After I sold my home in Canada, I stayed in Toronto for a few months with my friends Anne and Ihor.  They are Ukrainian Canadians who have hosted many refugees in their bed-and-breakfast.  I enjoyed conversations with lots of these folks.

Before I flew across the ocean to Belgium, I bought a traditional Ukrainian shirt.  It hung in my closet till last night.

Katarina, the welcomer at the Ukrainian church in Gent, had invited me to a Christmas concert.  Yesterday I put on my embroidered white shirt and walked towards the realm of music.

I saw the priest, with whom I had talked a few times.  I had a question:

What do I call you?  “Father”?  “Ivan”?

Those are fine.  So is “Father Ivan”

Good.  I asked.  He answered … with a smile.

A group of musical men came to the stage, with instruments that I called lutes.

They began to sing … mouths wide open, some moving to the music.  The glory of the choral!  I was transported.

Each song was introduced by a member of the choir, different each time.  They held their heads high, the words easily heard without a microphone.

One young man had a long solo.  A resonant voice and a wide open soul.  I told him later that he filled the church.  Such was his spirit.

Here’s one of the songs.  I hope you enjoy the soaring.

At the end, the choir director spoke to us, and a woman translated into English.  Sadly, nine members of the choir were not onstage.  They were on the front lines in Ukraine.

After the concert, my Ukrainian shirt was there for all to see.  I received smiles.  And I gave a few as well …

Thank you, dear Ukrainian lovers of music

I took two trains yesterday to Namur, in the east of Belgium.  I was going to my first live cyclocross race!  It’s cycling in the mud, with lots of hills – some so steep that the riders have to carry or walk their bikes.  It’s a big wow on TV and I was thrilled to be seeing it in person.

I sat on a bench outside the Namur train station and let a message sink in:

Nino is immortalized.  Was his carving a defacement or simply his expression?  Like so much of life, it wasn’t black-and-white for me.  I thought of the time it must have taken to create the words … and I thought of the efforts of city leaders to provide a pristine wooden bench for everybody to sit on.

***

The cyclocross race was basically a loop through the sloping meadows, with countless twists and turns.  And it was way up high above the Meuse River, at La Citadelle – an ancient fortress.

I climbed from the river … many steps, and eventually a cobblestoned road.  On the stairs, I hauled myself up by the handrail, breathing hard, resting, beginning again, while apparently everyone else in the world was bounding by.  No matter.  I was doing it.

I found a spot at the barriers on a steep uphill section and watched the Junior Men (under 19) come by five times.

Hardly anyone was strong enough to ride this slope.  On the last few laps, it was no one.  Tongues hung out, eyes were wide, and everything was touched by mud.  I was in awe.  These young men were supremely fit, heroic in their exhaustion.  It was a privilege to be in their presence.

And the same words fit for my neighbours on the hill: Yentl and Raoul … grandson and opa:

Two marvelous human beings.  We talked for two hours as the athletes climbed before our eyes.

Yentl is 16-years-old, plays football and loves motor racing.  (Maybe he said Formula One)  And what he especially loves is his opa.  Often Yentl’s hand would migrate to Raoul’s cap … and stay there.

Yentl wants to work for Raoul someday, in the insulation company he owns.  Far cooler than school.

Raoul was a professional cyclist.  Not one of the top talents but he did ride with people such as Eddy Merckx.  He smiled as he mentioned holding the one-lap record at the Gent velodrome (‘t Kuipke) for years.  Now he’s my age but nothing could keep him off the slopes of La Citadelle yesterday.

Yentl and Raoul were delightful companions.  We also watched the Women’s Elite race.  I’m enamoured with the Dutch rider Puck Pieterse, who’s such a happy and spontaneous person.  I saw her struggle up the hill six times.

I started watching virtually all of the women’s faces as they climbed – fierce determination fighting the fatigue, the cold and the wet.  All heroes.

***

My knees shouted as I stood in one spot for  a long time.  And they cried a bit as I descended all those steps.  My eyes often closed on the two-hours home by train, train and tram.

And they closed for good a second before my head reached the pillow.

Marieke Janssen is a fine artist … and my friend.  We went out for lunch in Oostende and talked about this, that and the other thing.  It was easy.

Marieke’s exhibition was her first as a solo artist.  Her smile filled the body, not just the face.

The gallery was small but Marieke’s creations blessed the rooms:

People came to chat with the artist and admire her work.  The Dutch speaking was fast.  I had no idea what they were saying.  But there was pleasure and raised eyebrows … and purchases.

I loved this one:

The man’s arm becomes the woman’s hair.  And her eyes speak volumes.

I went searching for my favourite painting.  I found it.  And bought it:

They’re looking at someone or something.  The destination has them.  And the sun is happy to accompany.  An honoured spot on one of my walls awaits.

***

I need art

I need music

I need writing

Good things to need!

I was waiting for my friend Marieke at the Oostende train station this morning.  Looking at people.  And watching pigeons scurry by my feet.  I bet they were happy to be out of the cold.

One visitor seemed to be moving funny so I looked closer.  At first glance, she was standing on one foot.  I was impressed with her athleticism.  Then she touched her other foot down, but only briefly … and the landing was strange.  If you thought of her foot as a hand, it was resting on the knuckles rather than the palm.

Then my new friend moved away from me, along the floor.  The second foot made a swimming motion, and the balance was way off. 

The bird is injured

She wasn’t to be denied, however, and roamed around, pecking for bits of food.  “This woman is my new hero,” I thought.

I stared in admiration as Miss Pigeon crossed the room on the floor.  Braver than most.  The humans didn’t notice the journey, except for one woman who came close.

I knew I was about to get up, saunter over to the bird and take a picture.  Plus talk to the woman.

All that disappeared when the pigeon took off and landed on a high windowsill.  And the woman walked away.

You see the result of my remaining photo op.  “It’s just a bird,” you may say.  No, it’s far more.

Waydago, my feathered companion

I’m sitting in the Gent Sint-Pieters train station.  These young women walked by as I was heading to a chair.  Moments before, the hand of the one on the left was nestled in her friend’s arm … so the three moved as one.  I smiled at the simple love I saw.

***

Yesterday morning I woke up with these words:

What if it’s all love? … No matter what

And the thought has stayed.

What if we’re all enveloped in the same cloud … of love?  Perhaps it’s the air we breathe, unknowingly.

Maybe we bathe in it, luxuriate, as we move through our day.  We walk graciously, we rush ahead, we stumble … and still the droplets of love drift down.

We’re peaceful, angry, sad, bubbly and hurt.  We’re stubborn, relaxed, friendly and unfriendly.

And still the glow touches our forehead

***

I wonder

“No matter what happens in life, be good to people,” Swift said in 2023.  “Being good to people is a wonderful legacy to leave behind.”

One person who recently wrote about Taylor on Facebook was sad and angry at the haters:

Your daughters, nieces, and your nephews are watching you run your mouth.  And they are seeing the world hate a woman who does so much good, simply because she exists in their line of sight.

Did you know that Taylor Swift quietly donates mass amounts of money to local food banks in every city she performs in?

And online reactions came swiftly …

She is amazing, generous and kind, not to mention getting people to sign up to vote and giving her drivers and staff large bonuses.

So self righteous you are!  Swift has become trashy adult entertainment not fit for your daughter or anyone else’s daughter to watch.

…

So glad.  You could not have said it better.  Thank you.

Sick of hearing about her … me unfollowing you.

…

She brings some joy to this sad world of negative people!!

She’s a molded image that her record label has created.  Period.

…

I admire her for the good she has done.  She will leave a legacy of humanitarianism.  For that, I have a lot of admiration and respect for Taylor Swift.

Prove it.  You do realize she has publicists and spin doctors that form her image, right?  I’m not saying she doesn’t but I’m not going to blindly believe something about a person who has been molded into an image by her record label and publicists.  There are plenty of people behind Taylor Swift shaping her image like clay.

…

Brilliant … in Gratitude for this statement today.

She is trashy adult entertainment. She is the opposite of a good role model.

…

She is an amazing business woman who cares about human rights, equal rights, and children’s rights.  In addition, she is a brilliant songwriter.  Bravo to her!

Taylor Swift dates guys so she can write a breakup song about them.  I don’t think she’s dating for love – I think she’s dating for creativity. 

***

I don’t know Taylor Swift.  I don’t know her music.  Whatever her gifts and deficits, she deserves a small, white candle, as do we all.

And one final quotation, appreciating the man or woman who originally posted on Facebook:

Never be silent in the face of oppression

The world needs us to express

I’m going to a playreading tonight.  Maybe eight of us will divide up the parts and launch into “Long Day’s Journey Into Night”.  We’ll have fun, inhabiting roles that show all sorts of lives.

As Christmas approaches, I’m remembering a blessed tradition of mine: reciting the poem “Twas The Night Before Chridtmas” to kids.  Thousands of them have sat before me to hear the story of Santa Claus.

Now there are virtually no children in my life, but why not say the poem to adults?  They’re just big kids!  So at our intermission tonight I’ll ask my dramatic colleagues if I can tell them about Santa.  I think they’ll say yes.  And perhaps the light in my eyes will join with light in theirs.

I learned “Twas” in 1985 or so.  Virtually forty years of loving the old man with a red suit and a big white beard.  More than half my life making kids and beyond laugh.

I’m smiling as I think of two lines:

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly

It took me forever to memorize that one!

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle

Such poetry … how I’ve loved uttering those words over the years.

And tonight

My friend Noreen sent me a TikTok video.  In this world of flashing images, it’s tempting to breeze through the content … on to the next.

Please don’t do that as you watch.  Linger.  Perhaps watch it again and again.  There is so much given to us in one minute and six seconds.

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/wAcJz5VpqJTRDXZ6/

Here are the words that especially sang to me.  Your favourites may be different.  And that’s cool …

Be kind, even when you’re tired

Do more than you’re asked, and don’t ask for anything in return

Listen when someone talks, and really listen

Tell people that you love them

When you mess up, make up for it in the next moment, minute or day

***

I love words

And the beauty within them

Yes, that’s it … open your mouth wide.  Let what’s inside come out.  Fill the room with the spirit of the song.

I did all that last night, singing “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down” in the café at Minard.  For the first time in my singing life, I was more excited than scared.  Excited to share the sorrow of the person speaking … to empathize with another human being and hopefully have the forty people listening feel it too.

Before I sang, here’s about what I said:

I like singing songs about people whose lives are very different from mine.  This song is about a drug addict.  I know nothing about this life.  I’ve taken marijuana twice – that’s the sum of my drug experience.

And I don’t know depression.  I’ve often been sad, but not the lingering despair, the hopelessness, the dreams that have disappeared.

I want to feel these things and Kris Kristofferson’s “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down” helps me do that.

And so I opened my mouth and sent the words to the back of the room.  Lyrics that stab, such as “The beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad, so I had one more for dessert.”

I met people’s eyes.  Many of them met mine.  A young woman laid her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder.  The bartender near the back watched me.

Halfway through the song, I  forgot the next words.  And then came my favourite moment … I smiled.  It thrilled my soul to feel the lightness.  My singing was contact far more than performance.

Ten seconds later, the lyrics returned to my mind, and I returned to the emptiness of addiction.

***

As I had hoped

There was “Connection Two Ways”

With many listening

I’m glad

Before I get into the topic that’s swimming in my mind, I thank the woman who was sitting at the next table in Bakkerij Aernoudt this morning.  I’d just been to the pharmacy to pick up a jar of Pantaprazol … and I couldn’t get the lid off.

My ego was well engaged!  I looked for a trick, a subtle little twist that maybe I’d missed.  Nothing.  I cranked ‘er hard with all the muscles my right hand could create.  Solid.  An early grave appeared in my sagging head.

I looked over to my unknown friend and asked her to help.  Her hands turned.  The lid came off.  Easy … except when it isn’t.

It’s okay: older body, younger heart.  I thanked her with a smile.

***

My most precious moments are when I connect with another human being.  Two pairs of soft eyes finding each other.  I usually experience this when I’m paired with someone in Evolutionary Collective meetings on Zoom.  And often in my Gent life.

Sometimes I’m lost in my own thoughts, far from a union with anyone, oblivious to the spirit of the people around me.

Frequently, though, I’m seeing the human beings passing by.  I’m loving them in the eyes.  In those moments, rarely does anyone look at me.  They’re busy in their world.

And so the connection is one way.

That’s better than “no way” but part of me wonders whether I’m doing any good.  Is the other person sensing any well-wishes flowing from me to her or him?   My guess is they don’t.  At least consciously.  But is it possible that I’m reaching them in some realm beyond our minds?  Yes … it is possible. 

I’ll keep throwing love into the street without any evidence that I’m contributing to other lives.  Maybe I’ll toss the word “evidence” to the winds and watch it drift away.  Bye, bye.

***

Tonight I’m singing in the open mic session at Minard.  There’ll probably be fifty souls in the audience.  For the first time in my singing life, I’m more excited than scared.  Wow!  That’s so cool.

May the words and the melody and my voice touch those present.  Perhaps it will be “Connection Two Ways” this evening.