Intimacy, Rapport, Connectedness

We human beings yearn for it.

“Please … there has to be someone who truly sees me, the uniqueness that I am.”

“Please … come close, hold my hand.  Let us walk together.”

“Please … say ‘yes’ to me as I say ‘yes’ to you.”

In the pages of Tricycle magazine, I found such a one: Curtis White.  He rides a bike.

I was cycling down a steep hill on a road through Fort Townsend State Park, in Port Townsend, Washington, when I saw below me an older woman on the right side of the road with a dog on a leash and a man on the left side of the road walking unsteadily and drifting toward the middle of the road.  I didn’t want to frighten him, so I slowed, and called out loudly, “Coming up!” hoping that he would move farther to the side of the road.  Unfortunately, my shout only startled him.  He stumbled forward, lost his balance, and then fell face first onto the road.

I stopped to make sure he was okay.  His face was still on the road, and his arms reached out helplessly, uncontrollably.  He could not stand up on his own, so I put my bike down and tried to raise him.

I assumed that he had had a stroke recently and was relearning how to walk.  We needed to get him off the road as quickly as possible, but his wife was insisting that he get up on his own, saying, like some zealous personal trainer, “Come on!  Get up!  Use your arms!”  That wasn’t happening.  I said to her, “Take his arm and let’s get him up.”  We slowly got him to his knees and then to his feet.

The extraordinary thing was that when he stood and I looked into his face – glasses askew, dirty, humiliated and in pain – I felt this profound sense of love for him, and I said, “You’re okay now, brother,” and I embraced him. 

Stranger yet, I felt incredibly happy and grateful to him for this chance.  It didn’t feel like my actions were a consequence of being a “good person” acting out of ethical duty.  It felt more like the man and I had stood together, in communion, “lost in a shaft of sunlight”, in T. S. Eliot’s words:

For most of us
There is only the unattended Moment
The moment in and out of time
The distraction fit
Lost in a shaft of sunlight …

It was a moment of complete connection.  Did he feel this connection?  That isn’t possible for me to know in any objective sense, but there was something in the depths of his face.  He was offered compassion and he took it in, drank it down, water to wine. 

Who was he?  Who was I?  Didn’t matter.

***

Love comes quietly
finally, drops
about me, on me
in the old ways

What did I know
thinking myself
able to go
alone all the way

(Robert Creeley)

I love going to breakfast at The Cobbler in the Post Hotel.  Yes, the food is excellent.  Yes, the decor and the long views of Gent centrum are superb.  Mostly though, I go for the people.  I’ve had many fine conversations with several staff members.

One woman, Simoné, has agreed to my request.  She will sing to me at my table on October 18, 2028.  So she has lots of time to practice!

I sat down this morning and said hi to Nicolas, who was cooking for the hotel guests.  I said hi to one of the servers – Francesca.  She’s from Argentina, and pretty new to The Cobbler.  We talked last week about Patagonia.  I wonder if I’ll ever walk its shoreline.

Today there was a new server working with Francesca.  Her face was vaguely familiar.  I looked forward to saying something silly to her.

And here she comes, with my cappuccino …

“What’s your name?”

“Simoné.”  (Head tilted, a strange smile)

(Silence)

And so I am humbled once more.  It’s true that Simoné has changed her hairstyle but her face hasn’t gone anywhere.  And this Bruce brain couldn’t corral the fact that this was indeed the woman who would be singing to me down the road.

“I’m sorry, Simoné”

“It’s okay”

Do no harm … either intentionally or unintentionally.  Today I harmed.  Now I forgive myself.  And singing is in our future.

I’ve been sitting on a bench in Sint-Baafsplein, a square in Gent centrum.  I love public places to sit where you don’t have to buy a beer or coffee.

Before me is Sint-Baafs, a cathedral built over a thousand years ago.  On the left is NTGent, a performing arts theatre, its productions naturally presented in Dutch.  No matter … it’s all home to me.

Folks are coming and going in Sint-Baafsplein, many entering the church, some seeking a nearby coffee shop or pub (known here as cafés).  Tourists from across the world mingle with residents from across the world.  Us.

A couple nearby are taking turns doing photos of each other, with Sint-Baafs in the background.  I wave to them.  The woman waves back.  The man smiles and asks me to take their picture.  Of course I will.  More smiles … and then off they go.  I return to sitting.

I live here

I love here

I will die here

In 2053

In the Evolutionary Collective, we do a practice on Zoom where two people speak together, with the focus being not on the words but on the connection between the two.  It’s not romantic.  It’s humans being with each other, whatever their ages, gender, personality, culture or language.

Attention rests on the eyes … softly.  Not staring.  Drawing out the essence of the other.  We linger together.

Contact can occur with any living beings.   Letting go of me in favour of we:

In the last little while during these practices, something larger is happening.  The world is participating as two people fall into each other’s eyes …

Someone, some presence, is accompanying us.  Smiling … holding us … cheering us on.  The we is blossoming, growing, filling the room and the sky beyond.

***

There’s mystery here

And there’s no need to figure things out

I simply bathe in the holy water

All is well

I sat in Izy Coffee yesterday with a friend from Nepal.  I’ll call her Parvati.  We talked of many things, including her husband Prashant.  They’ve had the civil marriage ceremony in Nepal, but the three-day celebration of wedded love is yet to come, perhaps next June.

And … Parvati has invited me to her wedding!  Wow.  What a privilege to be included.  And what a blessing to experience a country far from my own.

And where to find the money to go?  Time will show me the way.

Parvati and I also talked about the tilak, the red dot between the eyebrows worn by many Hindu people.

The application of tilak is a significant tradition in Hindu culture, symbolizing a spiritual connection and awakening of consciousness.  It serves as a mark of devotion, cultural adherence, and protection against negative energies.

Such fine words … spiritual, connection, consciousness, devotion.  They’re rich in my life.  And I got thinking:

How about if I wear a symbol of my love?

Of people … of life

I’m not a Hindu so the red dot is not for me.  But what is?  Could it be that, after decades of saying “I’ll never wear a tattoo” that I will get one?  It boggles this small human mind.

And if yes to a tattoo, what about where?

The answer just came – on my right palm, so I can flash it at people.

And the fear just came – of pain.  Not much skin on the palm.  Lots of bones.  Hmm.

Okay.  What about a temporary tattoo?  Henna?

***

Oh my

Lots of “Hmm”s

So, Bruce … What will you show to the world?

Probably five years ago, I gave away all of my DVD’s and CD’s.  Now I wonder why.  Was it an attempt to deepen my spiritual life, to become purer and lighter?

Included in the purge was a precious gift of music, the DVD “Leonard Cohen: Live In London”.  I remember my loving of the man, the songs, and the space of gratitude created by him, his backup singers and his band.

This morning I ordered the DVD from Amazon.  Friends to be reunited.  Smiles all around.

Just now I came across a review of the concert, which had two sets of an hour each … and a 40-minute encore!  Surferofromantica writes about the beauty of the music, but even more vividly quotes the love spilling forth from Leonard’s mouth.  For me, the words that follow are worth the price of admission:

He starts his London set off with the words “Thank you so much, friends, so very kind of you to come to this …”  He’s drowned out in applause.

Thanks so much, friends.  It’s wonderful to be gathered here just on the other side of intimacy.  I’m so pleased that you’re here.  I know some of you have undergone financial and geographical inconvenience.  We’re honoured to play for you tonight.

It’s been a long time since I stood on a stage in London.  It was about 14-15 years ago, I was 60 years old, just a kid with a crazy dream.  Since then, I’ve taken a lot of Prozac, Paxol, Wellbuttrin, Exexor, Ritalin.  I’ve also studied TV and the philosophies and the religions, and cheerfulness kept breaking through.  But I want to tell you something that will not easily be contradicted – there ain’t no cure for love!

There is a crack in everything.  That’s how the light gets in.

I was having a drink with my teacher, he’s 102 now.  He was about 97 at the time.  I poured him a drink, he clicked my glass and he said “Excuse me for not dying.” (laughter)  I kind of feel the same way.  I want to thank you, not just for this evening but for the many years you’ve kept my songs alive.

Don’t stop, don’t leave me here alone, don’t ever stop.  Sing me to bed and sing me through the morning, because I’m so grateful to you because tonight it’s become clear to me, tonight the great mysteries have unravelled and I’ve penetrated to the very core of things, and I have stumbled on the answer.  And I’m not the sort of chap who would keep this to himself.  Do you want to hear the answer?  Are you truly hungry for the answer?  Then you’re just the people I want to tell it to.  Because it’s a rare thing to come upon it, and I’ll let you in on it now.  The answer to the mysteries … and he makes a hand gesture towards the backup singers … is “da doo dum dum …”

***

Leonard was so full of “Thank you”, especially for the souls who shared the stage with him …

The sweet shepherd of strings, on the laud, Javier Mas

The master of breath on the instrument of wind, Dino Soldo

The signature of steady, on the pedal steel and the electric guitar, Bob Metzger

The prince of precision, our timekeeper – on the drums, Rafel Bernardo Gayol

On the Hammond B3 and the keyboards, the inpeccable Neil Larsen

My collaborator, the incomparable Sharon Robinson

Hattie and Charley Webb, the sublime Webb sisters

Our guardian and sentry, the musical director on the upright and the electric bass, Roscoe Beck

***

Leonard lived

Leonard lives

Yesterday Isabelle and I talked about the trials of life, the thrills of life and the slow creeping towards future death.  We met.

Later I wrote to her, words that I had never uttered before: “Thank you for being at my side as I’m dying.”

My friend Lydia has estimated my age when I die – 104.  So in 2053.  I have lots of time to learn new songs.

I wonder what’s beyond.  I imagine you do as well.  Multiple lifetimes?  My dear wife Jody had a deep experience of her past lives.  She told me that we were once farmers in Germany.  We worked so hard to survive.

In another lifetime, Jody said I was a sailor on a freight ship, sometimes gone for weeks.  Our home on the coast had a “widow’s walk” on the roof:

I never came home from sea …

***

Living in the mystery

So many mysteries

Not knowing what was … and what will be

A young man of 23 or so wrote a song for his wife Ariel … Forty-five Years.  He was deeply in love, as the lyrics so clearly show:

There’s God in the trees
I’m weak in the knees
And the sky is a painful blue
I’d like to look around
But Honey, all I see is you

At the age of 33, Stan Rogers died in a burning plane that stood on the tarmac of Cincinnati Airport in the USA.  A loss for Canadian folk music, a loss for the musical life of the planet.

Stan wrote about people he met, about places he explored, about experiences he had.

Forty-five Years is about love.

Now the summer city lights
Will soften the night
Till you’d think that the air is clear
And I’m sitting with friends
Where forty-five cents
Will buy another glass of beer

He’s got something to say
But I’m so far away
That I don’t know who I’m talking to
‘Cause you just walked in the door
And Honey, all I see is you

I had the privilege of seeing Stan live in concert.  His rich baritone voice brought life to the words.  I was inside them.  I was Stan.

And I just want to hold you closer
Than I’ve ever held anyone before
You say you’ve been twice a wife
And you’re through with life
Ah but Honey, what the hell’s it for?

After twenty-three years
You’d think I could find
A way to let you know somehow
That I want to see your smiling face
Forty-five years from now

Many years after Stan’s death, Aeolian Hall in London, Ontario, Canada started having annual Stan Rogers tribute concerts.  An array of fine musicians took turns singing Stan songs.

Paul Mills was Stan’s manager and a deep friend.  He picked up a chair, moved it to the front edge of the stage, and sang Forty-five Years to his dear wife in the front row. 

Tears flowed

I have three favourite movies.  One of them I can stream – Titanic.  For the other two, I’ll give each of you 100 euros if you’ve ever heard of them – Sunshine On Leith and Whale Rider.

Hmm … perhaps that was a little excessive.

Oh well.  I’ll check my savings account.

The Blu-Ray of Whale Rider arrived yesterday.  Arlene and I watched it last night.  It was a delightful reunion with Paikea, a 13-year-old Maori girl in New Zealand.  An astonishing human being.

Paikea’s grandfather is the chief of the local Maori tribe and was praying that his daughter-in-law would give birth to a boy.  Grandpa then would groom the kid to eventually be the new chief.  But what arrived was Paikea.

And so the story of a patriarchal society unfolded, plus the one about a teen speaking truth to power.  And yearning for the love of her grandfather.

In the words of a young girl:

In the old days, the land felt a great emptiness.  It was waiting.  Waiting to be filled up.  Waiting for someone to love it. Waiting for a leader.

A long time ago, my ancestor Paikea came to this place on the back of a whale.  Since then, in every generation of my family, the first born son has carried his name and become the leader of our tribe … until now.

But we can learn and if the knowledge is given to everyone, then we can have lots of leaders and soon everyone will be strong, not just the ones who’ve been chosen.

At one point, Paikea, in traditional Maori dress and facial adornment, gives a speech to the community.  Her grandfather hasn’t come to the meeting.

This speech is a token of my deep love and respect for Koro Apirana, my grandfather …

She cries.

And at the end of the film:

My name is Paikea Apirana, and I come from a long line of chiefs stretching all the way back to the whale rider.  I’m not a prophet, but I know that our people will keep going forward, all together, with all of our strength.

Well said

Well lived

Well seen

I was kind yesterday.  Two times linger in my mind.

I followed a woman into the elevator that leads to my fitness club – Basic-Fit.  I noticed that she didn’t press the button to choose a floor.  We got talking.  Vicky is in Gent briefly from the UK.  She was hoping to get a one-day pass at Basic-Fit to stretch her sore body.

I told Vicky that my membership allows me to bring one guest a week for free.  She smiled at my offer.

I’d never brought a guest before but a staff member named Daphné showed us the process, which eventually resulted in a QR Code showing up on Vicky’s phone … and she was in!  A simple good deed but Vicky’s smile told me it was a big good deed.

Giving is such receiving.

On to the men’s change room …

I was in a sweet world of “Thank you” as I pulled on my t-shirt and shorts.  But then I noticed the guy on the floor, grimacing, pulling on his body.  I’ll call him Ahmed.  The face said agony.

“Are you all right?”  I couldn’t figure out the words in response but I got the message: dislocated shoulder.

“I’ll be right back.” 

I found Daphné and Maryna, one of the club’s trainers.  Soon all three of us were talking to Ahmed.  But action was needed.

I phoned 112 (Belgium’s version of 911).  The operator asked me questions about the fellow’s condition.  I relayed them.  “Can you feel your fingers?”  >  “Yes.”

Paramedics were on their way.  I sat with Ahmed as gym members came and went in the change room.  He accepted my offer of water.  I asked him to stay still.  Help would be here very soon.  Much of our time together was in silence.  I was with Ahmed deeply, quietly loving him, praying for a release from pain.

And now the paramedics – a woman and a man, also kind human beings.  Ahmed needed to go to hospital and the two helpers gently accompanied him to the elevator.

Then they were gone.  Daphné and I talked about what had just happened.  I started stretching on a mat.  Normal gym life returned.

***

I hope Vicky and Ahmed are enjoying life today