we don’t know how many years I have left on the planet. Or how many years she has.

She loves music. She hums along to songs. And she dances. It would be particularly wonderful if she loved techno music but my small brain wonders how many women in their 60s do that. But really it doesn’t matter how many. I just need one!

She needs to love Ghent because I’m not going anywhere. Is she in Ghent right now? I bet she is. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.

She enjoys sex. Not just the physical union but the passion, the communion, the sense of touching something together that’s vast. And don’t forget cuddling and foot rubbing.

And … she loves to be of service. Her family is the world. She sees the suffering of other human beings and responds with compassion.

I could list a whole bunch of adjectives describing my future beloved but you get the idea.

Oh, and I’ve named her … Elise

The moment … right now. What is there to say about it?

I could evaluate it on a scale of good/bad, better/worse, up/down. I could compare it to previous moments. I could yearn for future moments.

Or … perhaps this moment is perfect because it’s exactly how it is.

I just finished meditating. I have a long history of sitting quietly and letting life open me. I know all about “a good sit” and “a bad sit”. I sense that it’s time to let that go.

I choose to embrace whatever happens. Here are some possibilities, all of which showed up in the last hour:

1. The mind quietens.

2. The flow of energy behind the eyes ceases. All is still.

3. I nod off several times, on the edge of sleep.

4. Thoughts crowd in for awhile.

5. Saliva grows in my mouth and leaks out.

6. I hear the noise of someone walking up the stairs in my apartment building.

7. The shoulders drop away, the body slumps down into the mystery.

***

And it’s all included. It’s all exactly what’s here in the moment. It’s all the meditation.

As Nike says, “Just do it”

The fullness of now will reveal itself

As I look back on the Bruce Springsteen concert last Thursday, there’s a loved song he didn’t sing. It’s one of my two favourites.

There is such sadness here … racial violence, vacant stores on Main Street, companies closing, young people leaving.

There’s the love of your home. Saying goodbye to all you’ve known. A chapter ending. Years later you remember.

Here are the lyrics:

I was eight years old
And running with a dime in my hand
To the bus stop to pick
Up a paper for my old man
I’d sit on his lap in that big old Buick
And steer as we drove through town
He’d tousle my hair
And say, “Son, take a good look around
This is your hometown
This is your hometown
This is your hometown
This is your hometown”

In ’65 tension was running high
At my high school
There was a lot of fights
Between the black and white
There was nothing you could do
Two cars at a light on a Saturday night
In the back seat there was a gun
Words were passed in a shotgun blast
Troubled times had come
To my hometown
To my hometown
To my hometown
To my hometown

Now Main Street’s whitewashed windows
And vacant stores
Seems like there ain’t nobody
Wants to come down here no more
They’re closing down the textile mill
Across the railroad tracks
Foreman says, “These jobs are going, boys
And they ain’t coming back
To your hometown
To your hometown
To your hometown
To your hometown”

Last night me and Kate we laid in bed
Talking about getting out
Packing up our bags, maybe heading south
I’m thirty-five, we got a boy of our own now
Last night I sat him up behind the wheel
And said, “Son, take a good look around
This is your hometown”

This is your hometown … your hometown

And here is the song, performed by Bruce and the E Street Band in London in 2013. Especially listen to the last minute, to the audience joining in.

I wonder what was in the heart of each person who sang along

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=KZ3BJYx43y0&feature=share

Here I roll … on the train out of Brussels towards Ghent – only forty minutes.  I’m going home.

I’ve recovered a lot from Saturday’s dancing.  Thirty-six hours later there’s still a residue of fatigue.  And I don’t care – I danced!

Now home on the Oudburg.  I slept for awhile.  I unpacked.  I washed my compression stockings.  I went back to bed.

My neighbour Dirk has left me two cards under the door.  The first is a bunch of people dancing.  He says I’m the one in the middle:

The second one says “Chapeau!”, congratulating me for my senior wiggling.  Thank you, Dirk.

Hunger has brought me to McDonald’s, the best I can do today.

I’m looking out the window at folks sitting on the terrace.  A dad is having his young kids pose for a picture.  They offer him thumbs up and big smiles.

St. Nicholas Church across the way reminds me of why I love Ghent … but the people far outshine the architecture. 

Right in front of me is a 30-something fellow and a woman who appears to be his mom.  She’s unsteady on her feet.  Her hair is really short.  Could it be it’s growing back after cancer radiation?  It looks like she’s having trouble swallowing her milkshake.  He stands close.  Few words between them but the contact is there.  Nice.

Five young boys amble by.  They’re kicking and shoving each other, grinning all the while.  Eventually they disappear beyond yonder building.  The shoves are still there.

***

Journey’s end

Thanks for coming along

Did I mention that sleep is a good thing?

As darkness fell, lights brightened the trees … and we danced like there was no tomorrow.

Then the wall …

The body said “Stop this immediately and go home!”  I listened.  I never made it back to the main stage for a photo but the spot where I was dancing gives you a good sense of things.

But no more.  I slumped to my locker and then ten minutes to the 10:30 bus stop (not 12:27).

The electronic sign said 11 minutes to the 260.  Then, to my half-shut eyes there slowly appeared a sequence of numbers – something like 9, 8, 6, 5, 6, 5, 4, 3, 5 …  Maybe you get the idea but I sure didn’t.  Perhaps if I wasn’t exhausted I could have coped better with the never-arriving bus.  I started looking for a rock I could throw at the sign.

Anyway, by 11:15 I was pulling the covers up to my neck.

***

Okay … I’m really tired. I’m on the terrace of Delizia, coaxing energy from my latté. The lovely woman running the show just placed a metal object on my table and it took me thirty seconds to figure out what it was. Voilà:

Ash tray!

So what, oh what is today going to be? Lifting a finger feels like an effort. What about all the other muscles of the body? The Core Festival opens in twenty minutes. I’ll take my time walking there. We’ll see what is revealed.

***

I’m lounging in the shade, earplugs inserted, watching Glints roam the stage and rev up the crowd. On the big screen I see lots of folks bouncing up and down.

I’m jealous … because I have nothing. I’m ready with my Africa map t-shirt and dancing running shoes but all my tissues are sagging. I don’t know how I’ll feel in two hours but there are no cool moves in the bod in current time.

A young couple just came up to me, loving my Africa shirt. We talked for a few minutes about dancing and Ghent and Antwerp. I’m smiling. Still pooped but people show me that it’s not important. They are.

Two teenaged girls come by. They love my shirt too. They live in Ghent and ask me to wear Africa during Patershol Feesten – the August festival in my neighbourhood. “Sure, I’ll do that.” > “Good. We’ll find you.” The Feesten is from August 11 to 13. Guess I’ll have a stinky shirt by the last day.

This is so eerie. I left the Core Festival mid-afternoon because my body was done. Not a minute of dancing today. I’ve just slept for two hours at the Airbnb and still I’m weary. It’s 8:30.

Today didn’t follow the expected script, or even a weird and wonderful variation. And I can live with that.

See you tomorrow, as I return to Ghent

Let’s start with Five.  When I imagined this weekend, I knew I had to produce a result: be the Zoom host for an internet call on Friday at 2:00 pm, when I’d have a late night after the Springsteen concert on Thursday.  And between the two moments was a train trip between Amsterdam and Brussels.

ALERT!

I’ll continue reminiscing about yesterday in a moment.  But now is pretty precious.  I’m eating breakfast in Simit House.  The young server is delightful.  She so much wants me to enjoy the Turkish foods spread before me.  Her name is Yagmur.

I tell her about the Springsteen concert.  She hasn’t heard of him.  I ask her to look up the YouTube video of “Badlands”.  “I’ll play it right now!”  And she did.

The next thing I knew, on came “Dancing in the Dark” and I was standing in front of the folks at the next table … gyrating.  They applauded.  Life is good.

***

Okay.  Where was I?

I remember thinking “Uh oh … I’m exhausted.  How am I going to get the job done in Brussels?”  No doubt my lips set hard and I knew I would.

I caught an early train from Amsterdam and I thought I’d given myself enough of a cushion.  I exited at the Brussels Noord station and started looking for a “Buses” sign.  None to be seen by these tired eyes.  Somebody said “Over there.  Go back through the station.”  I wandered in that general direction and found myself on a street corner.  A bus floated by but I didn’t know where to stand.

Thanks to the kindness of another stranger I was pointed in the right direction.  Bus 260 stops here and will be along in fifteen minutes.  My hand gripped tighter on the suitcase handle as two buses approached.  The first one bore a number other than 260 and the second had no sign.

A minute later both buses took off.  And the rear window of the second bus showed “260”.  The next one would be along in an hour.  (Sigh)

I finally got to my Airbnb and scrambled to get my laptop set up.  I’d found out weeks ago that Hendrick has good internet.  I was settled and ready at 1:50!

No sweat.

I had two Zoom calls yesterday.  Thank God I didn’t have a job to do for the second one.

No food since 8:00 am and not much sleep was a bad combo.  I shuffled down the street with my cell phone till life presented me with De Klok in the town of Meise.

Half an hour later my lips touched the most exquisite pasta I’ve had outside of Italy.  Veggie linguini that likely was made in heaven.  Eye-opening olive oil and vegetables al dente.  I took small portions rolled lovingly onto my spoon.  O my God!  I was steps away from a four-lane highway full of zooming metal objects.  But really … I was somewhere unknown.

I thanked the chef and told him about me in Italy.  He’s from Sicily.  We shook hands and smiled.

I wonder how I got home.  I only had one beer, a groovy 10% Belgian one named … ?

Interlude: I just spent ten minutes on Google trying to find the name of the beer I had last night.  Quite obsessive of me.  And … success.

Maredsous Tripel

***

Back to today.  I’m sitting on a bench under the trees of Ossegem Park.  A DJ  is doing her thing.  Actually I have no idea how she manages the sounds that are twiddling my fingertips.  Twenty people are standing in front of the stage, talking rather than moving.  But it’s only 1:20.  The Core Festival opened at noon.  Much more to come.

Now I’ve been dancing in the sun for awhile, wearing my new and improved costume.  Here’s what I look like:

I’ve got a few thumbs up for my shirt.  My dancing?  Not so much.  But who cares?

I wore my hiking boots again and they’re getting caught on the wood again.  Tomorrow it’s running shoes.

I’m officially tired right now and a Coca-Cola Zero and I are having a good time under the trees.  Soon it’ll be time to explore a new stage.  There are four.

I discovered a stage with a dirt dance floor!  My feet are like bunnies (well, mature rabbits).  I feel 70 again. There were hundreds of us moving up, down and sideways. We were packed in but my arms wiggled high, and occasionally there was enough room sideways.

I found a late bus towards home – the 251 leaves the park at 12:27.  The last 260 goes at 10:30.  I must remember to wave at the 251 driver.

I was just thinking of bringing today’s blog to a close when three enthusiastic teenagers came up to me, asking for a photo for some publication. “Best dressed festival goers” – that’s me!

I told them I was too shy and then immediately posed with my arm over the fellow’s shoulder. So I’m basically famous.

Tomorrow I’ll post a photo of tonight’s main stage but I’m done writing for a Saturday.

Au revoir