I was eager to go to lunch with my friend Lola today.  I’d picked a surprise restaurant and was looking forward to a long talk.

Mid-morning Lola texted me to say she was sick.  (Sigh)  I was sad … for her, for me, for us.

Moping in my apartment was not the answer.  So I strolled over to Izy Coffee on the Langemunt for a cappuccino and to write something in my blog.  I opened the door, looked to my left towards my beloved black couch, and there sat Filip – a friend I haven’t seen for six months.

Delight!

On both our faces

Someone large in the universe must have known that I needed a real conversation today … and provided Filip.

I bought him a coffee.  An hour later, he bought me one.  And the words flowed.

I never thought to ask him where he’d been.  I knew he’d bring forth that which was animating him … so would I.  And that’s what happened.

I can’t remember much of what he said over our two hours – or much of what I said!  But I knew as we parted that we had spent our time within “the good, the true and the beautiful”.  We drew forth the essence of each other so it could see the light of day.

Two hours felt like two minutes

This morning and afternoon’s talk with Filip brought to my mind one of my favourite quotes, spoken by Maya Angelou:

I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel

Thank you, Maya

Thank you, Filip

Thank you, Bruce

First, from yesterday’s “Jigsaw” post.  I forgot something.

As the unclaimed pieces got fewer, I stared at one that was so intricate.  I memorized the twists and turns of the shape and obsessed to find its companion amid the others.  Not to be revealed!  My brain cells began leaking out of my head …

Closer to the end, I looked at the holes in the design and the remaining pieces and came to a conclusion:

There are missing pieces!

When I first saw the puzzle pieces in their plastic bag, I spotted a white token which said “Inspected by 026”.  Hours later I started berating 026 for doing a sloppy job.

Many minutes on, the design was nearly complete – just a few spaces, just a few pieces.  And then … the last piece settled into its home.  Fini!

I’m sorry, 026.  I misjudged you.  Good job.

As for you, Bruce, you were thoroughly wrong.  And not for the first time, I may add.

***

On to the next …

During last night’s Evolutionary Collective meeting on Zoom, Patricia Albere talked about the 1-1 practice we do, called Mutual Awakening.  She asked us to “draw forth” the best of our partner when we were practicing, to evoke their beauty.

There are two main alternatives to this perspective.  We can let our partner be in however they express themselves, sending them our unconditional love.  Or we can judge them. 

It’s so different to think “Give me all of you!”  I like it better than unconditional love.  And the word “evoke” fascinates me.

To cause something to be remembered or expressed

As in having my partner remember who she or he deeply is.  And calling them to express their very best … their loves, their inspirations, their “yes” to life.

I evoke with my loved ones.  I’m curious about their lives.  “What’s important to you? … Tell me more.”

Very few people in my daily life want to evoke the best of me.  Most folks just aren’t very interested in my joys and sorrows. 

I’m thinking of one Ghentian woman who consistently celebrates what I bring to the world.  She’s so curious about her life, and mine.  She sees us as spiritual companions on the journey.  We’re both healers, I believe.

Thank you, Patricia, for planting the seed of “calling forth” yesterday.  I will continue to do so with my loved ones.

And who knows what will emerge

“I’m like this.  I’m not like that.” 

Maybe.

I was probably a teen the last time I did a jigsaw puzzle.  In recent times it was “Why would I waste my time doing that?  So boring.”

About a month ago, I saw an advertisement on the Internet that stopped my brain.  Wooden jigsaw puzzles of animals … and they glowed.  Such glory.

All thoughts of “boring” drifted away, replaced by “beauty”.  On the spot I bought an elephant, a fox, a cat and a sea turtle.  No thought … just magnetism.

The puzzles arrived last week, and there they sat in their lovely blue boxes, unopened.

Yesterday was the beginning – maybe a hundred tiny shapes (each one in an aquatic theme) were spread across my table.  My sea turtle.  “I’m actually doing this!”

My skills were low, as was my ability to find distinctions between one piece and the next.  But so what?  “I’m a re-newbie.”

And then the moment: the first two pieces found each other like lovers … perfectly joined.  My heart soared.

My strategies improved.  Look at the accompanying photo and see the little lines and subtleties of colour.  Find pieces that are smoothly curved on one side > they’re probably on the edge of the design.  Really see the shapes of bumps and holes and find their partners.

“I see the head!”  Oh, joy.  I was in the middle of creation.  Something grand was becoming and eventually would be.

How long did it take for the entire turtle to be revealed, you ask?  Four hours.  Fatigue growing, hunger ignoring – I was on a mission of emergence.  I was Michelangelo facing a huge lump of clay and seeing David inside.  Oh, bliss!

There was one piece that thrilled and scared me – Neptune’s pitchfork.  There’s no doubt a better word but I don’t what it is.  “How can I find Neptune’s home?” I sighed.  But in time all was revealed.  My fingers finally knew what to do.

***

And at the end of it all …

Voilà!

I also bought a mounting kit so my new friend will grace one of my walls

Welcome home, dear turtle

I went to ‘t Kuipke (The Tub) yesterday morning.  So did 15,000 other cycling fans.  It’s an iconic velodrome in Gent that opened in 1965.  On Saturday it hosted the team presentations for the bike race Omloop Het Nieuwsblad.  I watched men and women riding in, standing there beaming onstage, and riding out again.

I was in love.

In love with the thrills of cycling, with incredibly fit young people, with the stories behind the athletes.

In love with the colours, the music and the smiles.

As each team rode in, young kids who had climbed up the barriers leaned over for a high-five, and most riders obliged.  Such fun!

I have my favourite cyclists … most of them women.  (Imagine that)  I looked into their faces from my spot in front of the stage.  Behind the eyes were the joys and sorrows that all of us share.  Plus the immense ups and downs of being an elite athlete – the highest of wins, the deepest of losses, the public adoration, the injuries that silence the bicycle.

***

And then it was time to race.  The women 138 kilometres, the men 197.  Why the difference?  I don’t know.

They gave ‘er!

And I applauded

It wasn’t a sweet dream, though it started that way.  I was on a hill, looking down towards a lazy river.  The breeze blew through my hair.

Way in the distance I saw a tiny red object … moving.  Slowly I realized it was heading straight to me.  A golf cart, with someone waving their arm.  Closer.  It was a man waving, and yelling.  He had a passenger.

And now screeching to a stop in front of me.  Shouting in a language I didn’t know.  The passenger shoved me to the ground.  He reached towards my chest with what looked like two walkie-talkies, each with an antenna.  He put the tips of the antennas together and I felt a little jolt.

The angry man made a twisting motion with his hand and his assistant reached for the dial …

I woke up, sweat pouring

I was terrified.  How can a dream be so detailed, so real?  It was 3:00 am this morning.  Go back to sleep?  To be murdered?  No!

So I lay there, wondering if I’d locked the door.  The minutes dribbled on.  But eventually my eyes closed and I was gone once more.

The floor was grey marble … so smooth.  In the middle of the room stood a black grand piano, shining.  On either side hung a bear rug, with the heads dangling near the floor.  Where was I?  No fear this time, just an immense “not knowing”.

I never found out, since my eyes sprang open again.  On my back, all spread out on a moist bed.  Lost in the night.

And then …

Walking towards me was an old friend from the 1970’s – Kath Moors.  She was young, and holding the hands of a little girl and boy, who I knew right away were her grandchildren.  Kath was smiling at me and the kids were bouncing along.

Then one more waking.  And after … imageless sleep for the rest of the night.

***

It’s morning

I’m all worn out

Most likely my day won’t be about electric shocks, grand pianos and Kath

This is Max.  He’s the resident doggie at Lunchroom Martens, where I often eat breakfast.

This morning he was sitting right here, on the softest seat.  I scratched his head, and then under his chin.  I’m sure I heard “Ahh …” come out of his mouth.

Then he turned on his back, offering his tummy.  So I scratched there too.  We were both happy.

I tried for a photo of “paws up, tummy available” but Max was too fast for my phone.  So I settled for a straight-on shot.

Max’s posture got me thinking.  How can we human beings touch each other physically outside of romance?  Should I show up at Izy Coffee, lie on the black couch, pull my shirt up, expose my tummy and wait for other customers to rub?  Or invite someone else to reveal their middle so I can touch there?

Perhaps not

If not that, then what?

A Hug

A lingering one, soft.  No squeezing the breath out of the other, no back slapping, no limp one-armed version (which isn’t a hug at all).

Just staying close for awhile … silent contact.

Fingers Down the Cheek

My right hand.  The backs of the fingers sliding down the left cheek of the loved one.  Silent again.

Does this fall within the realm of romance or can it also be a gesture of love between friends?  I say the second.

Rubbing the Feet

Watching TV together.  The friend lying on the couch, their feet on my lap.  The slow back-and-forth of my hand.

***

Quiet moments

Love obvious

Time left behind

“A feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause”

“Being overcome in sorrow”

I’m not feeling melancholy now but I’m guessing the man sitting near me in Izy Coffee is.  He gazes out the window long and long, his head resting on his hand.  There is a sagging.

Should I tell melancholy to stay away?  “Only cheerful thoughts, please.”  Of course not.  Both pains and joys often come to visit, unbidden.

I usually raise my eyes to the far horizon accompanied by all of us … but not always.  My head also knows the support of my hand when life is weary.

The photo of the girl speaks volumes.  May each of us be with her.  We know.  And also with the work of art you’re about to see … such despair.

This heartbreakingly beautiful sculpture is called Melancolie.  It was created by Albert György (living in Switzerland, but born in Romania) and can be found in Geneva in a small park on the promenade (Quai du Mont Blanc) along the shore of Lake Geneva.

Enough with the thoughts from the mouth

Time for the seeing from the eyes

When I read a book, there are so many pages.  What will I carry forth into the rest of my life?  Will it be the sweet memory of a person, or also something they said?

I love the novel Northern Lights, written by Philip Pullman.  Lyra, 12-years-old, is an inspiration to me.  She is one brave girl.  I smile when I think of her.

Is there a quotation, something for me to hold onto?  I know:

“I want to come North,” Lyra said so they could all hear it.  “I want to come and help rescue the kids.”

“We will go,” she said to Pantalaimon.  “Let ’em try to stop us.  We will !” 

***

Or a song …

Angel by Sarah McLaughlan.  I remember her voice soaring as she gave us the words.  I remember being entranced with the beauty, with the sadness.

And a few lines linger …

In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear

***

Then a poem.  Here is “When Death Comes” by Mary Oliver.  The whole thing.

Will you take a line or two with you as you leave?  Will I?

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
When death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut

When death comes like the measle-pox
When death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering …
What is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood
And I look upon time as no more than an idea
And I consider eternity as another possibility

And I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular

And each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence

And each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened or full of argument

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world

***

For me, it’s these words which will remain:

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement

Those few are enough for me.

And so, as my Wednesday joins with Thursday, I take these:

We will go!

This dark cold hotel room

A bride married to amazement

On I go … accompanied

Two weeks ago, I sang “The Parting Glass” at an open mic session in Minard.  I was happy.  I knew I reached many in the audience.

My friend Anouk videoed my performance.  Later I nervously watched it … not perfect, but then what is?  I sang with passion, with a few stray notes.  All was well.

A month or two ago, my friend Lyrinda in Canada asked to see a video of me singing.  Last Friday I sent her this one.  Then, for three days, no response.

Yesterday my mind took over.  A very young mind, reeking with fear.  “She didn’t like my singing!”  What to do?  Sit here forever, wondering, hoping she’ll say something?  Or act?

Guess I’m not emotionally able to sit with the unknown.  I texted her:

Hi Lyrinda,

I sent you a video of me singing a few days ago, and you didn’t comment on it.  I can feel glimpses of a previous low self-esteem creeping in.  “Maybe Lyrinda thinks I sang poorly!”

Silly Bruce.

I don’t need you to compliment me.  Please give me some straight feedback about the singing.  Thank you, my friend.

Lyrinda’s response?  She’d been busy and hadn’t seen the video.  She’ll watch it when she gets home.

Oh. 

As the American author Mark Twain said:

I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, most of which never happened

Lyrinda watched the video.  She replied …

I am clapping with my heart! That was very moving my friend.

***

Silly me indeed