Before I get to Mr. Nelson, this morning deserves attention.  I sat in Jaggers on the Vrijdagmarkt square in Gent, enjoying my croissant, yogurt and granola.  I talked to Sabrina, another regular, and watched her French bulldog Diva visit newcomers for a nuzzle.  I smiled a lot because the doggie knew how to connect!

As I sipped my latté on the terrace, a young police officer rolled by on her bicycle.  She raised a hand and a smile to the employee setting up tables in the restaurant beside us.  And then she was gone.  Only a moment of contact, but contact nonetheless. 

Both experiences lifted me.

***

I love Willie Nelson.  His baritone voice has a unique vibration that floods my insides.  Couple that with tender lyrics and I am touched.  The songwriter’s words seep unimpeded into my soul, helping me truly know the humanity of the person sung about.

And that’s what I want in life, to know the other person, to feel their joys and sorrows.  To have them get that I am with them.  Not an opponent or a ghost passing on the street … but a brother.

When I sing, I want the audience members to feel other lives.  Willie helps me here.  And he helps me choose what songs I will learn and share.

And so we come to “Always On My Mind”.  I feel the sadness of loving less than fully, of being inattentive to the beloved, of falling way short of my intention.

Thanks largely to your rendition, Willie, I will learn the song, and sing it at open mic sessions in February … God willing.

Listen, please …

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=fA-kdZ5dbYk&si=XPUfP6AhYbwc7jD8

1.  The first is this morning.  I was having breakfast at Lunchroom Martens on the Oudburg.  I lifted my latté cup from its saucer and revealed this beauty:

The elegance of the arms … the flow of the dance.

2.  I wrote a text to my friends in the Evolutionary Collective a few days ago, saying that I’d been discharged from the Düsseldorf hospital and I was coming home.

It’s a four-bus trip.  Easy

Minutes later I re-read.  Oops.  I corrected:

It’s a four-hour bus trip.  Easy

Much more understandable.

3.  I was walking on the Veldstraat yesterday.  Here come four people wearing purple jackets.  Previously I’d made the mistake of thinking such folks were Proximus employees (Internet) because they wear jackets that are the same shade of purple.

This time I walked up to the four and asked who they were.  “We’re Community Guards” is how they answered, translating from the Dutch.  They answer questions about Ghent.  So I asked “What is the meaning of life?”

It’s different for each person, responded one of the women

So true.

4.  I was strolling by Mister Minit, also on the Veldstraat.  The owner has helped me several times with key cutting and shoe repair.  I looked at him through the window and couldn’t remember his name.  And I wanted to know his name.  So I went in.

He was busy with a customer and the interaction kept on going – maybe five minutes.  A small part of me turned to leave but a bigger part stayed put.  “My time will come.”  And his name was “Steven”.

5.  I was sending Christmas cards to my brother-in-law Lance and his family in Canada.  I sat in Izy Coffee with the cards and Google Lens, getting the translations of the Dutch greetings.  For each of my five loved ones, I took the card I had chosen, copied the message in English, wrote a personal note, sealed the envelope and wrote the name on the front.  Easy and fun.

Five cards later, I was proud of myself.  Now to the postal outlet to buy a big envelope and get my greetings sent off to Canada, in plenty of time for Christmas.

I sorted through the envelopes.  Three had names and two were blank.  (Sigh)  So who was who?

Then a smile.  “Oh, Bruce.”  I tore open one of the blank envelopes, saw who it was for, and labelled the other one with the correct name.  Before me sat one mangled rectangle of paper.

Oh well.  I walked the twenty minutes to the bookstore where I bought the cards.  The clerk kindly gave me another envelope and soon my postal service was complete.

***

May today hold similar silliness and loveliness

It seems like half a lifetime ago that I walked into Mitsubishi Electric Halle in Düsseldorf to hear Jacob Collier.  Sadly, I had a “tripus interruptus”.

I was excited.  I had watched two stunning YouTube videos of Jacob performing magic with the audience.  Here I am in front of the hall, with a song in my heart and a delicious pizza in my tummy:

This was going to be amazing.  Jacob would be directing us as a choir, pulling four or more harmonies from us as he sang the melody.  We were ready.

I enjoyed talking to the couple beside me before Jacob came onstage.  They were from the northern part of Germany.  The conversation was easy and lilting.  After awhile, a message appeared in my head: “Ask them how German people today feel about Hitler and the Nazis.”

Ouch.  That was too dangerous, said I.  But another I asked the question, admitting to them that I was scared.  They were so open in their replies, reflecting on the sadness and a lingering guilt in the background, even though neither of them were alive during World War II.

And then Jacob.  As his heart opened and invited ours to join, I drank in the sea of humanity before me:

Marvelous.  They’re singing.  They’re together … along with me.  What can be created in the world with such union?

There were many magic moments for me during the two hours.  And much disappointment as well.  Some of the music was too loud, more noise than melody, with multi-coloured strobe lights on the edge of assault.  And sometimes far too much ego from Mr. Collier in my opinion.

Usually concerts are not a complete field of bliss for me.  There are moments that linger in my soul.  As it was with Jacob.

He gave us an exquisite rendering of “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You”.  We sang.  I videoed it but so far Jetpack tells me that it won’t play.  (Sigh)

The last note stays in my heart.  Seven thousand of us singing “You”.  I pray that you get to hear the moment.  If the video doesn’t play for you, I’ll try sending it again later in the day.

The postscript to all this was a nausea that grew during the latter part of Jacob’s concert.  Food poisoning later took me over.  I thank God that it exploded well after the concert, well after we sang “You”.

So here’s the video.  My fingers are crossed.

After being discharged from hospital on Tuesday, I had three hours of daylight left to explore Düsseldorf centrum.  How strange to have been in the city for three days and to hardly know it at all.

It was Christmas market time.  So many lights, food stalls and rosy-cheeked people enjoying their family and friends.  I stared at the true life around me.

Google Maps showed me Hofgarten, a city park with a meandering lake.  It looked marvelous and my feet led me onward.

Once by the water, I found a bench for enjoyment.  A huge heron was wading in the shallows, watching to see if I was dangerous.  (He’s hidden behind the tree.)  Seagulls soared and landed and soared again.  The lights twinkled.  Folks strolled.  Finally … the real Düsseldorf!

I lingered.  After all, I was on vacation.

Across the way, a daddy pretended to race his young daughter.  She was too fast for him, and squealed in delight at her victory.  Marvelous.

Deeper into the park, I came upon this statue and pool.  Three kids hugging each other, and looking down at … what?

I looked more closely at the direction of their gaze.  At the edge of the pool sat three frogs, hugging each other, looking up.  So much fun.

I wandered down holiday streets towards the Düsseldorf central station.  Thought I’d scout out a place for the next day’s breakfast, before taking the Flixbus home to Gent.

I underestimated two things:

1.  The size of the station.  It was huge.

2.  How exhausted I was.  The walk wasn’t really long but I wasn’t really able.  The final fifteen minutes back to the Airbnb were s…l…o…w.

***

Wednesday was the four-hour bus trip.  I saw lots of stuff in Germany, The Netherlands and Belgium through my big window but those sights were nothing compared to the star of the journey:

A 3- or 4-year-old girl who sat in front of me

We smiled at each other many times

The connection was a blessing

Yesterday the doctor said “Go home.  You had food poisoning … nothing more.”

I smiled and followed orders.  I put on my well used street clothes again, gathered my meagre belongings, thanked the nurses and asked for directions to the business office.  “Be thorough, Bruce.  You’ll don’t know how your Belgian health insurance will co-exist with a German hospital.”  I got my answer from a compassionate woman … and then walked out the front door to breathe real air and see actual human beings filling the sidewalk.

Oh, bliss!

I went back to the agonizing intersection of early Saturday morning, where the supposed door to the Emergency department was locked.  I just stood there, reliving the sorrow, the nausea, the dizziness.  “Go towards it, Bruce.  Don’t back away.”  The few minutes being there yesterday were good therapy for me.

In the previous days, I had looked out my window at life on the street below.  I vowed to stand on the sidewalk and look up after being discharged. 

And so I did:

I had left the blinds open when I left.  How marvelous the reflection in my window.

I started walking back to the Airbnb, knowing that my next stop would be the restaurant where I got the food poisoning.  I walked in and recognized the manager from Friday.  I told him what happened, and there was peace in my heart as I spoke.  I wanted them to be aware of a problem so that it doesn’t happen to someone else.  He responded with sadness, and with a genuine thank you.  We met.

The manager offered to buy me something.  I said “No beer, and certainly no pizza!  How about a cappuccino?”  And so I sat on their terrace and watched people moving every which way … and a flock of birds creating ovals in the sky.

I was happy.  And I thought of a quote that I’ve tried to follow for maybe twenty years:

Never throw anyone out of your heart

(Neem Karoli Baba)

No one – not a restaurant manager, not someone who did something mean to me, not even Donald Trump.  They also deserve my respect, my empathy … my love.

***

Jeez, I’m tired.  There isn’t the oomph to tell you about the rest of my yesterday.  So I’ll just say this:

I’m home!

And my bed is saying “Come on down”

I’ll continue tomorrow

Hell employment for me would be sitting in a cubicle with a computer, contributing to the profit of my corporation.

Now I’m alone in a hospital room built for two.  Staff members in their masks and gowns attend to my needs, kindly and politely.  Very few of them make real contact with me as I search for the soul in the eyes above the mask.

How easily alone can become lonely.

Friends have sent me marvelous messages on Facebook and I’ve received one phone call … a loving human voice!  But I’m sagging in spirit.  I want to go home.

My doctor made one brief visit yesterday, standing at the door so she wouldn’t have to don the extra clothes.  “Home likely tomorrow” … and then she was gone.  The way I read it is that my problem has solely been food poisoning, rather than some extra infection.  May it be so.  May I walk out of Evangelical Hospital this afternoon to my Airbnb and tomorrow ride the Flixbus for four hours back to Gent.

How strange that my continued dullness of mind has me preferring the horizontal to the vertical.  “Guess I’ll just go back to sleep.”  Or “It’s too much work to shower and shave.”

I’ve thought of sitting in a chair and meditating (something I’ve loved doing since 2007 or so) but the mind says no.  As quiet as things are here, my mind bounces, twists and turns.  Thank God for writing this blog to you.  It comforts me.

***

Here’s some abstract art for you:

Do you see the ghost in the picture?  How symbolic … that would be me.

What you see are large tiles on my floor.  Yesterday I sat on the bed, taking the last pills I had brought from home.  I expected the hospital was going to follow through and provide me with more of my meds but they hadn’t shown up yet.

Anyway, I was taking the Candesartan when it slipped from my fingers, hit the edge of the bed, and zoomed off onto the floor.  A tiny orange pill on a grey floor of orange and white dots.

I couldn’t find it.  Ten minutes later, after pushing the bedside table far away to create a large search radius – still no pill.  Okay, I wasn’t going to die but my fragility was now emotional rather than physical, and I despaired.

So I gave up the search.  I pulled the table back to the bedside.  And voilà … the pill was revealed, standing on its wee edge.  If you can enlarge the photo, you’ll find it.

***

If indeed the answer is food poisoning, I will return to the scene of the crime and tell the restaurant staff what happened.  I won’t do it with antagonism, but rather in the spirit of service.  They need to know that something was wrong with Friday’s Farmer Pizza.  I’ve looked to see if I’m angry with the restaurant.  I can’t find any anger, and I don’t think I’m suppressing it.  I feel sad.

***

And so I wait for the doctor’s verdict

“All things come to those who wait”

When I was walking to the hospital on Saturday morning, my brain was jumbled.  It was like someone had thrown a blanket over my head.  I remember muttering “I’ll be safe soon.  They’ll take care of me.”

And then there was the lovely couple from Ghent that I’d met on the bus to Düsseldorf on Friday.  We agreed to meet at 5:00 pm Saturday and go to dinner. 

I felt guilty as I walked.  If I was admitted to hospital, I wouldn’t be at our meeting spot and I didn’t have any contact information.  So I wouldn’t be keeping my word.  And who knows what they’d think of my absence?  I couldn’t corral in my mind that I was not at fault.

***

In Emergency I vomited twice more into my trusty Carrefour Express plastic bag.  It had been my companion all night.  The second time happened as I was talking to a doctor.  She asked me to put the bag in the garbage, and I said no.  I didn’t want to part with the stinky thing.  Minutes later, I changed my mind.  Such a strange experience, having a brain undone.

***

When I got to my room, I panicked.  The window was open and the temperature might have been 18 Celsius (64 Fahrenheit).  “It’s too cold!” I semi-yelled.  The shivering seemed uncontrollable.  And I actually had the thought that I was going to die in the cold. 

Two staff members helped me from the Emergency bed to my temporary home bed.  They pulled a white comforter up to my chin as I shivered away.

It was blessed relief.  “I’m okay.  I’m safe here.”  And I fell asleep.

I look back at this moment and remember how I used to suck my thumb as a kid, holding my teddy bear.  Teddy comforted me.  And I continued to suck my thumb with him till I was ten.

***

Early Saturday in bed was an astonishing experience of weakness.  I was lying on my back and couldn’t roll to my side, much less sit up.  The nurse asked me to unbutton my sleeve so she could take my blood pressure.  Nope.  Unscrewing the cap of a bottle of water was impossible.

Later I was sitting up, I looked over the foot of my bed to the table set up for eating and realized that I’d never get over there in my current state.  My little cardboard puke dish stayed ready for action.

Sunday the vomiting had stopped, along with the nausea.  Thank God for modern science.  And lots of sleep.  I’m very glad I chose the hospital on Saturday morning.

I look back now and get how fragile I was, how I needed help doing just about everything, how I let go into being cared for, how precious it was on Sunday when I could walk with my IV pole to my room’s bathroom.

***

It’s Monday.  I’m in isolation, with staff coming and going in their masks and gowns.  Although food poisoning is the likely cause of my woes, the doctor is looking at the possibility of some infectious condition.

In three hours or so, my doctor will come back with the verdict: either she’s sure it was food poisoning, and I can go back to the Airbnb today (and home on the bus tomorrow) … or I get to experience the hospitality of Evangelical Hospital awhile longer.

Thanks for listening to me, dear friends known and unknown.

I wake up this morning with some energy returning.  No more vomiting.  And the anti-nausea meds are doing their job.

I want to write about some of the moments.   The ebb and flow of living a life has been on vivid display.

Much of the Jacob Collier concert I loved, and much of it I didn’t.  The negative was too many flashing lights, songs that seemed more noise than music, and a “Look at me!” tone.  The positive were sacred moments where Jacob and we created a choir of 7,000.  I was transported.

But something was wrong towards the end.  In me.  My life force was leaking out.  My joy was turning to dullness.  My stomach hurt.  I had been talking about life with the marvelous couple sitting beside me but as the concert moved to its completion, I hardly saw them.

Back to the Airbnb.  In the hours from midnight, I vomited ten times.  Twice more at the hospital.  I decided at home that I needed medical help.  I Googled “hospital near me emergency” and found “Evangelical Hospital”, an 18-minute walk away (translation for me: maybe half an hour).

I hadn’t figured out the Düsseldorf transit system.  The return trip from the concert happened because a kind woman helped me navigate the German-only instructions.  So I knew I had to walk to the hospital.

I was getting weaker.  I was staggering on the sidewalk.  The few passersby I passed at 6:00 am probably thought I was drunk.

Google Maps told me that when I got to a certain intersection, I had to walk two-fourths around a block to get to the entrance.  My mind was mostly gone.  I held my plastic bag for puking.  Google’s entrance was all alight … but the door was locked.  No bell for ringing.

And so … despair.

I looked around.  The street was dark and empty.  But then a car was coming.  I flagged the driver down.  He spoke English.  I told him my story, slurring some words.  He didn’t know where the Emergency entrance was.  I despaired some more.  I asked him to drive me to the other side of the hospital.  He said yes.

Three-fourths of the way around, rather than two, there was the entrance.

***

That’s all for now.  Time for more sleep.  Thank you for listening.

I’ve been admitted to a hospital in Düsseldorf, Germany with suspected food poisoning.

Overnight and this morning, I vomited twelve times.  Now I’m very weak.  Sitting up in bed is a major challenge.  Walking is hopefully a tomorrow thing.

I wanted to tell you about Jacob Collier but that will have to wait.

Even though the physical reality is that I’m alone in a foreign country, I know you’re supporting me, however many of you are out there on Jetpack and Facebook.

Thank you.

Bruce

But first last night …

I played two cello pieces at an concert.  The clock was ticking towards my time and I was scared.  Long ago when I played as a teen, it was always in a group.  At last November’s concert I was solo.  And again yesterday.

My friend Boaz and two of his friends were there to support me.  As I readied my bow for the first note, I forgot to look at them.  But they were cheering me on, I know.

I kept my word to myself: I played with passion!  The notes were scattered good and bad.  The sweetness of the sound came and went.  But my head didn’t drop during the bad times.  Mostly I swayed to the melody I was creating.  It was the cello and me and the music – everybody loving everybody.

Once I played a note that was far from correct.  Not just an error in intonation: a completely different note.  And my face smiled!  No thought, just an upturn of lips.  That’s my happiest memory of being onstage.

Boaz and friends beamed at me after I sat back down.  Later he texted me:

You definitely reached the audience with your passion for the cello

Cool

***

By the way, I’m on a bus to Düsseldorf, Germany.  Tonight I hear Jacob Collier in concert.  He’s a 30-year-old British singer who gets his audiences singing with him.  He’ll point to one section of the arena, sing a harmony line, and ask that group to sing it.  Then another pointing, and another harmony.  Repeat until the choir swells.

More of Jacob later.

***

I had breakfast at Panos Langemunt and invited a fellow to join me.  He and I had said hi to each other for months but had never talked.  Now was the time.

He told me of a terrible thing that had happened to him, and the impact that had on his children.  He also said that he’d moved on from the trauma and was now happy.

I thought of what would be helpful to him.  Much of his story had common ground with my journey, and I thought of sharing my experiences, but held back.  And I’m glad I did.

Instead I gave him all my attention and asked questions that hopefully would encourage him to go deeper.  Mostly I just listened.  It was a good meeting of the hearts.

***

Here I am with my farmer’s pizza in Café Botschaft in Düsseldorf, contemplating the rest of my life … or at least Jacob’s concert tonight.  That fellow on my right, and his friends, have been helping me understand how to buy tram and bus tickets.  No doubt it’s easy when you know how to do it.

And then there’s Jacob.  I’m so looking forward to singing!  It’s a joy in my life.  I’ll tell you all about the concert tomorrow … no doubt smiling all the while.