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Dipa Ma

Dipa Ma – a tiny, unassuming woman from India – was a spiritual giant.  Many Westerners studied with her and some of those people became leaders in bringing Buddhism to North America.  How much impact can one person have on the lives of others?  Listen:

In a busy Santa Fe coffeehouse one morning, Sharon Salzberg was asked “What was Dipa Ma’s greatest gift to you?”

Sharon paused for a moment, and her face softened.

“Dipa Ma really loved me,” she said.  “And when she died, I wondered, ‘Will anyone ever really love me like that again?’”

She fell silent, and for a few moments it was as if a gate had opened into another world.  In this other place there was only one thing: complete and total love.

From Amy Schmidt:

Just before she got in the van, she turned to me and put her hands on my hands, looked me right in the eye, remarkably close, and held my hands in silence.  She stared at me with utter love, utter emptiness, utter care.  During this minute she gave me a complete, heartfelt transmission of lovingkindness … there was shakti [spiritual energy] just pouring from her.  Then she turned around and slowly got into the car.  In this one moment, she showed me a kind of love I had never experienced before.

***

She was one of the few people in my life in whose presence I have gone quiet.  I was able to rest in her silence.

From someone:

We see within the narrow band of visible light, while at the same time there are so many other wavelengths in the electromagnetic spectrum that we don’t see.  People like Dipa Ma lived in the whole spectrum.  A  rich realm of human possibility was open to her that most of us are ordinarily unaware of and find hard to fathom.

From someone:

There’s something else about Dipa Ma that needs to be mentioned, which is much more important, and that is her sila—the ethical quality of her actions and behavior.  I spent nearly every day with her over a spring and summer, and her behavior never seemed less than impeccable.  It was so clear that it was just a spontaneous expression of who she was and what was alive in her.  This didn’t mean she hesitated to act forcefully or speak out passionately if she felt something was wrong.  But she did it without judgment or blame.  She honored Munindra as her teacher, but didn’t hesitate to take him to task one day for keeping a group of her students waiting an hour and a half in the Calcutta heat and humidity for a talk he’d promised to give them.

From Jack Engler:

I had just been introduced to Vipassana through four months of intensive practice at some of the first retreats held in the States, and I left for India immediately afterward.  When I landed in Calcutta, I set out to find Dipa Ma.  I finally found her, and when I tried to introduce and explain myself, I suppose feeling I had to justify my being there and hoping to make an impression, and wanting her to see me as someone who was on the path, I broke down in her presence.  I virtually came unraveled, thread by thread.  I began sobbing uncontrollably, overcome with anxiety and humiliation, face to face with all the artificial constructions of who I thought I was and wanted to be in front of her.  It was impossible to sustain that kind of pretense in her presence.  She just listened with complete acceptance and nonjudgment.  Like any genuine teacher, her presence was a mirror in which I could not avoid seeing myself—all of my ideas about myself just collapsed.  I felt completely undone.  But Dipa Ma never changed.  She was the same at the end of the interview as she was at the beginning—attentive, gentle, kind, just listening without judgment.  When I couldn’t go on any longer, she put her hands on my head and then held my face in her hands and gave me her blessing.

From someone:

No matter who I saw Dipa Ma interact with, she always expressed luminous love and compassion.  Her profound understanding that all of us are vulnerable to the pain of life seemed to have removed any sense of exclusion from her heart.

From Joseph Goldstein:

Someone once described being hugged by Dipa Ma “so thoroughly that all my six feet fit into her great, vast, empty heart, with room for the whole of creation”.

***

There may be a few times in our lives when we meet a person who is so unusual that she or he transforms the way we live just by being who they are.  Dipa Ma was such a person … What [Munindra] did not say in words, but which was apparent from the first time of my meeting her, was the special quality of her being that touched everyone who met her.  It was a quality of the quietest peace fully suffused with love.  This stillness and love were different from anything I had encountered before.  They were not an ego persona, and they didn’t want or need anything in return.  Simply, in the absence of self, love and peace were what remained.

From Jack Kornfield:

In the end, the point is not to be like Dipa Ma or some other great yogi or saint you might read about.  The point is something much more difficult: to be yourself, and to discover that all you seek is to be found, here and now, in your own heart.

***

To you

Robin Williams

My favorite film of Robin’s is “When Dreams May Come”.  It’s the story of Chris, a man who’s killed in a car crash and discovers a heaven full of his wife’s paintings.  Meadows of flowers overflow with wild splotches of paint in the most vivid colours.  It is both an internal and external world brought alive, so alive.

Robin’s wife in the film, Annie, becomes depressed after the death of their two children, also in a car accident, and commits suicide after Chris dies.  Eventually he lets go of heaven and descends to the darkness of hell to rescue Annie.  Such a love.

Robin Williams brought so much passion to the screen, and joy.  But it wasn’t enough to be adored by millions.  How can it be that his life was also torn apart by agonies of the mind?  When I look at celebrities, I hope that what I see is what I get.  May the happy faces for the camera also be happy faces for their loved ones.  I once heard Sharon Salzberg talk about Miss Kentucky.  Years after the peak of her fame, she was asked what impact her crown had had on her.  Her response?  “I’m just so tired of smiling.”

I always hope that celebrities are truly nice people, ones who would treat the gas station attendant with respect and good humour.  And treat themselves with respect as well, seeing their own holiness.

We’re so fragile, we human beings.  We want to be good people.  We want to be gifts to the folks around us.  We want to love ourselves.  But the demons arise and sometimes won’t go back to sleep.

***

Actress Minnie Driver:  “My heart’s broken.  Robin Williams was a beautiful, kind soul.  Can’t bear that he’s gone.”

Robin Williams:  “People just want to be entertained.  They see you do something wonderful and they want you to do it again … and again … and again … until they get tired of it and want somebody else … They’ll finally go ‘Harrumph!  Seen that!’  ‘But that’s what you wanted!’  ‘Used to.’  And you’re dead.”

 

 

 

How’d I Get In Here?

I’d be sitting in my man chair, innocent and serene, when I’d suddenly have the strangest thought: How’d I get in here?  That is, I appear to be inside my head, looking out at the world.  Is that the way it really is?

I think about the Caramilk chocolate bar.  The commercial asks us to reflect upon how the gooey caramel is inserted into the chocolate.  That’s a good question.  As for me, did some celestial big guy, with just the right apparatus, inject me inside this mass of bones, muscles, fat and blood vessels?  I wonder.

How come I’m not inside Jody?  Right now, I sitting beside our bed, watching her sleep.  I don’t seem to be over there.  It feels like there’s a distance from Bruce body to Jody body.  But is there?  Maybe there’s some way that I can throw my … my what?  Consciousness?  Spirit? … throw it inside Jody’s head so I can feel another inside looking at an outside.

How come I’m not inside this coffee cup, or the patio umbrella I see out the window?  Even better, why aren’t I inside of Walt, our gracious walnut tree that welcomes visitors to the Kerr’s place?  I’d like to be out there greeting the folks who walk their dogs past our home every day.  Of course, I’d welcome the dogs too.

Actually, why does there have to be an inside and an outside?  What would it feel like to be everywhere?  But if I was everywhere, what exactly would I be looking at?  Would I see a giant globe of faceted glass, every little piece revealing a different scene in the cosmos?  Here’s a rugby match in South Africa. There’s a mom in the Gaza Strip, protecting her children.  Here’s an old man with a cane, tottering along the path by Lost Lagoon in Vancouver.  There’s kids playing dodge ball in the gym.  Here’s an audience in an outdoor amphitheatre in Turkey, cheering for Elton John.  There’s a young couple holding hands on the couch, wondering if it’s time for the first kiss.  Here’s a few locals on a planet in the region of Alpha Centauri, playing cribbage.  There’s a shooting star on the far edge of the known universe.

And here’s a fellow looking out from his inside over to his wife gently breathing, her eyes closed.  I like this version pretty well.  So whoever you are that did the spiritual surgery allowing me to be in here … thanks.

 

 

T-Shirts

I love t-shirts.  Thanks to my sister-in-law Nona and my brother-in-law Lance, I’ve been amply supplied with some wonky ones in a series of Christmas presents.  When I go on a summer retreat at the Insight Meditation Society, the appropriate clothing is t-shirt and shorts.  Before my first retreat, the question was whether I should wear funny slogans or whether, in anticipation of enlightenment, I should blend in with the other yogis, to the tune of muted colours, no words emblazoned on the chest – your basic egoless approach to life.  I’m happy to say that pizzaz won out … to heck with enlightenment.

Both in my chest of drawers at home and in a suitcase, I fold my shirts once, long ways from neck to waist, and pile them.  When I wake up, whatever shirt is on top of the pile is the one I wear.  I love that little tradition.  On retreat, a gong wakes us at 5:30.  I have time to shower and shave before getting to the meditation hall a minute or two before the 6:00 sitting.  I come in by the front entrance, bow to the statue of the Buddha (more on that in some future post) and then turn to walk back to find a seat.  Usually, there are nearly 100 retreatants in place by the time I make my appearance.

What I didn’t realize until we were able to talk to each other after the retreat ended was that many folks were waiting each morning to see what t-shirt I would wear that day.  A few of them told me that they had to suppress a smile sometimes, striving valiantly to maintain a serene pose.  One person said she laughed inside all day after seeing my “humerus” garment.

I’m happy that my shirts have contributed to many people.  I’ll take any way I can find to bring happiness to others.  Here are my favorites – some funny, some mellow.  Yay for summer!

***

Black background; white right-angled triangle, with the short sides labelled 4 cm and 3 cm, and the long one “x”, “Find x”; in red, a line circles the x and leads down to “Here it is”

I’d say that the x’s of life are not meant to be calculated and analyzed, just observed.  By the way, I’m wearing this one today.  Feels good.

Pea green background; picture of a tyrannosaurus rex with teeth on display; in white, huge “RAWR!”, smaller “RAWR means “I love you” in Dinosaur”

Those three words need to be seen, absorbed and expressed.  The cute context works for me.

Black background; in white, “LISTEN & SILENT have the same letters.  Coincidence?”

Perfect for a meditation retreat.  There’s a type of listening that’s beyond conversation and the sounds of the day.

Black background; in yellow, musical notes and “CAUTION: PRONE TO SUDDEN OUTBURSTS OF SONG”

Not likely to happen at IMS, at least not until the retreat is over.  Give me spontaneity or give me a flat and cautious life.  The first one please.

White background; in gray, bare deciduous trees in winter; in red, a cardinal perched on a branch

There is always life.  There is always vibrancy within the seemingly inert.

Light gray background; in brown, a vertical bone; beside the bone in black, “I found this humerus”

The grand prize winner among the yogis at IMS.  What could be better than making people laugh?

Black background; gorgeous painting of a little red bus in the mountains at sunset; in reddish brown, “GOING-TO-THE-SUN ROAD Glacier National Park”

Aren’t we all going to the sun?

Red background with a black strip around the neck and sleeves; in black,”EXPENDABLE”

A reference to the “red shirts” on Star Trek, the crew members who will likely die by the end of the episode.  What’s left after all that I’ve said is me disappears?

Black background; in orange, a wraparound logo with “HOLODECK PROGRAMMING”; in multicolours within the logo, “WHAT HAPPENS ON THE HOLODECK STAYS ON THE HOLODECK”

More Star Trek.  Number two on the IMS hit parade.  I love sexual fantasies.

Green background; in white, “IRONY: THE OPPOSITE OF WRINKLY”

I can get oh so serious about my knowledge of the English language, and the concepts within.  Silly is better.

Unknown background; unknown colour of the print, “Shine a Light Upon My Day”

A t-shirt yet to be created.  This is a lovely phrase from Nona’s poetry.  May I bask in the glow radiating from each of you.

***

And there you have it – the shirts off my back.  I’ll wear them well.

 

 

 

.

Hugging

What would I include among the best experiences of life?  Hugging would have to be right up there.  I mean a real hug, not one of the reasonable facsimiles that have come my way.  In fact, there’s nothing reasonable about a true hug.  The mind stops chattering.  I stop.  I get to “be with” another human being.

I remember long ago being hugged by Hal, a fellow participant in a leadership course I was taking.  Hal hugged hard.  He squeezed the air out of me and held on.  It was just about an act of violence, rather than the touch of love I always yearn for.  The vice grip was like a closed fist, not an open hand.  I didn’t think much of hugging that day.

Then there are the quickies, where the other person pounds my back rhythmically.  Percussive seems like an apt word.  It’s like the tenderness is only there for a millisecond and then withdrawn.  And it hurts to see it go, over and over again.  Then the contact is gone, leaving both of us anxious, and at least me sad.

Some folks are so tight when they hug, it’s as if they’re wearing armour.  Some of them seem to twist their bodies to avoid full-on contact.  Some practice long distance hugging, where it’s just our arms touching.  None of these ways meet my need for intimacy.

And a bona fide hug is intimate.  Although I’ve often felt sexual urges while hugging, the touch provides an opening beyond that, into a sense of union with the other, into a realm where we merge, rendering the skin barrier meaningless.

The hugs that Jody and I share are quiet ones, just holding, letting our loves mingle and caress.  Nothing to be added.  Just here and just now.  Jodiette and me.

Once I hugged a woman named Gayle for over two minutes, feeling the same sort of interweaving that Jody and I experience.  With Gayle, neither one of us wanted to end the hug, so we didn’t, for the longest time.  We weren’t needy.  Rather, it seemed like a mutual expression of abundance.

Rosie is a woman who decided to hug anyone who would accept the offer.  Here’s a snippet from her story:

The best hug so far came when Rosie approached an elderly man. “He just looked so sad.  I went up to him and asked if he needed a hug.  For a split second, he looked bewildered and then his arms rose up and he actually gave me a mighty hug.  As he pulled away from the embrace, I could see his eyes welling up in tears.  He told me, ‘I’m 92 years old and I haven’t had a hug since my wife passed, 30 years ago.  You have no idea how much this has meant to me.’”

And from a Tim Hortons coffee poster:
Not so much held as embraced

The Arc of Life

It was June, 1962.  I was in Grade 8.  We were playing a game of softball at lunch recess (the version that’s now called fastball).  The diamond was in a corner of the property, with the three-storey school at an angle, so that its left end was closer to us than the right.  Beyond the outfield grass was a wide cement strip that butted up against the building.

And so the stage was set for Roger Mount.  He scared me – all musclely, loud and aggressive.  I was a timid little kid, of the striking out variety.  Thankfully, Roger and I were on the same team, so I was standing near him when the moment cracked open my reality.  Roger was at the plate, waiting.  The pitcher was ready.  He zoomed a fastball over the plate, and Roger met the pitch with the sweet spot.  The ball took off, climbing and climbing towards left field.  My mouth dropped open.  The ball kept going up, impossibly high and far.  Left field was but a memory, as was the cement.  As was the three storeys of elementary education.  Finally the sphere started falling, and then it …

disappeared.

Onto the roof.  Roger had done something that most likely had never been accomplished in the history of Bedford Park Public School.  On the field there was silence as he rounded the bases.  We were in the presence of God.  Fifty-two years later, I’m still there.  Roger is right now.  Eternally.

***

Sometime in the 70s, I went to watch Jack Nicklaus play a practice round at a golf course near Toronto.  One of the best golfers in the history of the game.  And I got to be within ten feet of him, in the first row of spectators behind the tee of a par four hole.  A creek crossed the fairway left to right about 200 yards off the tee.  There was a wide stretch of fairway beyond, but then it turned sharp right and paralleled the creek till it reached the green, far to the right as we viewed it from the tee.  The kicker was that there was a row of tall deciduous trees on the far bank  of the creek, starting from the open fairway straight ahead of us and continuing all the way to the green, protecting the hole against any insane golfer who wanted to try a short cut.

Nicklaus took one look at the situation and said to his caddie, “Why not?”  He teed up a ball and pointed his body towards the green.  I gasped (very quietly – golf is a polite game).  My fellow spectators froze as well.  Jack waggled his driver, stared down the trees, tilted his head to the ball that was about to go for a wild ride, and swung.  The thwack of a real wooden club crushing a dimpled white sphere.  A climb through space as if seeking the Godhead.  Up and up and up and up and …

over the trees.

Jack’s ball came to rest on the fringe of the green.  He turned around, smiled at us, and said, “Don’t think I’ll try that again.”  His words were the only sound on the tee.  Maybe two hundred of us had witnessed the power of a deity.

***

I love the flight
I love the reaching up to God
I love the going up and the coming down

Alone with Nothing and Totally Okay

All times of being together will end in separation
All accumulation will end in dispersion
All life will end in death

What if the richness I feel is mostly not about the people I love and the marvelous toys and experiences I enjoy?  What is there’s something currently not known that never begins and never ends?  What if I am full to the brim right now with well-being, no matter what feelings, thoughts and physical sensations are here in the moment?

How do you talk about the inexpressible?  Are there words that can point to it, leaving it up to the listener to follow the path, perhaps creating one of their own along the way?  Here are a few, I think:

Abiding

Resting in this, as it is now.  Feeling no need to move away from this towards that.  Merely sitting.  Established in the moment, with a feeling of solidity, like a tree just being there in its beauty.

Letting

If my arm feels like flopping over, allowing it to do so.  No contraction.  Not using force to resist.  Being fine with the external coming right up and saying “Hi”, whether it’s pleasant, unpleasant or neutral.

Awakening

As if out of a trance.  Is it possible that I’ve been hypnotized by my culture so that I welcome only a tiny sliver of what is real?  What is just over the horizon from what we say is normal, accepted, usual, standard?

Communing

A quality of contact that enters deeply into the other’s eyes, allowing us to fall free together through unknown pools of peace.  A quality that can emerge in an instant with a stranger, who may really be a loved one that we don’t recognize as such.

Emptying

Of rich foods, alcohol, opinions, hatreds, fears, sorrows, all sorts of stuff that we add to the core of life.  And perhaps it may be said of you, “When I look at her, it’s like there’s nothing there.”  Said as an expression of mystery, not criticism

Deepening

Peeling off layer upon layer of the onion.  Sensing the truth of something once, and then seeing it again as we spiral upward through our days.  Maybe meeting it many times on the journey, each expression more vivid and resonant than the one before.

Shining

Like the sun.  Such a person sees everyone as an old friend.  They radiate blessings in all directions.  There’s nothing to do, other than putting yourself in the company of other people, again and again.

Dancing

Round and round with arms high over the head, a smile bursting from the face, a presence filling the room with joyous movement.  Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, always deliciously lost in the flow of it all.

Revealing

Lifting the cloth to show the beauty of the jewel beneath.  Opening eyes to the essence of all worldly forms.  The gasp of breath as the a-ha! stops us in our tracks, mouth agape, transformed beyond reason.

Seeing

That endings and leavings touch us not.

Potpourri

Last night, Jody and took in the buffet at the Mandarin Restaurant in London.  It was an oriental, occidental and every other -ental feast you could imagine.  I’ve long been known as a culninary conservative and yesterday was no exception.  Discretion is my middle name.  Actually, it’s Archer.  Anyway, here’s the short list of items consumed by yours truly:

Smoked salmon sushi, California roll, avocado sushi, salmon egg sushi, tuna sashimi, potato salad, broccoli salad, fruit salad, mixed vegetables, chicken wings, mushroom chow mein, Shanghai noodles, hot pepper beef, teriyaki shrimp, garlic chicken, caramel mini-cupcake, cheesecake, cheesecake ice cream, chocolate cookie, and … a fortune cookie.  (The real meaning of enlightenment is to gaze with undimmed eyes on all undimmed).  I don’t know about enlightenment … the evening seemed to be about enheaviment.

Happily, I didn’t have to undo the button at the top of my fly after the meal.  Being discreet has its privileges.  Since I wasn’t being bothered by bodily pains, there was time to ruminate on the vast variety of foods that were now sitting inside of me.  So many flavours.  So many colours.  So many textures.  And I started to think about people, all seven billion of us: all shapes, sizes, ages, personalities, appearances and strengths.  How would I describe that buffet?  My friend Google came to the rescue, painting a multifaceted picture of us human beings:

Aable
abnormal
absent-minded
above average
adventurous
affectionate
agile
agreeable
alert
amazing
ambitious
amiable
amusing
analytical
angelic
apathetic
apprehensive
ardent
artificial
artistic
assertive
attentive
average
awesome
awful
Bbalanced
beautiful
below average
beneficent
blue
blunt
boisterous
brave
bright
brilliant
buff
Ccallous
candid
cantankerous
capable
careful
careless
caustic
cautious
charming
childish
childlike
cheerful
chic
churlish
circumspect
civil
clean
clever
clumsy
coherent
cold
competent
composed
conceited
condescending
confident
confused
conscientious
considerate
content
cool
cool-headed
cooperative
cordial
courageous
cowardly
crabby
crafty
cranky
crass
critical
cruel
curious
cynical		 Ddainty
decisive
deep
deferential
deft
delicate
demonic
dependent
delightful
demure
depressed
devoted
dextrous
diligent
direct
dirty
disagreeable
discerning
discreet
disruptive
distant
distraught
distrustful
dowdy
dramatic
dreary
drowsy
drugged
drunk
dull
dutiful
Eeager
earnest
easy-going
efficient
egotistical
elfin
emotional
energetic
enterprising
enthusiastic
evasive
even-tempered
exacting
excellent
excitable
experienced
Ffabulous
fastidious
ferocious
fervent
fiery
flabby
flaky
flashy
frank
friendly
funny
fussy
Ggenerous
gentle
gloomy
glutinous
good
grave
great
groggy
grouchy
guarded
Hhateful
hearty
helpful
hesitant
hot-headed
hypercritical
hysterical		 Iidiotic
idle
illogical
imaginative
immature
immodest
impatient
imperturbable
impetuous
impractical
impressionable
impressive
impulsive
inactive
incisive
incompetent
inconsiderate
inconsistent
independent
indiscreet
indolent
indefatigable
industrious
inexperienced
insensitive
inspiring
intelligent
interesting
intolerant
inventive
irascible
irritable
irritating
Jjocular
jovial
joyous
judgmental
Kkeen
kind
Llame
lazy
lean
leery
lethargic
level-headed
listless
lithe
lively
local
logical
long-winded
lovable
love-lorn
lovely
Mmaternal
mature
mean
meddlesome
mercurial
methodical
meticulous
mild
miserable
modest
moronic
morose
motivated
musical		 Nnaive
nasty
natural
naughty
negative
nervous
noisy
normal
nosy
numb
Oobliging
obnoxious
old-fashioned
one-sided
orderly
ostentatious
outgoing
outspoken
Ppassionate
passive
paternal
paternalistic
patient
peaceful
peevish
pensive
persevering
persnickety
petulant
picky
plain
plain-speaking
playful
pleasant
plucky
polite
popular
positive
powerful
practical
prejudiced
pretty
proficient
proud
provocative
prudent
punctual		 Qquarrelsome
querulous
quick
quick-tempered
quiet
Rrealistic
reassuring
reclusive
reliable
reluctant
resentful
reserved
resigned
resourceful
respected
respectful
responsible
restless
revered
ridiculous
Ssad
sassy
saucy
sedate
self-assured
selfish
sensible
sensitive
sentimental
serene
serious
sharp
short-tempered
shrewd
shy
silly
sincere
sleepy
slight
sloppy
slothful
slovenly
slow
smart
snazzy
sneering
snobby
somber
sober
sophisticated
soulful
soulless
sour
spirited
spiteful
stable
staid
steady
stern
stoic
striking
strong
stupid
sturdy
subtle
sullen
sulky
supercilious
superficial
surly
suspicious
sweet		 Ttactful
tactless
talented
testy
thinking
thoughtful
thoughtless
timid
tired
tolerant
touchy
tranquil
Uugly
unaffected
unbalanced
uncertain
uncooperative
undependable
unemotional
unfriendly
unguarded
unhelpful
unimaginative
unmotivated
unpleasant
unpopular
unreliable
unsophisticated
unstable
unsure
unthinking
unwilling
Vvenal
versatile
vigilant
Wwarm
warmhearted
wary
watchful
weak
well-behaved
well-developed
well-intentioned
well-respected
well-rounded
willing
wonderful
Yvolcanic
vulnerable
Zzealous

Quite the smorgasbord, wouldn’t you say?  Beyond good and bad, tasty and bland, filling and light.  Just us.

Anonymous Animation

In my own worst seasons, I’ve come back from the colorless world of despair by forcing myself to look hard for a long time at a single glorious thing – a flame of red geranium outside my bedroom window.  And then another – my daughter in a yellow dress.  And another – the perfect outline of a full, dark sphere behind the crescent moon, until I learned to be in love with my life again.  Like a stroke victim, retraining new parts of the brain to grasp lost skills, I have taught myself joy, over and over again.

I don’t know who wrote these words, and it doesn’t matter.  They’ve touched me and opened my eyes.  I realize that often I don’t look at things in my environment.  Oh, I may see the objects but I may not be drinking them in.  Thank you, anonymous author.  Wherever you are, do your ears perk up as I write these words?  Do you sense the contribution that you’ve made to my life?  On some level, may you see.

I’m sitting in my man chair in our family room at 5:00 am.  Can’t sleep for some unknown reason.  Mr. or Ms. Anonymous has me looking around.  On the end table by the couch sits a gorgeous stained glass lamp, but right now the light is out.  How about if I go over there and turn it on?  Yes.  I’ll be right back.

…

Ahhh.  Much better.  A brilliant red rose is saying good morning, as are green shoots that look like welcoming arms.  Is it as simple as this when I feel tired and dull:  Just turn the light on?  My spiritual lamp may be completely off or it may be on a dimmer switch.  Just turn it on, Bruce.  Take flat moments and objects and breathe life into them.  Animate them.

Now, back to the family room, ably assisted by a cup of coffee.  I look at the soft wine-coloured couch beside me and remember all the cuddling that Jody and I have done there, and all the guests who have lounged and chatted thereon.  Cool.  No longer just a piece of furniture.

On the far wall hangs a painting of Jody and me, created from a photo of us on the leafy patio of a Quebec City restaurant.  Two smiling humans holding each other.  And yet how rarely I look up and see us there.  Time for a change.  Time to embrace what comes my way in the daily round, moment by moment.

All these thoughts are dropping out of my fingers because a dear one out there in the universe wrote about red flames and dark spheres.  Thank you again, universal someone.  It is truly a gift you have given.

The Big Three

Once upon a time, I was a super thin teenager, with a face full of acne and a farmer’s tan.  Clearasil didn’t seem to help and the Instatan goop left me with little lines of brown on the top edges of my toes, bordered by lily whiteness.  Eventually, I started wearing longsleeved turtleneck shirts all summer, to the amusement (and no doubt disdain) of many.

My self-esteem was rock bottom, and I let my woes focus on three facts:  I couldn’t swim.  I couldn’t skate.  I couldn’t ride a bike.  My conclusion?  I couldn’t have a good life.

Let’s take swimming first.  When I was 6, my parents sent me to a hotel pool for lessons.  At one point, the instructor told us fledglings to line up on the edge of the deep end.  He yelled “Jump!” at us one by one, and if the person didn’t, the hairy-chested so-and-so pushed.  I remember flailing away … and then later waking up on the side of the pool after receiving artificial respiration.  “Yuck!” said my very young mind.

Then there was high school.  Happily for some, Lawrence Park Collegiate Institute in Toronto had a pool, and there were twice a week swimming periods from the beginning of Grade 9 to the end of Grade 12.  Quadruple yuck.  It seemed like I spent my entire high school career floundering around in the shallow end while the guys did laps.  And all of us were nude.

How did I ever recover from all this?

On to skating.  My parents meant well but my skates were ill-fitting and I guess there was no money for fancy new ones.  Flop went the ankles and down went the bod, again and again and again.  My friends were playing hockey.  I was going to skating parties, running on my skates in a hopeless effort to stay vertical and grabbing on to chain link fences.  Friends did loops around me and occasionally came to a professional stop, showering me with ice crystals.  “How’s it goin’, Bruce?”  The girls were more discreet.  They just stayed away.

How did I ever recover from all this?

For dessert, there was riding a bicycle.  Except I didn’t know how.  I was too terrified of falling and smooshing my muscles and bones to even ask Mom and Dad for a bike.  Once more, friends rolled away to destinations (and adventures) unknown.  At least unknown to me.

When I was 17, I got my first job – flipping hamburgers at a stand on Toronto Island, a lovely stretch of lawns and trees.  My spot was at Hanlon’s Point.  Refreshment was also available at Centre Island and Ward’s Island.  One day, my boss came up to me and said “Bruce, take this box of burgers over to Centre.  They need it right away.  There’s a bike at the back.”  Oh … gulp big time.  I took the frozen burgers, walked to the back of the building and spied the sinister two-wheeled job.  Arghh!  I tried to do what I’d seen so many people do – get on the bike.  Didn’t have a clue, and the result was predictable … splat! on the asphalt.  Picking myself up, I glanced around like a fugitive and saw that no one had witnessed this escapade.  Twenty yards away was a grove of bushes.  I ran the bike over there and shoved it in.  After making sure the beast was totally concealed, I ran like hell to Centre Island with my thawing patties.  Sigh.

How did I ever recover from all this?

Forty-eight years later, I’m a happy adult.  As for the big three, here is my score:

Swimming – still can’t
Skating – still can’t
Riding a bicycle – learned when I was 47 years old

Something good must have happened to me along the way