I like those two words.  I never know if this moment could be the last time … I am with a person I love … I do an activity I love … I’m in a place I love.

Last night was a last time.

I love our Evolutionary Collective meetings online.  Five years ago, I took on the task of being a Zoom host once a week.  I struggled to learn.  Sometimes my mind is wide open.  As a Zoomie, I had to focus, a skill that’s been elusive for much of my life.

Anywhere from 10 to 50 human beings have depended on my technical skills so that the meeting is what it’s meant to be: a time for spiritual connection with another human being, and with the whole group.

I have served our community well as a Zoom host.  Despite my many mistakes, I have been committed to the people who show up onscreen in their little rectangles.

Guess what my biggest stress has been on these calls.

…

Okay, here it is: the Internet.  So many times when I turn on my laptop forty minutes before a call, the little “world” symbol shows up on the taskbar – no connection.  I’ve coped well  with the sudden surges in heartbeat.  However …

About two months ago, the world obligation showed up on my lips.  Not a good sign.

After two weeks of feeling into a future decision, the future became the present:

I don’t want to do this anymore

And so last night’s session was my last as a Zoom host.

I felt the nostalgia (and the happiness) as my fingers did all the prep before the folks started showing up.  Carolyne, the teacher for the evening, came on early.  I thanked her and she thanked me for our service to each other, and to the EC members.

The Zoom host welcomes the participants at the top of the hour.  Last time for those sweet words.  Last time to pair people up for the Mutual Awakening practice.  Last time to send out messages so the members know when to switch into a new phase of the practice.

There’s a period of sharing in the large group as the meeting flows towards its close.  I looked at all those rectangles and loved each soul within.

Then it was time for me to unmute everyone so we could say goodbye.  I smiled for the journey it’s been, and for all my companions.

***

And so it ends

A chapter closes

I bet there’ll be some cool plot twists in the next one

When I think of the human body, I think of the surface – skin smooth or wrinkled, dark or light.  And the infinite variety of clothes we humans adorn ourselves with.

But what of the interior?  I know there’s a lot of stuff in there!  And thank God there is … so I can continue being vertical.

I’m starting to get it: Beauty is not just in the contours of the skin.  There’s a sweet universe inside.

Take the blood vessels, for instance.  The arteries take blood away from the heart, the veins return it, and the tiny capillaries exchange good stuff between the blood and tissues.

Here’s the stunner: We have 100,000 kilometres of blood vessels, enough to travel around the world twice!

So, in some twist of logic …

We Are The World

There comes a time
When we heed a certain call
When the world must come together as one

…

We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day, so let’s start giving

…

Oh, send them your heart
So they know that someone cares
And their lives will be stronger and free

***

I just asked myself a question.  “Were you successful in tying together artery length and a song for world unity?” 

And the answer … “Probably not!”

To be followed closely by “Who cares?”

I’m smiling in my body and in the wide world of other bodies

My friend Lyrinda Sheppard posted this poem by Jeannette Encinias on July 7.  Today is September 30.

My internal response was “Later.  I don’t have time now to explore these words.”

But what if I had died on August 12, untouched by Jeannette’s soaring thoughts?

Places to go, people to meet.   Yes, of course, but also verse to be lifted by.

Listen to the poet:

Beneath The Sweater And The Skin

How many years of beauty do I have left?
she asks me

How many more do you want?
Here.  Here is 34.  Here is 50

When you are 80 years old
and your beauty rises in ways
your cells cannot even imagine now
and your wild bones grow luminous and
ripe, having carried the weight
of a passionate life

When your hair is aflame with winter
and you have decades of
learning and leaving and loving
sewn into the corners of your eyes
and your children come home
to find their own history
in your face

When you know what it feels like to fail
ferociously
and have gained the capacity
to rise and rise and rise again

When you can make your tea
on a quiet and ridiculously lonely afternoon
and still have a song in your heart
Queen owl wings beating
beneath the cotton of your sweater

Because your beauty began there
beneath the sweater and the skin,
remember?

This is when I will take you
into my arms and coo
YOU BRAVE AND GLORIOUS THING
you’ve come so far

I see you
Your beauty is breathtaking

***

And what of the future?

May my passionate life continue

May others find themselves in my face

May I fail some more

May the song be in my heart and on my lips

May I hug myself

And may the beauty linger

I bet you know what it’s like: You read about someone and immediately fall in love.  Not romance … companionship.

So it is with me and the American author Kurt Vonnegut.  He died in 2007 but he’s very much alive in me right now.

In fact, I’ve ordered his novel Slaughterhouse Five.  My new regime of reading rolls on …

Here’s what the Internet showed me this morning:

Kurt Vonnegut tells his wife he’s going out to buy an envelope:

“Oh”, she says.  “Well, you’re not a poor man.  You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet?”

And so I pretend not to hear her.  And go out to get an envelope because I’m going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope.

I meet a lot of people.  And see some great-looking babies.  And a fire engine goes by.  And I give them the thumbs up.  And I’ll ask a woman what kind of dog that is.  And, and I don’t know.  The moral of the story is – we’re here on Earth to fart around.

And, of course, the computers will do us out of that.  And what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals.  You know, we love to move around.  And it’s like we’re not supposed to dance at all anymore.

Let’s all get up and move around a bit right now … or at least dance.

***

Thank you, Kurt

Bring on the great-looking babies!

I’m not blood-related to any of them but you know what I mean.  My friend Cara visited me in Canada two years ago.  We had fun.  Last night also included her mom Petra, her dad Pascal, her boyfriend Simon, her sister Tessi and Tessi’s boyfriend Bas.

As we sat in a lovely restaurant called Takes Thyme on the Ottogracht, I reflected on what a fortunate human being I am.  Friends, old and new, flowing in the conversation … without jagged edges.  Six folks who were kind enough to speak in English, so I would feel included.  Flavours from the hands and heart of the chef Federica, who was so happy that we were sitting in her home.

I had pesto pasta (spaghetti actually) with pine nuts and amazing olive oil – my absolute favourite meal in the whole wide world.

I forgot to take a photo of us but you’ll get the idea.  I thought of Googling “seven people having dinner” but the result would have been false.

Here are some highlights:

1.  Cara and Simon just returned from a vacation in Tunisia.  She talked about a kind old woman who taught her how to spin wool, which would soon be transformed into a blanket.  Last night Cara and Simon held hands a lot.

2. Tessi told me of her passion for art history, especially the colours of expressionist paintings.  Bas’ passion is the theatre.  I told him that everyone at the table had to give a five-minute speech.  Instead of backing away, he leaned forward.  As he was about to begin, I smiled and told him it was a joke.  Tessi and Bas held hands a lot.

3.  Petra sat next to her hubby Pascal.  I didn’t see any handholding … but there was an easy love.  And a sweet satisfaction that their family was together.  When someone lapsed into discussion in Dutch, Petra gently reminded them to speak English.  Pascal smiled throughout the evening.  I asked him how old he was  >  “57”  >  “Wow, you’re old!” (I’m 75)  >  (Belly laugh from the old guy)

We went back to my apartment after dinner and talked about this, that and everything else.  I wanted them to experience a stunning YouTube video – Jacob Collier singing Somebody To Love.  So I turned on the TV.  During the song, there was silence on our lips.  At the end, Tessi burst into applause.  Jacob is a magician with his audience.

***

It’s morning

Last night lingers

I’m smiling

How’s this for a painting?  It’s called “Hopscotch” – created by Richard Sargent.

I figure Richard got it right.  Middle-aged man being a kid, with actual kids.  And them enjoying his jumps.  None of “I’m too old to …” and similar nonsense.

We each are so particular, a unique flavour in the ice cream shop – one that’s never been tasted before.  Let’s get a spoon and sample each tub of goodness.

I see a world where all of us go towards rather than back away from.  Where we see someone approaching on the street and start waving.  Maybe we don’t know them but we know them.

There’s more waving, this time from behind windows, greeting us as we pass by.  And it’s so natural to return the hello.

Nobody walks anymore.  That’s too measured, too tied to the Earth.  Instead we dance through our days … and continue till we fall down dead.

Paragraphs no longer escape our lips.  It’s all poetry.  And who cares if it doesn’t rhyme?

Pastel colours massage our souls.  And there are no border lines.  A master artist takes her or his tissue and blends green into blue.

The fences have all fallen down.  We the horses of the world run free – fast, sweating, happy.

I’m curious about your life, and you about mine.  We learn from each other.  We taste other languages, skin colours, ages, clothing, sexual orientations, joy, sorrows …

The word of the day, and every day, is “Yes”.  Love lives in the moment. 

The mouth forgets how to frown.  But it does remember how to curl upwards.  And to borrow a thought from Stephen King, “Our smiles reach our eyes.”

Then … when all is said and done

We stop talking

•

I like reading articles about cycling.  A few days ago, I saw this:

Stevie Williams is living his dream.  At home in Andorra, deep in the mountains, the Welshman is enjoying a rare few days of respite in between travelling home from Canada and heading to Switzerland for the Road World Championships.

For Stevie, I expect that home is both where he started (Wales) and Andorra, where he now lies down to sleep.  I wonder which place draws him more.

I teeter on that edge – Canada and Belgium.  Actually it’s Canada and Gent.  I don’t yet hold Brussels or Antwerp close to my chest.

And today’s winner is … Gent!

At first I skipped over certain words from Stevie, but now they linger: “travelling home from Canada”.  They jolt me.  I’m in a new world … while still smiling about the earlier one.

And then there’s Paul:

Paul Seixas from France won the Junior Individual Time Trial race at the Road World Championships in Zurich.  “Junior” means ages 17 or 18.  He’s singing La Marseillaise – eyes closed and hand over his heart.  He’s home in his soul.

So am I

The seasons of a life

There’s Too Much To Read (1970)

Why do these profs assign so many readings?  Sociology, Psychology, Literature.  My fingers are so tired of turning pages.

There’s No Time To Read (1979)

I’m teaching at Lethbridge Community College.  I need to prepare for classes.  When I’m not working hard, I need to relax, not dive into pages.

Non-Fiction Books About Cycling (2000)

I’m enthralled with professional cycling in Europe.  I devour books about famous riders, the Tour de France, the history of the sport.

There’s A Novel … (2005)

I’m staying at the home of my in-laws Lance and Nona, with a view of the Canadian Rockies out their living room window.

I see Nona pouring over a fat book at the kitchen counter.  It’s Under The Dome, Stephen King’s latest novel.  Inside my head I hear “Not for me … all that horror.  I want to sleep at night.”

Up early the next morning, I spot the hardcover sitting on the counter.  I open it.  I read the first ten pages.  My eyes open wide.  I’m hooked!  (How can this be?)

Within The Mind Of Mr. King (2009-2020)

Twenty King novels pass through my fingers and mind.  Oh, the characters that he creates!  I love them.

Reading To Jody As Death Approaches (2014)

She loved Christine, Stephen’s story about a car that repairs itself … and kills people.

Enough! (2021)

I don’t want to read anymore.  I want to lighten my life.  I give away all my books.

My Friend Is An Author (early 2024)

I enjoy talking to my friend Michelle in Izy Coffee.  She mentions writing mystery novels with some guy in the USA.  That’s nice.

I Wonder What Her Stories Are Like (later 2024)

We talk.  The hero of all four books is Judas Iscariot.  He’s immortal.  His first adventure is in London, as he tries to find out who Jack the Ripper is.

Amazon (three weeks ago)

I’m buying Murder in Whitechapel, Michelle’s first book.  And after it arrives … I’m on the couch, page-turning into the mystery.  The writing is really good!  I’m reading!

I Remember You, Stephen (ten days ago)

You contributed to my life for years.  I wonder if that may include 2024.  I order your latest novel Holly.

Hooked Again (now)

I just finished Holly.  It’s been a detective adventure of love and serial killers.  Mr. King has returned to my heart … along with stories on the page.

Welcome home, Bruce

I started writing Bruce’s Blog on June 20, 2014.  WordPress is the platform I still use.  A few years into my journey, I started copying the posts into Facebook.

And here I am today, tapping away on my 2000th message to you.

I’m happy.

I don’t get many likes or comments but I trust that my thoughts are reaching people.  Still, I’ve had my times of despair.  Partway down the road, I decided that no one was reading my stuff, and I quit writing … for sixteen months.

I kept hoping that someone would get hold of me to say “Where did you go?  I miss your writing.”  My memory is that no one said a thing.  (Sigh)

I can’t remember why I chose to begin again but I’m glad I did.  Even if the evidence of you listening isn’t strong, I will continue.

I write for you, not for me

***

2000

Pretty cool!

Daytime is usually … reasonable.  There’s a basic pattern to it as our daily tasks unfold.  There are surprises, of course, but they’re still in the realm of what we know.

When I step out on my street called the Oudburg in the morning, I know that my neighbour Lieven may be sitting on his chair, or often not.  But I’m pretty sure I won’t wake up to find that his building has disappeared.

But what about nighttime?  My life moves from the vertical to the horizontal.  I may toss and turn some, but I’ve come to expect that, as well as my need to pee at least twice overnight.

As for those other hours of darkness … I don’t know.  I have lots of dreams – many of them so detailed, and some of them remembered.  Where exactly am I when they’re showing on my personal movie screen?  Hmm.

I’ve heard about REM sleep and deep sleep but as far as I know I’ve never watched myself do that stuff, especially the part where my eyes are moving behind my lids.

Okay, all of that is fine, but the question remains …

Where do I go?

I wonder if Google can help me.  I’ll enter “Where do I go when I’m sleeping?” in the search box and see what happens.

***

Ah hah!  Some “Assistant” has answered me.  Here’s “the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth”:

Philosophically and spiritually, different cultures and belief systems offer varied interpretations.  Some traditions suggest that the soul or consciousness may travel to different realms or dimensions during sleep.  This idea is often tied to concepts of astral projection or spiritual journeys, where the soul explores other planes of existence.

Okay then.  There you have it.  I’m out and about in the wee hours, roaming through some never never land.

Perhaps in a Boeing 747!