I stood this morning on the Zuivelbrug, a bridge over the Leie River.  The rain fell softly.  I saw my friend Glenn through the vertical windows of the Soup Lounge.  We often banter back and forth, and sometimes he offers me wisdom.  I gladly receive it.

He lifted his arms and then lowered them with a fluttering of his fingers.  Rain!  Meaning from a distance.

And then …

I looked over to Glenn and raised my arms with the same vibrating fingers.  Next the arms straight out to the sides, fingers still alive.  Then in to my heart.  Now way up in a V shape, yearning for the universe.  And finally a deep bow to my companion behind the glass.  Glenn smiled.

So did Yannick, my postman.  He was crossing the bridge as I was flourishing.

Perhaps I’m strange … with a touch of loveliness

When I was a teenager, I dreamed of playing Camille Saint-Saëns’ The Swan on the cello.  Today, after fifty years of absence from the instrument, I’m dreaming again.

I started with my cello teacher Lieven last September.  I have had moments of fine playing, flowing deeply into the music.  Mostly, though, it’s been a grind: out-of-tune notes, a scratchy sound on the strings.  I have despaired.  My head keeps falling down and I keep raising it again.

Yo Yo Ma is a brilliant cellist.  I will never play The Swan like him.  But that doesn’t matter.  We share something far beyond our senior citizenship.  We hear the beauty inside the melody.  Our bodies vibrate with the deep notes of the cello.  Our playing can take us into realms of the Spirit … where listeners may be touched.

I need to get that sometimes there is passion seeping out from my left hand on the fingerboard and my right on the bow.  A connection happens with the audience even if the technique is faulty.

My playing abilities will continue to improve.  May my yearning for the cello never die.  And may someone hear me play The Swan someday.

Here’s Yo Yo to inspire you …

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrKjywjo7Q&si=WrnGUu5KUBONm6al

These are two words that didn’t show up yesterday in my one-syllable journey.  They too are fine examples of simplicity and directness.

I love it when someone asks a question and the response is simply “Yes”.  No elaboration, no fanciful descriptions.  No “but” or “mostly” at the end.  No “Today it’s that way.  Not sure about tomorrow”.

A lovely example from my current life:

Are you at home in Gent?

Yes

My mind doesn’t feel involved in the response.  All of me speaks.

The same for “No”.  I read an interview with Ben O’Connor, an Australian cyclist who finished second in the recent Vuelta a España (Tour of Spain), a three-week race.

“There was never a moment when I completely exploded. But Primoz was a deserving winner and he deserves to win this Vuelta a España.“

O’Connor may be looking to fight for a Grand Tour victory in the future but he remains with his feet on the ground. Asked if he thought he could ever beat Tadej Pogačar or Jonas Vingegaard or indeed Roglič, he answered simply – “No”.

***

Well said, Ben … and Bruce

Some words shine for me.  There’s an extra oomph in them, a touch of Spirit.  And most of those words are short.  They’re a laser beam that seeks out my heart.

Of course my words may not be your words.  Perhaps you have your own list.  Or maybe this seems rather unimportant.  Either way … all is well.

These words shimmer inside me.  I offer no explanations, just the letters that have found each other …

Adjectives and Adverbs

strong

big

soft

clear

sweet

wild

far

Nouns

key

breath

peace

joy

home

bed

soul

kids

heart

death

love

Verbs

love

ask

dream

go

sing

point

bow

***

And three more:

you

me

us

I love this curve of the Leie River.  It used to be that a white duck mingled with his or her friends.  But not yesterday.  A twinge of disappointment wove through me.  And then a thought came:

The others have just as much “duckness” as the white one.  They each have their big talent (maybe deep diving) and they share the same duck joys and sorrows.  They just don’t have white feathers.  Look inside, Bruce.

***

I watched a woman and man talking outside of Izy Coffee.  They stood there for at least five minutes, clearly enjoying each other’s presence.

It was time to say goodbye.  They touched.  And then she whirled away from him, starting up the street.  I watched her face.  The smile lingered.  And how lovely is that.

***

I often have deep thoughts.  Such as …

Why do people swing their arms back and forth when they walk?  (Left forward, right back > Right forward, left back, etc.)

Why don’t they throw both arms forward at the same time, and then back?

Of course the legs take turns too.  Or maybe they don’t have to.  We don’t have to walk.  We can hop.  (Legs forward, arms forward > Legs forward, arms back, etc.)

Okay … some of my thoughts aren’t particularly deep

That’s all right

I’ll keep thinking

It’s hard to write this title.  I keep my word.  But not this time.

A week or so ago, I told you I’d be singing at an open mic last night.  I didn’t go.

I could have written about something else today.  You probably wouldn’t have remembered my promise.  I could have silently let yesterday fall into the past.  But I would have known.  “When in doubt, Bruce, communicate … tell the truth.”

I could list a whole bunch of reasons why I didn’t show up … but I don’t want to do that.  If I did go down that path, I can imagine two general responses from you, my readers:

Those are reasonable reasons.  It’s good that you didn’t keep your word.

Those are unreasonable reasons.  It’s bad that you didn’t keep your word.

Instead of all that analysis, I choose to sit quietly with the fact that I didn’t do what I said I’d do.  As well, I see that I need to be careful about promising things.  If the promise is tied to a certain date, I need to anticipate what life will be like then, and whether it works to promise that I’ll do something.

I love the expression “On we go”

After all the good stuff and all the bad stuff, I continue

There’s a lot of life still to be lived

So much happens at breakfast when I’m out and about.  Yesterday a woman probably in her 60’s sat with a younger man.  I’m guessing they were mother and son.  As they talk, she whips out a pack of cigarettes and offers him one.  And off they continue chatting, puffing away together.

I was shaken.  Huh?  It didn’t fit my picture of modern days.  Was the behaviour bad?  No, just unhealthy.

And now today.  I was sitting in a breakfast spot that I’ve frequented for over a year. As yogurt presented its glories to me, I had a thought: the two owners have never called me by name.  I always say “Hi, _____” to them.

When I was paying, I decided to be brave.  “Do you know my name?”  >  “Bruce.”  >  “I’ve noticed you never call me by name.  In fact that’s true of a lot of Belgian people who know me.”

The owner gave me a confused look and said something like “I’ve never thought about it.  I never call people by name unless I want them to listen to what I’m saying.”

***

So there we have it

It’s different here … in many ways

And that’s okay

I’ll keep calling people by name

And avoiding cigarette smoke

I love this photo.  Neighbours … such a narrow street … touching.

Not being able to get rid of the extra stuff around the photo dims within the brilliance of the message.

We build houses, complete with walls and rooms.  We build cars that compress us into separateness on our highways.  And some eyes mostly see better than / worse than, differences in any variable you can think of, and words such as Do I know you? in response to a hello.

I want a world of connection where I’ll know enough Dutch to speak to the old man in Lunchroom Martens who knows no English.

I want to laugh with a fifteen-year-old (sixty years younger) because we’re both human beings.

I want to sit easy with someone who’s immensely shy, with me doing most of the talking … and showing that I am with them.

***

My hand and your hand

It’s enough

It’s been a challenge for me,  looking at what’s essential moment-to-moment and what’s “extra”.  My responses have changed over time.

Yesterday I said goodbye to structured Dutch courses, with their timetables, assignments and exams.  Yes, I want to have conversations with folks who don’t speak English … and No, I don’t want the stress of going to school.

Today is Part Two of that journey.  I love being a member of the Evolutionary Collective and I’m letting go of one way that I’ve expressed myself there.  I’ve told the EC leaders that I will stop being a Zoom host for online meetings as of the end of September.

Zoom hosts are responsible for having the sessions run smoothly.  There are a lot of tasks that require rapid-fire decisions, and my proficiency there has waned.  I’m experienced more stress in the role than a few months ago.

The worst is that the dreaded word “obligation” has crept into my mind.  I don’t want it there.  I think I’ve been a Zoomie for five years (maybe four) and it’s time for other chapters to be written.

And so I end … responsibly, with sufficient notice.  Making the change is what works in my life.

I’ve had the thought “You can’t keep dropping stuff, Bruce.  Soon there’ll be nothing left!”  Silly me.  What remains will be loving and wide open.

There won’t be a “Three Days in a Row” post

I’m drinking cappuccino and sighing.  I’m feeling tender and slow, knowing the first person on Earth I have to love is me.

An hour ago, I came out of a Dutch class … overwhelmed with speaking and understanding the language.  Most of what the teacher said I didn’t understand.  (Did I mention the sighing?)

I surprised myself by studying over the summer.  And by going to eight conversation sessions at Amal.  But this morning I felt like such a newbie.  It was the first session of Dutch Level Three.  Two three-hour classes a week until January.

Do I really want this stress?

My purpose is simple.  I want to talk to people who don’t speak English.  The road of academic study is not the only path home.

And so I’ve decided … I end this.  It’s what the body and soul need.  I have another plan:

1.  Go to Amal Conversation Tables once or twice a week.

2.  Proceed slowly through the lessons on the Babbel app.

3.  Have simple Dutch conversations in restaurants and stores, and with friends who expect English from me.

4.  Keep reviewing my notes from Levels One and Two, taking lots of time to let the vocabulary and grammar sink in.

The course doesn’t give me time.  So I’ll give it to myself.

I met several very cool people in class today, including the teacher Ineke.  So I’m saying goodbye to them just after saying hello.  So be it.  Other fine human beings will come my way.

I want to sing.  I want to play cello.  I want to be on Zoom calls of the Evolutionary Collective.  I want to have coffee with dear ones.

And I want to learn Dutch

In the softness of time