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What Came Before

Be Here Now is a monumental spiritual book written in 1971 by Ram Dass. It was one of the first expressions in North America of living in the moment, feeling the all of it, whether that was beauty or agony or anything between. Don’t be caught in the woes of the past or the unknowns of the future.

All well and good, and valuable. But there is a place for flowing towards the evolving that is to come, and for allowing past events to wash over us. Tonight was a visit to the land of before.

I went on a nighttime tour of Ghent centrum with an historian named James and about fifteen learners. The darkness above the evening lights of the city showed me the way to long ago. What drove the people of centuries past? What dominated the culture? Tonight there was a lot of nasty stuff on display.

“When the people of Ghent refused to pay extra war taxes in 1540, Emperor Charles made the notables of Ghent go around with a noose around their neck, as a sign that they deserved the gallows. To this day, the noose is the symbol of proud resistance to any form of tyranny and misplaced authority.” What’s missing from this account is the fate of those seventeen civic leaders. Charles decided not to hang them. Instead he had their heads cut off.

We stood in Vrijdagmarkt, an ancient square with a long history of coronations … and executions. I felt long dead human beings, some no doubt waving flags of celebration, and others yelling “Off with his head!” The whole symphony of human behaviour. The most heinous crime back then was apparently circulating counterfeit coins.

We paused before the stone walls of the Old Meat Market Hall. The rich people of the past went inside to buy choice cuts of meat. The poor folks lined up before little shacks attached to the main building. Their dinner consisted of entrails … whatever was left after the good stuff was sold. For these people gossiping wasn’t a good idea. If you were caught, your ears were nailed to the market hall walls for 24 hours. People would wake up and head over to the market for their supplies, wondering who they’d see impaled. The job of decent folks was to throw rotting fruit at the transgressors.

James did a masterful job of painting pictures of the past – some of them inspiring but most deadly. I could give you many more examples but that’s enough revulsion for a day. All I can say is …

Thank God for evolution

May we learn from prior meanness and ignorance

A Young Man of the Mountains

Today it was time to unpack all the boxes that had crossed the ocean. My bed soon became a sea of flotsam and jetsam. At the bottom of one box were some old photos, including … this one.

This is a wayfarer brought back from time, from 1974 to be exact. The Toronto kid had discovered the Rocky Mountains of Alberta. He fell in love with the wildness of Waterton Lakes National Park. He led newbie employees of the Prince of Wales Hotel into the backcountry amid turquoise lakes, switchback trails, grand vistas and peace.

I know this guy. He still exists! Just a different flavour, more attuned to the beauty of an ancient city than to the sunset over the peaks. But in his heart he still wears the t-shirt saying “Get High On Mountains”. The slopes are different now. Music now is a stronger call than mountain passes but the joy of companionship within the adventure is still there.

“Let’s go there, wherever there is, together. Let’s peek past the edge of the world to see what is revealed. Let us be simple, feeling the rhythm of the legs and the notes. Let us be sweetly exhausted in the journey. Let us be free.”

Shall We Read A Play Together?

Marvels continue to visit my life. Gregor Samsa is a bookstore on the Oudburg, owned by Harry from the UK. Last night nine of us sat there in a circle and read the play Hedda Gabler, written by the Norwegian playright Henrik Ibsen in 1891. I’ve never done such a thing.

There were four acts. At the beginning of each, Harry asked us what part we wanted to play. I got to be a shallow husband, a conniving judge, and the person giving stage directions. So cool!

Here’s a sample of the characters, courtesy of Wikipedia:

“Newly married and bored with both her marriage and life” (Hedda)

“An academic who is as interested in research and travel as he is enamoured with his wife” [more actually] (George)

“Desperately wants Hedda and her nephew to have a child” (Aunt Julie)

“Nervous and shy, in an unhappy marriage” (Thea)

“An unscrupulous family friend” (Judge Brack)

“Destroyed his reputation in society by spending his money on depravity” (Eilert)

I had to read plays in high school. Even if I understood all the words, digesting these works was usually a tedious task. “Just tell me what I need to know for the exam.” As an adult, the number of plays I’ve read is approximately zero. Lots of novels, but the constant dialogue in plays wasn’t for me. (I said)

And then there was a circle of human beings, surrounded by tall bookshelves and accompanied by various beverages. I got to inhabit George, not just read his words. Inhabit someone I didn’t like. Spouting on and on about his oh so essential research into a tiny slice of life. Hardly a kind look over to Hedda. A world away from cuddling on the couch.

Oh … it was rock and roll! Stilted language grew in my mouth into a vacant tone of voice. Who cares if George was thoroughly not me? During Act 1, Bruce be damned! Bring on George. And so it was with my literary companions. I could feel each of us, page by page, growing into our parts. Sometimes the voice was strident, at other times a whisper. The stand-ins for Hedda and George often glanced across the room at their adversary. This was no longer Ghent. We were home in Oslo.

It took us nearly three hours to read Hedda Gabler. Time well spent. As the last words on the last page were spoken, we the people sitting in Gregor Samsa burst into applause.

A fine time was had by all.

Pillows

I often think that breakfast is a good idea and I have the perfect place for it about 50 metres from my home – Broodjeszaak Martens. Liva and her daughter Fran have been so welcoming to me whenever I show up.

Sometimes I’ve sat at the counter with my nose pressed up against the window, watching the flow of humanity stroll or ride by on the Oudburg. I love watching the infinite variety.

Today I took a table towards the back of the café, still facing the street. I like long views wherever I can find them. Please don’t make me face a wall.

As you can see, my view included a shelf festooned with red pillows. You may have to zoom in to see what each of them says: “I love you”. Isn’t that the sweetest interior decoration you can imagine? Far better than “Seating limit 20 minutes”.

I love those three words. I love when they’re said in their entirety. Somehow “Love,” at the end of a letter just doesn’t cut it. “Love you” is better but it leaves out who’s doing the loving.

We need more “I love you”s spoken from one soul to another. These are words that are so often withheld between loved ones. I think it’s the biggest “withhold” on the planet.

So … I promise you that the next time I’m in the presence of someone I love, they’ll hear about it.

My Second Favourite Thing About Ghent

You might think that my fav would be the old buildings. Or the rivers and bridges. Or the terraces … also known as patios in Canada.

You’d be wrong.

My number one favourite thing is the people. I can feel the friendly energy in this city and it often comes to my table when I sit down in a pub. Many folks are happy to talk. Of the 400,000 residents, about 80,000 of them are post-secondary students. Ghent is ancient and young. I call it home.

But then there’s my number two favourite. You could guess until the cows come home and not find the answer. Go ahead … knock yourself out.

…………………………………………………………..

Nope. All of your ideas are simply wrong. Would you like a hint? Okay, it’s a living being. And I’ve already mentioned humans as #1 so that’s not it.

The aardvarks, you say? No, I’m pretty sure none of them hang out around here.

All right … it’s a living being that flies. I’ve seen thousands of them since I arrived. They zoom along the Leie River near my home, especially at sunrise and just before sunset. They swoop left and right, they soar, they dive, and I can’t pull my eyes away.

I suppose I’m the only one in town with a seagull fetish but that’s fine. I position myself at a table beside the river on the terrace of the ‘t Kanon pub and watch the show. Couples nearby gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes – I raise my face to the birdie sky.

Today it was sunset before I reached my spot. For the first five minutes there were no seagulls. Also for the second five minutes. I sighed in the probability that I was too late. No gliding wings this evening. It was bittersweet. All I wanted was one gull to show me her majesty. Just one. During the daylight I had seen so many. Now I just wanted one.

For many years I’ve reflected on the absence of something that often is present. The loved one lingers after leaving. The air still ripples with a subtle energy. Usually I smile at the recognition of something beyond the consensus reality. And I smiled tonight.

***

Then a solitary gull grazed the rooftops on its way home …

Tomorrowland

Okay, a skill-testing question:

What’s my favourite type of music?

If you know my history, you’d probably say Bruce Springsteen and Lady Gaga. I love those two … but you’d be wrong.

If you knew of my soujourns in Koerner Hall in Toronto, and my youth as a cello player, classical music might come to mind. I love symphonies with a full orchestra. But again you haven’t found the mother lode.

Are you ready?

Techno or EDM.

Driving beats, all electronic. Fabulous light shows. And dancing! I love the DJ Tiesto and the tunes he spins.

I’ve never been to an EDM festival. I suppose everyone will be twenty. I’ll dance like them but I’ll get tired faster. More breaks. And then back at it.

I arrived in Belgium ten days ago with visions of Tomorrowland in my heart. That’s the techno festival in the appropriately named town of Boom, in eastern Belgium.

Awhile ago I registered for Tomorrowland so I could have a chance of getting a ticket. The pre-sale (with discounted prices) was on January 28. Regular prices on February 4

“I’m going to Tomorrowland” sang in my heart.

I was all set at 5:00 pm on the 28th. I entered the ticket shop beforehand and then the process was random. I lounged on the sofa while staring at my Samsung screen. I waited. Eventually a sign showed up saying that all the discount tickets were sold. Come back next week.

(Sigh)

On Saturday I was ready again. Surely they’ll be many thousands of tickets this time. Bruce and Boom sounded so good.

When I entered the ticket shop before 5:00, a sign told me not to refresh the page or I’d be shunted to the end of the line.

“I’m a smart guy. I can do that.”

5:05 … 5:10. Nothing. I got up to do something, phone in hand. My time in history was approaching!

As I sat down again, I glanced down at the screen. It was the Tomorrowland home page. I guess my jiggling and wiggling had refreshed the page.

“You, Mr. Bruce, are at the end of the line.”

(Sigh again)

The end of the story is that I’m not going to Tomorrowland in 2023.

What I am going to is a smaller EDM festival – Core, which will be for two days in late May in Brussels. What the hell! I’m going to dance with a few thousand fewer of my best friends.

Give me the dance, the lights, the bass notes roaming through my body. I’ll take Brussels, thank you.

Someone Is Smiling On Me

I knew Friday would be a big day. It was time to register with the city of Ghent. My visa to live in Belgium was approved four weeks ago, while I was in Canada. The Belgian Consulate in Montreal attached my brand new visa to the passport and mailed it back to me in Toronto. After I landed in Brussels last Saturday, the rule was that I had eight days to register with Ghent. I tried on Wednesday but the Ghent Administration Office was closed until Friday because they were moving to a new building.

Okay, those are the details. On Friday, I put all the originals of the necessary documents in my little backpack and started walking to Woodrow Wilsonplein, the square in Ghent where the office is. Momentous. Changing countries. New city. New home.

I took a number and after twenty minutes walked up to a friendly service representative. All that happened was that I was given an appointment for February 21. The cool thing was how welcoming she was. And making the appointment was good enough to fulfill my eight-day responsibility.

There was a skip in my step as I wandered away from the office. Soon I was beside the Leie River, and a row of blue metal chairs invited me to take a load off … to celebrate. So I did. My mind was as airy as the seagulls flying by. I watched two guys on the far shore having an animated conversation. The tram whizzed by on the nearby Veldstraat. I love the ring of its bell. Folks filled the street.

I was a smiley type of guy. All was well. Why not mosey over to one of my favourite pubs – Café de Loge – for a thrilling Belgian beer? Why not indeed? I raised my bod from the chair and headed off down a marvelous curving street full of buildings that are 200-300 years old. I felt LIGHT!

Wait a minute – a little too light. I reached behind for the backpack strap … and it was not to be found. I uttered a well-known expletive and whirled around. Passport, visa, originals of essential documents – O my God, please may they be there! Around one corner, now two. The third one would give me a view of those blue chairs. I had put my backpack on the ground beside the rightmost one.

The corner of the last building, and then revealed was my backpack, sitting on top of the chair. O my God again! Somebody moved it. As my legs sped up my feet, and I was only metres away, there stood a young man. I pointed to my chest. He nodded … and smiled.

“I hoped you’d come back.” Me too. “I didn’t look inside. You’re very lucky.” Agreed.

We talked for a few minutes, after I had ripped open the pack and found everything intact. He was a nice guy, a really nice guy.

Thank you, whoever is watching over me in life. (Sigh) I am blessed.

Perhaps Dancing Is In Order

First things first: I now live in Ghent, Belgium. Still a Canadian citizen but a Belgian resident. I’ll have much more to say about this … soon.

This building is in Ghent centrum (downtown). These folks spark something in me – an urge to move. Isn’t that what we human beings are meant to do? Running, skipping, sauntering, meandering, jumping, rolling – you get the idea.

I look at these folks up high and wonder. Maybe we’re meant to be upside down. To flow outwards as we wave our funky hats. To be silly. The best dancing for me is just to throw everything around and see what happens. The legs twitch and wobble. The arms head out on unknown voyages. The head tilts and rotates. I bet the ears even wiggle!

Usually we sit so nicely, unblissfully unaware of the rhythms that life offers. So often we are bordered and confined. Not the elevated dancers of Ghent! They know how to explode.

Beginning or Responding

It’s been sixteen months since I’ve tapped on these keys. Back then, I decided that virtually no one was reading my stuff … so why bother? A diary doesn’t interest me. Touching other people’s lives does.

So here I am. My logical mind says that even if I start up again, still nobody will read and ponder and respond. For all I know, my WordPress and Facebook posts have contributed to many lives. I just don’t see the evidence.

What if I create without expecting anything to come back? How’s that for a concept? I’ll simply begin – lately from scratch. I’ll simply pour out my mind and heart, trusting that the world will be a wee bit better because of it.

What if all that matters is what we fling out into life? What if the returning energy is not important? Yes, my mind says yes to the good responses: appreciation, respect and love. Is it that weird to keep on truckin’ when boredom, disdain and distance show up? No, it’s not.

I think I’ll sit here at my laptop a few days a week and see what bubbles up from my heart. Bruceness will emerge in its variety of expressions.

It’s time for the new.

Light Arrives

There was an old Hassidic rabbi who was asked by his students …

“There are special prayers we’re supposed to make just as the day begins.  But how can we know the moment of dawn when we’re supposed to make these prayers?”

“Is it when you can see a tree in the distance and tell whether it’s an olive tree or a plum tree?”

“No,” he said.

“Is it when you can see an animal on the hillside and know whether it’s a sheep or a goat or a dog?”

“No,” he said.

“Is it when you can begin to discern the lines on your hand?  Then you know the day has begun.”

He said “no”.

“It’s not until you can see any person walk toward you and know that this is your brother or your sister that the day has begun, and until then it’s still dark.”

***

What will open the eyelids of the heart?  What will show us the endless vista covering the world?  What will ask us to sigh into the moment, again and again?

Love, my friend