Category Archives: Uncategorized

How Does Change Happen?

It was a few days ago.  I was out and about, in Belmont and in the country on my almost daily walk.  It was cold.

As I turned west on Borden Ave. heading out towards the fields, a headwind blasted my skin.  Toque on, hood tied tight.  The left right, left right of the moment turned into a slog.  And then the snows descended … or better said, they were pretty much horizontal.  As Borden Ave. magically morphed into Glanworth Drive, my black coat was also transforming – into white.  Pebbles of snow/ice massaged my forehead.

About two kilometres later, I turned north on Old Victoria Road, a gravel surface.  There were clicks on the side of my hood but my skin was spared the fury of it all.  It’s not far at all to the pavement of Manning Drive, and a couple of hundred metres before the intersection, the sun came out.  The slopey edge of the asphalt shone brightly.  Very cool.

As I turned right onto the smoothness, the shiny blackness of the road was a wonder.  As far as I could see, the glow ran towards Belmont.  The sun was bright and so was the road … everything seemed so alive, so animated.

I basically blew along, with the wind urging me forward.  Something caught my eye on the edge of the road, where the gravel greets the pavement.  Little spots of light grey had emerged, maybe three inches in diameter.  They were dull when seen next to the shine.

Later similar circles began to grace the crown of the road, every twenty metres or so.  Occasionally there’d be a wee dip in the asphalt, and lightness showed there too.

I was approaching the boundary between where I’d been (officially the City of London) and where I was going (the Municipality of Central Elgin).  At the sign, the road switched from pristine smoothness to a mottled tar-and-chip surface, with little stones embedded.  Not really rough but no longer a skating rink.  Suddenly the wetness was dark brown/dark grey.

Over my time on Manning Drive, the spots of light grey slowly expanded.  On a little rise ahead, I couldn’t tell if there was more wetness than dryness.  There seemed to be big patches of both.  When I got closer, I saw that my distance vision was tricking me … the light grey was still in a severe minority.

As the village water tower grew, so did the dullness.  Swaths of dry began sweeping across the road.  The shine was retreating in the sunlight, ever so slowly.  Standing in one spot, I couldn’t see the transition but it was obvious as I walked on.

And then the welcoming sign: “The Village of Belmont, 1961”.  Just a few dips in the asphalt left to embrace the wet.  As I approached the intersection with Main Street, the path beneath me was totally dry.

I stopped.  I smiled.  It was such a privilege to be in the middle of change.  The sun had worked its magic.

Coronacuts

Well, well, well … here it is two days later, not two weeks.  I wonder if my fingers will re-emerge longterm or just sporadically.

***

Delight seems to be in short supply recently, but I experienced some on the CBC News Network telecast yesterday morning.  The topic among the three hosts was hair.  It seems to be growing longer, and beauty salons are out of bounds.

We saw photos of Canadians taking matters into their own hands.  There were poised scissors, bowls atop heads, smiles and a few grimaces.  Heather Hiscox, the anchor, was joined by John Northcott, a commentator, and by Chris Somebody, the weather guy.  John happens to be bald.

Heather: Don’t we all want to be John Northcott right now?  John, share some expert tips with us.

John smiled big time and showed us an old photo from the 80’s of him with a full shock of blond hair.

Chris:  You look better now!

John was looking pretty nostalgic.  In the moment, he was a beaming older fellow nattily dressed in a suit and bow tie.

John:  Certainly an appreciation for those who have cut our hair for all these years.  Sitting in the chair and letting someone do what they know how to do is going to be a welcome return at some point.

Heather:  Chris is lamenting the ski jump on his head.  [He shows us a profile and sweeps his hand through the hairy mass.]  Maybe you want to go and do the Northcott, Chris.

John:  It’s a slippery slope, Chris.  Next it’ll be bow ties.

Huge smiles, giggles and guffaws.  We the audience laughed along with the folks on our screens.  It was therapeutic.  It was what human beings are meant to do.

Nothing To Say

How about that?  I’m at a loss for words.  I sit and sit and sit … and nothing comes.  This has happened several times and I’ve wasted too much mental energy fretting about it.  No thanks.  Grunting my mind to get some sentences to come out just defeats the whole purpose.  I want my thoughts to emerge naturally, like someone is calling them forth.  Sadly, not these days.

The other factor is blunt: I don’t want to write (at least for the last week or so).  There’s no oomph there, no urge to influence or entertain or share.  As odd as that feels, it’s what’s true right now.

Will I come back tomorrow?  Two weeks from now?  In 2021?  I don’t know.  I’m well and happy and not writing.  Simply the way it is.

Cheers to life …

 

 

What Was That?

Who knows what time it was … maybe 4:00 am this morning.  I was jolted awake by a dream.  As I hunkered down in the safety of my pillow, the details remained vivid.  A little red dot, swollen, appeared above my right knee.  I wasn’t concerned, but some filmy being was.  He or she squeezed it, and the tip of a silver filament appeared.  They grabbed on and pulled.  It was so tiny in diameter, and shiny.  There was no pain, just the sense of movement inside.  The being kept pulling and the string kept coming.  This seemed to go on for minutes.  A pile of silver grew at my feet, coil upon coil.  Finally the other end left my body and settled gently to the floor.

Woh.

I think I was sweating but I don’t really know.  Eyes eventually closed, the mind sort of settled, and I was asleep again.

Some time later, another jolt: I was holding a very long duffel bag, cylindrical in shape.  It was empty, except for something moving way down at the closed end.  I lifted the bag vertical and there was a fall of objects towards the drawstring opening.  Out plopped a “bug”, about three inches long, with fluttering mauve and yellow wings.  Next was a gooey snake, the colour of wallpaper paste.  It was divided up into small sections by a series of bright red rings that constricted the body.  As soon as it hit the floor, it curled into itself.  Other beings came out of the bag.  I don’t remember what they looked like, but everyone was scurrying around, seemingly in pain.  Were they hiding from the light?

Woh, chapter two.  Both dreams were shot in Ultra HD, and in silence.

When I finally roused myself to verticality, I sought the refuge of the shower.  Thank God.  Then I pulled out my phone and checked to see what CNN was saying about our coronavirus world.  Scrolling down the latest articles of sadness, I came upon one titled “The Meaning of Your Coronavirus Dreams”.  Okay.  That seems relevant to my life.

The author talked about some Twitter posters being “amazed at the peculiarity of their dreams or distressed by plots that center on death, fear and strange new worlds”.  Yup.  One woman shared that “In my dream, I called an Uber, but a hearse showed up instead.”  Alrighty then, time for a sleeping pill.

“According to experts, these cryptic responses are normal.  Our brains’ way of understanding the stressful information we take in during the day can manifest in nightmares.”

So I’m not outrageously abnormal (or am I?)  Our entire beings are being electrified by something that’s new in the world (unless you were alive in 1918).  Let’s all just breathe, and hopefully sleep.

Words of Life and Death

At the end of the day, I’m not gonna let corona stop me from partying.  We’ve had this trip planned two, three months, and we’re just here to have a good time.  Whatever happens, happens.

Who the hell are you to be walking around just giving it to old people, and you just flippantly dismiss it?

:::::

[In a crowded restaurant]  It was delicious, and I took my sweet time eating my meal.  Because this is America.

I have just been furious, furious at baby boomers and millennials … for people who would just have the hubris and arrogance to ignore what’s going on.

:::::

I’m not worried because I’m not immunocompromised.

You shouldn’t be taking your child to the playground!

:::::

We’re just trying to get drunk before everything closes.

[Watching on TV]  Yo, there’s like all these students on spring break, and dude … they’re not even caring about the new coronavirus or any of that stuff.  It’s not cool and, like, superperfect for spreading the virus to other people, you know?

:::::

We’re just living in the moment.

Our grandparents were asked to go to war.  We asked these a-holes to stay home on the couch and they can’t even do that.

*****

[Talking about his senior-aged parents]  They just won’t listen to me.  I’m going to kill them before Covid does.  I’m really upset.  They’re telling me I’m overreacting by telling them to stop eating out, and my mom keeps going to the office.  I won’t let them come over here to see the boys.  They get mad at me when I call them to tell them to just stay home.

Show Yourself

Some people on the Disney Plus discussion page are saying they’ve seen Frozen 2 one hundred times.  Gosh, I’d sure be tired of anything by then.  It’s tempting to say no to something so outrageously popular … without really looking inside.  So I looked.

Elsa sings a stunning song called Show Yourself.  My mouth dropped open as hers soared, so I had to watch it again … and again.  Happily it was three times not a hundred.

Elsa is searching:

Show yourself
I’m dying to meet you
Show yourself
It’s your turn
Are you the one I’ve been looking for
All of my life?
Show yourself
I’m ready to learn

Ah yes, the search for that special someone – a human being who will join with me and make my life complete.  It could be a lover, or one’s child, or a famous person I’m enthralled with.  It could be a community of like-souled people, in whose company I feel at home.

Show yourself
I’m no longer trembling
Here I am
I’ve come so far
You are the answer I’ve waited for
All of my life
Oh, show yourself
Let me see who you are

You are the answer to my question, the solution to my problem, the happiness that has so often eluded me.  I’ve been searching so long for you.

Come to me now
Open your door
Don’t make me wait
One moment more

It has to be now.  No more delayed gratification, which might only bear fruit when I’m 75.  I need love now.  I need to be held.  I need to hold.

***

And then there is the “Ah hah!”  The realization that I’ve been looking in the wrong direction.  My savior has been abiding within … all this time.  Would someone please give me a mirror?

Show yourself
Step into your power
Grow yourself
Into something new
You are the one you’ve been waiting for
All of your life
Oh, show yourself

Shall I?
Shall you?
What shall we show the world?

Injury

At times I have a rigid view of who Bruce is.  It’s healthy for me to have that jolted once in awhile.

I can’t go to the gym anymore so a few weeks ago my thought was to walk.  I live on the edge of a village and there are plenty of roads for my inspection.  I tell people I see that I’m going for a walk “around the block”, chuckling inside that the navigation I’m talking about is nine kilometres (six miles).

So … Bruce is now a walker, a long walker – two-and-a-half hours.  And Bruce does this every day because he wants to retain some fitness and simply be out in the open air, greeting folks from six feet away.  Bruce does not take a break from his routine.

Most recently, twelve days in a row I ventured forth and ventured back.  Slow and steady.  Halfway through the twelth time, however, my left knee started complaining:  “What are you doing, old man?  It’s not like you’re 25 anymore.  I’m getting tired of all this, and it’s time to let you know!”

So I hobbled through the last hour.  I was out in the country.  A few cars came by.  I realized that no one was going to drive me home.  There wouldn’t be enough physical distancing.  So I grunted and hobbled.

That was Sunday.  Yesterday the knee was puffed up and it was hard to move around the house.  It’s some better today.  Both times I haven’t set a foot outside the door.  I can feel the twinge of “should”, focused on outdoor travel.  But if I let that word into my consciousness, it needs to be about “rest”.  And so I do.

Will I “trip the light fantastic” tomorrow?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Right now, there’s a blessed looseness about me, certainly not in the physical realm, but in the spiritual.  Who I am is a pathway, not a destination.  And there are many twists and turns along the way – for my body and for my mind.

Days, Weeks, Months, Years

I remember March 12, and the school secretary telling me that her family had to make a decision about going south to Florida for the March Break.  I suggested that they go, especially because all the kids were looking forward to the sun and sand, but I also mentioned that they should stay away from Disney World.  Seems like ancient advice now.  I was thinking “It’s only nine days.  Not a problem.”

Over time, any thought of “days” has become irrelevant in this time of coronavirus.  The discussion soon blended into “weeks”.  The Ontario Premier announced that after March Break, the kids would be away from school for a further two weeks.  “That’s okay.  I’ll have lots of time for meditating, and reading books, and watching cool movies.  Plus I’ll see the kids again on April 6” … which happens to be today.  School now won’t return until at least May 4.  “Hey, that’s only four more weeks.  We’ll keep our physical distancing going for that time, and then I’ll be able to go out to Boston Pizza for a beer again.”

Or not.

There’s a newer word that’s crept into the conversations of politicians and health officials – “months”.  Perhaps the school year is over.  I volunteer in a Grade 5/6 class in a school where the 6’s graduate.  So maybe I’ll never see them as a group again.  Perhaps there won’t be any US Open tennis tournament for me to go to at the beginning of September.  I’ve been so looking forward to being in New York City and watching the best players in the world hit the ball back and forth!

A few days ago, Doug Ford, the Ontario Premier, gave us dire projections of coronavirus death in our province.  Hidden amid the 3,000 to 15,000 figures (if we maintain physical distancing and good hand-washing) was a smaller number – “2”.  Ontario health officials  think that the pandemic could be with us for another 18 months to 2 years.  Oh my.

So it could be that not only I won’t see the Grade 6 kids again, but also the Grade 5’s.  Oh … immense sadness at the prospect.

Will it be two years before I can go to a party again?
Before I can have breakie with other local folks at the Belmont Diner?
Before I can hug my friends?

The future draws us forward with its unseen arms

Skye and Dad

Sometimes CNN pulls my heart out and leaves it lying on the floor.

Conrad Buchanan was a 39-year-old DJ in Florida.  He died from the coronavirus last week.  On March 14, he woke up unwell.  Soon his wife Nicole tried to get him tested but her request was turned down. Conrad was too young and didn’t have any underlying medical conditions.

Days later Conrad was having trouble breathing.  “The 22nd was when I brought him to the hospital.  I never saw him again.”  Staff intubated him (inserted a breathing tube into his airway so a ventilator could push air into his lungs).  Since the hospital was on lockdown, Nicole wasn’t allowed to enter the building.  “I never got to say ‘I love you.'”

Skye is Nicole and Conrad’s daughter.  She loves ballet.  She loves her dad.  “He would do dances with me.”  Conrad even showed up for a “daddy-daughter thing” at the ballet school.  “It was funny because he could perform in front of like millions of people when he DJ’d, but when he danced … it wasn’t the best.”

“We just overall shared everything.  He brought me to school.  He brought me to ballet.  He was my everything.”

Interviewer:  “Skye, give us one last thought on how you want us all to think of your father.”

“I thought he was pretty cool.  I think even if people don’t know him, he brightened up everyone’s day.  Just think of him dearly, you know.  Find your rhythm in life.  Listen to the beat.  Dance and express yourself in order to connect with people from all walks of life.”

Thank you, Skye.

 

 

 

Meditating

I often ask myself how I can contribute to people during this time of coronavirus.  The physical basics are clear: Keep myself well so I don’t infect anyone.  Wash my hands a lot … for twenty seconds.  Stay at least six feet away from other human beings.

In the emotional and spiritual arena, I’ve been on the phone with local friends and on Zoom with friends from far away.  On my daily walks, I really say hi to those who come my way.

All of this is good.

This morning I decided to meditate for a long time.  I sensed that this was another way to impact the world.  You may be asking “How can sitting in a chair for an hour and emptying your mind do any good in this crisis?”  And I don’t have a rational answer for you.  As I reflect on this right now, with my laptop on my lap, I simply know, at some mysterious level, that my time in meditation makes a difference.

Just so you know, there’s no emptying the mind of thoughts.  Trying to get rid of them doesn’t work.  By grace, over time, the thoughts lessen in intensity, duration and frequency.  And so it was this morning.  The space within was clear and quiet.  The bouncing ball at one point just stopped bouncing.  Later on, a few bounces returned, but they faded away again.

I didn’t feel like I was sending love to all of us swimming through the pandemic.  For a long time the word “give” was with me as I sat in the chair, but it was like I was in the middle of giving and being given to, rather than an active doer.  Then even “give” disappeared.  The awareness of love disappeared.  All was quiet.  There was radiation outward for awhile … then that too went “Poof!”

I sat for nearly two hours.  Near the beginning, thoughts of setting a new time record came, and thankfully went.  For the rest of the time, there was no feeling of achievement, no feeling of Bruce.  But something was cooking.   Once again, I know this is true.

Am I deluded?  No
Am I strange?  Yes
Am I contributing?  For sure