The Buddha said many marvelous things, ideas that have guided me as I travel this life.
Someone (I don’t know who) said this about him:
Lord Buddha said that he prayed to lead all sentient beings to enlightenment, with himself last. He also prayed that in the interim he would become light where there was darkness, a bridge where there was no way across a river, a home with beautiful land and meadows for the homeless, fire to warm those who suffer from cold, and waters for those who thirst.
I don’t care about enlightenment. I want to love, to be kind, to give each person I meet a little bit of me.
I emcounter many human beings who are weighed down with darkness, dried out, a dull brown colour. I don’t have much to say that would be helpful. And I can’t think of magic actions that would make the “owwie” go away, especially when the pain dives deep.
I simply want to be in the presence of the hurting one, “being with” them. Nothing extraordinary.
I sat down at a table for four at Jagger’s, my favourite breakfast place. And I proceeded to do what I’ve done a thousand times in restaurants: If there’s something right in front of me on the table, I move it away. I need space.
There’s a vague underthought in my mind that I’m different from other people. I do and say things that most people don’t. Yes, down deep we all have the same joys and sorrows but how I express myself in life feels unusual.
I’ve hardly given a thought to my “centerpiece shifting”. Until two women sat down at the next table. They too had dried flowers in a tiny vase, salt and pepper jars, and a wee candle.
I was looking at the back of one of the women when suddenly a hand was pushing all the objects to the left end of the table. Pretty ordinary, you might say. But my eyes opened wide.
Someone else does that?
Such a simple example … but it took me away to the past years of my life. Maybe I’m more like than unlike. We’re all members of the human family. We bleed. We smile. We have a beginning and an end, with hopefully much in between.
It was time to leave our beloved Airbnb home in the Ardennes. I said goodbye to the high stone walls and rough beams, and to the dining room table – a place of fine conversations.
I knew it wouldn’t take me long to pack up. We’d only stayed two nights. In my room and in the bathroom, I checked the surfaces for stray Bruce objects. I made sure my phone cord was disconnected from the outlet. My slippers were no longer lolling around on the floor. My bedsheets didn’t have treasures hidden within. All fit perfectly in my backpack and suitcase.
You’re so organized, Bruce!
And we were off … two hours plus on the highway back to Gent, as Pascal educated me about the realities of driving in Belgium.
My apartment! Hello, home. Happiness in the going and in the returning.
Unpacking should be a breeze. Actually a little too much of a breeze.
Where is my reddish brown sweater?
Where is my pink “Be Kind” t-shirt?
How about my blue gym shorts?
And a pair of my long red compression stockings?
Not here!
The thoroughness of my packing was a fantasy. I hadn’t checked the drawers where I’d placed this stuff.
Oh, Bruce
Wherefore art thy mind?
And so the recent expansion of my forgetfulness continues. Getting old, I suppose. A little too loose in the head.
***
Now here’s the day after … and I’m smiling about my foibles, about not being alert in the packing yesterday. So cool!
I love my objects, especially the pink t-shirt, but letting them go feels easy. Our Airbnb hostess may mail them back to me. (I’ll pay whatever you want!) Or perhaps not. Either way, all is well.
Here we are in the hills of eastern Belgium … Simon, Petra, Cara, Bruce and Pascal (left to right in the first photo). We’re renting a house that used to be a barn.
The stone walls … the hand-cut posts and beams, not at all straight. The silence. The home.
We sit by the fire. We talk. We snooze. We eat … delightfully too much.
Actually we are not only five people. Cara is working on the sixth. And … Jefke is her beloved doggie:
Last night it was a lovely restaurant, tucked away in a village. I voted for pasta carbonara. Délicieux! Other choices included steak and croquettes. Menu choices didn’t matter. The we did.
On we go now, into the natural world. It’s time for a walk
… we can no longer create sentences, with their nicely organized subjects, verbs and punctuation? What emerges is the flow of poetry, rhyming or not.
… the sounds coming out of our mouths are not longer called “talking”? Instead melodies flow and we soar into the song.
… our lips can no longer press against each other? The mouth slowly opens and stays there in a round “o”.
… our fingers can no longer close around an object, holding it tight? All is open to the world, inviting a tiny bird to land.
… the ground is no longer touching the soles of our feet? We are aloft, taken by the breeze to parts unknown.
… our arms can’t stop growing, rendering shirt sizes irrelevant? We reach out across the world, wrapping ourselves around limitless beings, and drawing them close.
… writing posts on Facebook no longer exists? We eight billion are connected instantly in thought and love.
I declare that there’s a secret spot on the top of the head where Divinity can pour in. It may be covered in hair … or visible in the skin.
Of course when we speak to each other on the level, we can’t see the place. So we need to practice flying, carrying a pitcher of glowing liquid as we do so.
As we soar, there’s plenty of the sacred flow to go around. We have all the time in the world to anoint whole crowds of human beings.
Perhaps these six especially need our blessing:
Sometimes our invisibility cloak fails as we fly, and we are discovered. That’s fine. Be friendly. And wait for another opportunity for the pouring.
So here they all are … arms raised or heads bowed. All needing to be inundated in the flow. We will find them.
Maybe that’s you and me in the middle, alone in our noticing of the above. May there be a time when the descending stream enters us as well.
I like sequences. One thing happens … and later another thing happens. Are they connected? Or is it just random? Actually, how much of this life is in the realm of my understanding?
Physicist Bryan Cox had something to say about this:
I honestly think the wheels are coming off our picture of the way the universe works at the moment. We don’t know what 96% of the universe is made of – that tells us that we don’t understand something fundamental.
And AI wants in on the conversation:
Most of the universe (about 96%) is made of mysterious substances (dark energy and dark matter) that we can’t see or fully understand, even though we know they’re there.
I have an example. Here’s the jigsaw puzzle I completed last night …
It’s such an adventure, looking at the leaning of books and the shimmering of turquoise to see what piece would fit an empty space. And the completed image is stunning.
This morning I was walking in Gent, enjoying the shine of wet cobblestones. And then I came upon a dislodged cobble. I wanted to make it right, so that no one would trip.
I picked up the stone and turned it this way and that, so it would fit the space. And Voilà! It worked. I was happy with what you see here … the one in the middle.
I’m a Buddhist, and I enjoy reading Tricycle magazine. This morning I sat in Lunchroom Martens, propped up my phone, and followed my eyes through an article entitled “Love In Action”, written by Devin Berry.
These words came:
Bring to mind someone in your life who’s having difficulty, someone that you care about. Still connected with breath and body, take a moment to sense the nature of their difficulty and what that might be like for them. See if you can look at the world from this person’s eyes, feel with their heart. See if you can get a sense of what it’s like from the inside – what it’s like to be living in their circumstances. Staying connected to breath and body, ask yourself “What’s the hardest thing for this person? What’s most disappointing? What’s hurtful or scary? What’s the most challenging situation this person is living with?”
Still connected to breath and body, sense and feel underneath the words that arise from the point of view of that person. What’s the belief here – that I’ll never get what I want? That I’m failing? That I’m somehow unlovable? How does this person feel that experience in their heart? From the inside out, you might get a sense of what, in this place of vulnerability, they most need or want.
Now come back to your own presence, but still sensing that you can feel this person within you as you’re breathing in and breathing out, contacting that vulnerability. With the outbreath, see if you can offer a bit of what’s needed. Perhaps that person needs to be cared for, or they wish to be understood. See if you can breathe in their pain, and as you breathe out, offer your presence and tenderness. Offer your care.
“May you be held in the arms of compassion. May you be free of pain. May you be well.” Or maybe simply offer: “I’m sorry, and I love you.”
Nice.
As I finished “I love you” an old man sat down at the table across from me. I smiled … and so did he.
And I knew … time to put away the phone and “be with”. He spoke Dutch, and a little English. The same with me – except it was “een beetje Netherlands”.
I asked the basics in Dutch … He was 85, lives above my pharmacy, and I’ll call him Frederick.
He enjoyed his eggs and toast, often drooling between bites. No matter. We connected.
And I realized … that I need to know far more Dutch if I’m to deepen the connection with folks who speak little or no English.
My favourite question to ask English-speaking people is:
Yesterday I returned to the Babbel language app for the first time in over a year. Motivation to relearn basic Dutch has returned, because the care home has accepted my application to volunteer.
How the seasons of life change … away from “English only” to Dutch conversations with old people, some with dementia.
I need the eyes to see the vibrant human being inside the old body:
Yes, this man has evolved over the years. No doubt life experience has drawn some filters over his eyes. But the emerging adventures of youth are still inside.
And the same …
Way back when, people didn’t smile for photos, but I bet they laughed a lot with their friends.
And more recently … Does the joking young one become the “mature” old one?
Or is it only through time that the true joys of living are revealed?
Whomever I meet at the care home, may I draw forth the humanity of the person sitting with me.
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