Category Archives: Uncategorized

Day One: On to Montreal

And so I begin the journey. I’m looking out the window on my Via Rail train, bound for Toronto. So many fields, so many trees. I’m out in the middle of nowhere until we cross a road at an angle. Briefly I’m brought back into the world of cars … and then plunged back into the wild. The plunge is delicious. A few kilometres back, a hundred Canada geese sat together in a bare field. It was family, and I loved seeing them.

The whole thing is magical, with the morning mist rising above the land. I have a private view of scenes usually beyond me – dense tangles of underbrush, tiny ponds, towering deciduous trees and the sweep of rolling fields. It’s a privilege to be here.

***

Well … so far I’ve composed this post using my Android phone because I couldn’t get any connection with my laptop. A Via Rail employee tried to help me but eventually ran out of ideas. He suggested I phone the tech support 1-800 number, so I did. Nearly an hour later, the gentleman on the other end of the line was still trying to fix me up. He had a thick French-Canadian accent, and I struggled to understand what he was saying. Plus nothing he recommended worked. What was miraculous was that we were both so determined … and so patient with each other. Just what a frustrated human being needs!

Finally, my Via tech guy said he’d phone me back in five minutes. Told me that he had one more idea. Meanwhile, a fellow named Christian had got on the train miles back in Kitchener, and he was my seatmate. He asked if he could help. Of course. His fingers flew over assorted screens and soon he came to a setting that looked like a problem. He switched things to “automatic DNS settings” and …

Connection!
Thank you, kind sir

A few minutes later, tech support guy phoned back and I told him that Christian had fixed the problem. I handed the phone over and the two of them talked computerese. Sweet. I imagine Mr. Via is embarrassed that another passenger got the job done in a shake of a lamb’s tail, but he’ll be okay. Thank you, everyone, for pitching in. Exactly what the world needs.

***

We’re rolling east of Toronto. I look forward in the car and realize how very narrow a train is. Just a little arrow of human togetherness. And the corridor through which we pass is also squinchy. The life of the landscape is just metres away, flowing away as in a dream. Here’s a crow walking along the rail beside me. Here are the clouds billowing overhead. Here are cars lined up to let us pass.

Dead trees poking out of an evaporated wetland. Pillars of crushed rock evoke the pyramids. And now the sun shows up to animate the leaves. As we slow towards a town, a gaggle of residents look up to mark our passage. Somebody’s shirts are drying on the line.

Into Belleville, we parallel a road, and the cars have no chance in keeping up with us. At the station, I glance over at John’s Variety, where I savoured an ice cream cone two years ago. That time I came here to see the play “Jake’s Women” three nights in a row.

A Via Rail employee just made an a announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, may I remind you that it is strictly prohibited to smoke anywhere on the train, especially if you are in car five, in the middle.” Oops. Public shaming.

Now, at the Kingston station, there’s a sea of marsh grass out my window, waving in the wind. I imagine each blade as a person, and see us flow together. Fifteen minutes later, a complete contract- the 401 freeway parallels on my right. I find myself wishing for a traffic jam, so I can experience leaving them all behind. Nasty, Bruce.

It’s Sunday afternoon, and the final round of the CP Canadian Women’s Open is unfolding in Regina, Saskatchewan. I’m not just stuck to the window. I’m stuck to my phone. Canada’s darling golfer Brooke Henderson has a three-stroke lead on the back nine. Go, Brooke!

A great blue heron just flew beside the train! So graceful. These sublime creatures have a wingspan of six feet. Now, back to Brooke. She has a three-stroke lead with three holes to go.

***

She won! Brooke is the first Canadian woman to win our national championship since 1973. Marvelous. Yay for Canada.

I’m so high that I’m virtually on the roof of the train. No more travelling words right now. I’m just going to bask in the glory of hero worship.

Tonight at 7:15 or so, I’ll step into my sleeping compartment on the Montreal to Nova Scotia train. I no doubt will so hyped this evening that I’ll have to write you again. I’ll call it “Night One: Sleeper”.

See you then.

Deer Hunting

I was driving home from London today, taking a well-treed secondary road called Dingman Drive.  At one point, I looked to my left and saw the curve of a bare field against a grove of trees.  And … sploing!  I was transported back years ago when Jody and I used to go deer hunting.

If you know me from my writing, you might be surprised that I’m a hunter.  Well, I’d be pretty surprised myself if I actually wanted to take another being’s life.  I do not kill deer.  I find them.  I gaze at them in wonder and kinship.  Or so I did with my beloved wife when we lived in Union, Ontario.

Once firmly ensconced in my Lazy Boy chair this afternoon, I knew what I’d be doing in the late evening, after tackling all the packing for tomorrow’s trip.  Scarlet and I would go looking for dear.  (I just misspelled the word, or did I?)

Sunset was at 7:48 tonight.  At 7:43, I was on the road, heading back to Dingman.  And my heart was going pitty-pat.  I remembered the pitty-pats of long ago, and the joy of seeing a graceful animal at the edge of the woods.  Oh, the joy of anticipation, of yearning for contact, of sharing the world with a four-legged one.  I would travel the quiet Drives – Dingman, Westminster, Scotland and Manning.  And maybe I’d have company.

No friends lingered in the fields of Dingman.  There was lots of corn, though, perfect for hiding the brown ones.  A thought came that has often been my companion: Even if I don’t see them, they are there.  This is their land, and the sense of deer is here.  That’s always been comforting when my searches don’t seem to produce results.

As I turned onto Westminster, I was soaring.  I was in relationship with other beings, whose lives were so different from mine.  The communion was important, far more so than sightings.

Westminster was empty of me seeing deer … Scotland as well … Manning the same.  My timing was perfect, bracketing the sunset.  Surely my friends were out there feeding, no doubt hidden by the corn.  In October, once farmers have taken off their crop, the fields will be bare and I’ll get in Scarlet about 6:30 to seek my fellow citizens of planet Earth.

Jody will be along for the ride, cheering me on.

 

A Natural Exit

When I drive into London from Belmont, I usually take the 401, our Southern Ontario freeway, which has a speed limit of 100 kph (about 60 mph).  After ten kilometres or so, I’m ready to take the Wellington Road exit.  The ramp goes straight for maybe a kilometre, and then around a slight bend is a 50 kph (30 mph) sign.

As I veer off onto the ramp, I lighten the pressure on my gas pedal and gradually decrease to the 50.  I sense I’m in a natural rhythm of blending with my environment.  It feels good, like I’m flowing from one chapter of my life to the next.

Other drivers disagree.  Usually I’m tailgated on the ramp and the crowd of cars behind sometimes reaches double digits.  Once a fellow swerved onto the paved shoulder to get by me.  At the 50 kph sign, a second lane appears, with traffic lights shortly thereafter.  If the light is red, a vehicle or two has time to blast by me on the left and then slam on their brakes.  If it’s green, a convoy flows past, with most of them then flashing into my lane, since lots of us are turning right at the next light.

I let myself feel the pressure of the tailgating, and my fear.  It’s definitely a part of life.  But it’s very sweet to maintain my flow in the midst of impatient drivers.  I’m the source of my actions, not them.  Overall, the whole thing is a meditation and I’m pleased that I choose to experience it regularly.

***

I ask myself if I’ll have the same grace as I leave this planet.  Will I let myself feel the body diminishing and the mind clouding?  Will I let the words of William Shakespeare linger?

Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace!
And lips, O you the doors of breath
Seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death

Or will I vote with Dylan Thomas?

Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

The ramp awaits
Soon, or not soon, my turn signal goes on

The Rails Ahead

On Sunday at 7:30 am I get on a train in London, Ontario.  Two trains, two buses and one ferry later, I arrive in St. John’s, Newfoundland on Thursday.  The next day I get to greet the cyclists of the Tour du Canada as they end their cross-country journey.  So I’m on a journey of my own.

All told, I’m gone for ten days.  And I ask myself: “What can I create in that time?”  Seems like a odd question.  Am I not going simply to absorb all that the world of travel offers?  To consume the land, the food and the people I meet?  Well, yes, that’s part of it.  I want to draw experiences, conversations and scenes inside of me … so they may nourish me.  Yes, I want to be fed.  But if my life is all about eating, I fear that I’ll bloat – be so full of incoming energy that I don’t even give a thought to what I’m sending forth.

Very simply, I want to contribute to the lives of the folks I meet.  That starts with the attendant at the London train station, as I figure out how I’m going to make my luggage work for both the train travel and the return flight from St. John’s on September 4.

There may be a human being sitting beside me as the fields give way to the towers of Toronto.

There may be a hot dog vendor outside the Montreal station.

There’ll be a waiter or waitress as I get to eat three fancy meals in the dining car while we roll through Quebec.

There may be fellow travellers watching the world go by from the next table.

There may be a host or hostess orienting me to my sleeping berth.

And on and on.

Will I share my heart with the human beings I meet?  Yes, I will.  And if they turn their head away or move the topic to the fortunes of the Toronto Blue Jays, then I’ll gracefully follow their lead.  It may be, however, that some of my companions will be fellow explorers of consciousness … and we’ll fall together into the mysteries of living.

Will I make people laugh?  I’ll sure try.  The thing about meeting new folks is that they haven’t heard my repertoire of silly comments.  It’ll all be fresh to them.  Perfect.  And as for those who just stare when I sing them “a little number” (i.e. “3”) I’ll bless them as they retreat.

Maybe the coolest thing is that every day I’ll be blogging to you cyber inhabitants.  I bet there won’t be any shortage of material.  We human beings are good at being noteworthy.

See you on the train and boat and plane

We Are We

I look back on the last week and an image comes to mind. It feels like a recurring dream but part of my mind says that it really happened in this physical life.

There’s a huge white sheet of paper and in the middle are typed some words … unknown words. Then the mad typist in charge of things writes more words up and to the right of the first group, overlapping them. Then the process continues, overlap after overlap, until the whole page is full. And I still didn’t have a clue about the message.

Okay, clearly this is a dream. So why does my brain keep saying “This is real”? Ah, the mysteries of life.

There was another wake up call this morning (definitely a good thing!). And the voice: “The first words are ‘I am me.'” Oh. Thanks for sharing. “One step out from the centre, in all directions, is ‘You are you.'” I just lay there, waiting for the next revelation. “After that, the words are ‘We are we.’ Then the pattern repeats … endlessly.”

More lying there feeling stunned. The personal story isn’t about Bruce Kerr. A lot of it is to do with all the “you’s” who come my way. But the real message is that I am through the we. I only know Bruce through the relationships he has. I’m no island. I’m an archipelago, with flowery bridges joining us all.

I can’t wait to go to sleep tonight. I hope we all show up.

Being Written

I’ve been doing this blog for more than four years, and 750 posts later I’ve discovered a few things:

1.  Whenever I sit down at my laptop to write, a post is revealed.  Maybe I have a clear picture of the future words, or maybe nothing has come to me.  Either way, I trust deeply that my inner me will express itself in some manner.

2.  I write about what moves me, whether it’s silly or serious.  If the topic doesn’t “sing” to me, why bother?  Sometimes I feel a narrowing of my forehead skin and a pursing of the lips … signs that I’m engaged.   A quickening of the heart.

3.  Increasingly, I don’t care what you folks in cyberland think of my thoughts.  First of all, I have no idea how many of you there are.  “Likes” are nice but that’s just small ego stuff.  Even if you don’t enjoy what I have to say, I figure I’m planting seeds that will somehow enhance life on Earth.  “That sounds egotistical, Bruce.”  Oh well.  I don’t think it is but if I’m perceived that way by some, that’s okay.  I deeply want to contribute but even if you’re all sitting there shaking your heads, I’ll keep writing.

4.  I’ve read a lot in my life, and my posts often reflect what someone else has said.  Works for me.  But beyond that, what brand new things can I bring to this existence?  Yes, brand new.  I think it’s in me, and in you, to bring new flowers to blossom.

All right, how about a quote, from one of my faves – Teilhard de Chardin:

I would like to speak as I think, without concern for what is accepted, with the sole idea of translating as faithfully as possible what I hear murmuring in me like a voice or song, which are not of me, but of the World in me.  I would like to express the thoughts of a man who, having finally penetrated the partitions and ceilings of little countries, little coteries [groups that are exclusive of others], little sects, rises above all these categories and finds himself a child and citizen of the Earth.

Often, such as tonight, the words flow from my fingers without much thought.  It feels like I am being written.  It feels like I’m a conduit for something big.

Okay, Bruce, that’s enough musing.  Just publish the darn thing.

History Now

My new condo neighbour “Brad” is a very cool fellow.  He’s well into his 70’s and brimming with appreciation for Belmont, his new home.  Both of us have a cornfield out back that we love.

Brad and I went out for breakfast today at the Belmont Diner.  I wanted to introduce him to the regulars and he enjoyed meeting them, engaging in several conversations.  He’s an easy guy to know.

Brad is a historian.  He’s done lots of research on the Black Donnellys, an Irish family who emigrated to Lucan in Canada in the 1800’s.  The Donnelly clan got involved in some violent disputes with the locals, and many members of the family were killed at their homestead one night in 1880.

I watched Brad’s face as he talked about the Donnellys, about standing by the foundation of their home, about the feelings of the Lucan residents he’s met.  He was living right now in the events of the past, totally engaged in the story.

Brad lived for a time in Fort Erie, Ontario, and I learned of him gathering artifacts from the War of 1812, between the United States and the precursor of Canada.  He talked about the heavy cannonballs that the Americans fired at the British from their ships in the Niagara River, and then told me that he has one of them in his home.  Brad also has a collection of buttons from the tunics of American soldiers.  His eyes were wide as he transported himself back 200 years.

Then there was the native princess who lived by herself in a tent near Minnedosa, Manitoba – Brad’s hometown.  As a young boy, he watched the woman as she sat on a large rock in her native dress, gazing out over Lake Minnedosa.  He would encircle the  rock, trying to draw her into conversation.  But she was in her own world.  In the years since, Brad has tried to figure out who she was, and has collected many arrowheads from a local battleground once shared by two tribes.

Throughout all of this, there was Brad’s face … animated with the stories of the past.  Clearly he is enriched by the journeys of those who have gone before.  History is alive in his soul.

My eyes were opened over bacon and eggs.  The aliveness of Brad merged with my own and I realized that people who lived decades and centuries ago have lessons to teach me.  May I absorb these lessons in order to become a more empathetic person, and may that empathy touch lives in 2018.

 

Energy In … Energy Out

Last Wednesday I was sitting in my bike shop, talking to my good friend and mechanic Sygnan.  He’s done so much marvelous work for me over the years and our conversations are rich.

What are you going to do tonight, Sygnan?

I’ll watch a movie at home.

DVD?

No, I have a box.

And so we began chatting about the wonders of an android box, through which just about every film in existence, including those still in theatres, is available  for home viewing.  Plus it’s legal.

My heart quickened.  I admit I was zeroed in on Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, but any movie?  What an orgy of delight!  I love love stories … bet I’ll be able to find a hundred great ones.  I love history stories … the whole past of the world will soon be laid out before me.  Night after night of watching the best in cinema.  Heaven.

Sygnan told me where to buy the android box and I headed there forthwith.  The salesman was knowledgeable and friendly and soon I was heading home with my treasure.  I plunked the valuable little device on my washer and knew that tomorrow I’d hook everything up.

Thursday was a busy day and that evening I just didn’t feel like figuring things out, so the box continued its sojourn with the washer.

Friday I had places to go and people to meet.  No time for reading long instruction sheets.

Saturday I glanced at the washer as I was heading out and thought “That’s odd.  I haven’t done a darn thing to make this happen.  Oh well.”

And then there’s today.  As I allowed my eyelids to part in the early hours, and as my brain started to put two and two together, it came to me:

I don’t want to watch endless movies

I lay there and thought deep about the person I’ve become.  My excitement as I drove from the bike shop to the computer store was an unconscious variety.  An old version of Bruce was gung ho for an old version of what was fun … prolonged sessions of absorbing the best in cinema.  Apart from my aberrant interest in the latest Mamma Mia, I don’t want to sit on my couch letting the energy flow into me.  I want energy to flow out of me … to my fellow human beings.  I want to participate with other voyageurs in the Evolutionary Collective Global Community.  I want to sit down and have heart-to-hearts with local folks.  I want to write these blog posts, every day if I’m up to it.

(Speaking of “Bruce’s Blog”, you’ll be happy to know that, on average, I’ve posted every day for the last 69.  Occasionally I’d miss a day, but in the spirit of anality perhaps, I’d double up the next day.)

So, for the remaining 38 years of my life (good luck on that), I intend to put things out there far more than drawing in movies, books, newspapers and TV sports.  And if I’m reading a book or watching some remarkable recently released musical, I’ll do so in the spirit of being nourished so that I may nourish others.

Who I was yesterday is not who I am today
Who I am today is not who I will be tomorrow
I wonder who that person will be

Companionship

The joy of finding a mind extremely sympathetic to my own

The spiritual excitement of making contact with a soul
full of enthusiasm for the world

The satisfaction of realizing that the questions I’m concerned with
are indeed those that have animated the deep-rooted life of humanity

Teilhard de Chardin

So I search for a life companion, and for friends who are moved to their core by the majesty of living.  I search for people who are willing to open their heart as we talk.  I search for men and women who feel poised on the edge of the future, wondering with all their wonder about what human beings can become.

I know some folks like this, but for one reason or another they are not deeply present in my life.  The ones whom I see week in and week out no doubt have the stirrings of possibility inside them, but they don’t often speak it.  Or maybe they never speak it.  And that’s fine.  I’ll take any conversation and usually bring forth a silent blessing for both of us.  Still, I yearn for the dialogue.

Someday, within my red and yellow condo walls, a fellow imbiber of the spirit will sit with me in meditation and communion and emergence.  Friends of the journey will gather for food and drink and sacred dialogue.  Just not yet.

What astonishments can we create together?
This to be determined in the fullness of time

I Say Tomato … You Say Tomawto

If you’ve been reading my latest blog posts, you know that I’m obsessed with Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again.  Yesterday I read some viewer reviews of the film.  It’s not that Person A is right and Person B is wrong.  It’s just that human beings can be so different from each other.  And I figure that’s part of what makes the world go round.

***

What an incredible experience this movie was.  I had goosebumps during every song, which I sang along whispering, tapping my feet.

A degradation of all humanity.  I had a dozen humorous quips as to why this rates as the worst musical – in order to make light of the painful reality.

If you enjoyed the first, get ready to be thrilled by this!  From the tear-jerking moments to “I want to be the dancing Queen” moments, from start to finish, I can happily say I’ve never enjoyed a film more in my life.  I’ve been to see it twice and would happily watch it every day.

What a terrible let down.  Really wanted to enjoy this movie but just didn’t.  Both myself and my wife watched it until the end and both felt the same RUBBISH.

What this movie will bring you are true emotions.  Through acting, singing and dancing, this young and talented cast will take you through an emotional rollercoaster.

The biggest problem for me with this movie is that it doesn’t convey any emotions.  When a character in the movie supposedly goes through a hard time, I just don’t feel anything.  They are not even trying to make you feel something.

The story line really grabs you and keeps you in until the very end!!  There are twists and turns that make you feel for the characters.  One moment you’re laughing and the next you’re almost in tears!!

The script is blunt, naïve, cheesy and immature at times.  It follows an indefinite structure that collapses before it even builds itself up.

The singing was bliss.

Singing – can’t say who is worst.  Like someone made a bet how many eardrums they can rupture.  If that is the actual singing voice of Lily James, then she should never ever try again.

I went to watch this with my daughter, niece and their friends and they had tears rolling down their faces at one of the later scenes.

These films are just so cheesy and clichéd.  They’re totally uninvolving as well; I couldn’t care less about any of the characters in either film, or any of their drama.

Mamma Mia 2 made the whole cinema laugh and clap.

No one in our movie theater laughed except one time and it was the line by Colin Firth that was already in the trailer.

When Streep appears in the film’s final moments, it transcends us into a state of touching reality and completes its beautiful message about the legacies of love and the importance of time and family.

Our only disappointment was the appearance of Meryl Streep.  As a seasoned actress, who has been given some high profile parts over the years, she is no longer an enjoyable character on screen … or off!  Her abilities in acting have diminished greatly and she does not command the respect she once had.

Was not expecting to leave the place with a wet face from all those tears … not from sadness but from the very, very touching ending!  WOW!!!

Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again is all about beautiful people, their artificially created problems, fake tears, sadness and meaningless joy.

I’ve seen this movie 3 times and I am planning a 4th, no regrets.  This movie and its predecessor changed my life and I’m proud to call them my favourite films.

Actually, a defibrillator would have helped this comatose snoozer.  I was as enthused as the rest of the audience when we took our seats, hoping for some fun dance videos paper-clipped together by a ridiculous plot.  But alas, the magic is gone.

One of the best movies I’ve ever seen, definitely.

I had to apologize to my friends for making them go to this movie.  Cher was not essential.  There was no plot to speak of.  It was just a train wreck.

At the end of the film, the audience in the cinema gave a round of applause, including me.

The whole thing is so bad that it was almost embarrassing to stay in the theater till the end …

***

Go see it