Alone

Jody’s been dead for three years now, and I miss her so.  I would love to have a dear woman as my life partner but that hasn’t happened.  I’ve gone on dates but all four of those women said no to a relationship.  That makes me sad.

Sometimes I’ve fallen in love with a younger woman, someone in her 20’s or 30’s. I’ve fantasized about making love, and about communion.  But what’s life-serving is for that young woman to find a love far closer to her age than me, so they can grow old together.

Beneath the woe of loneliness is a peace, a slow current of life that keeps seeping into me.  Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve found myself in an altered state of consciousness while driving, walking down the street or just sitting in my man chair.  It feels like the depth I sometimes reached in meditation at last fall’s retreat.  How strange and marvelous.  And I want to sit with my lover and talk about it.  Oh well.

It may be that I will never again be in a committed relationship.  I may never again make love.  It’s amazing to open myself to this possibility … and to get that it’s okay.  I feel a happiness that’s deeper than all these thoughts.  And I get it: All that matters is the energy I put out in life.  It doesn’t matter what comes back.

And yet I still long for relationship.  How can the peace and longing happen at the same time?  I don’t know.  I see myself spooning with the beloved in bed, cuddling on the couch as we watch a popcorn-infused movie.  And I smile.  Shouldn’t I be sad that this isn’t happening in my current life?  Well, I guess, and sometimes I am.  But like I said, something way bigger is happening to me.  I feel it right now – a quiet energy roaming through my face, a falling of my flesh, a softening of my eyes.

I want to be of sevice, and I often am.  Actually, I’m often in communion with the person I’m talking to.  Maybe I don’t need the cuddling, just the deep sharing of the eyes.  Whether a loved one comes my way or not, there are always the eyes of the next human being to come calling.

Sadness
Peace
Love
Loneliness
Communion

The whole lifetime enchilada

Clothes Make The Man

Last week it was super cold in Toronto.  And I walked outside a lot.  In my pocket, and soon rolled up on my head, was my red balaclava – a knitted hat.  When the mercury really plunged, I did something that I hadn’t done in 25 years: I aligned the eye holes and the mouth hole with the appropriate body parts, placed my glasses into the contraption, zipped up my coat and headed out into the frozen world.  And I did the same thing today.

Walking down main street Belmont to the Diner, I noticed faces sitting behind passing windshields, faces that were tilting my way without saying hi.  As I entered our convenience store, the owner looked at me, I thought fearfully.  Someone asked if I was going to rob the place, the same comment I got twice in Toronto.

My entrance into the Diner was met with a group silence until I disrobed and revealed my inner Bruceness.  I wondered why folks didn’t seem to understand that it was darned cold, and that I wanted to keep my nose from freezing.  Instead, everyone was on high alert, wary of the intruder.  As a society, are we really that afraid of each other?  I hope not.

Farther along in my day, it was time for the gym.  The elliptical beckoned.  I had pulled a t-shirt from my dresser drawer, the one on top of the pile.  It was black with a white script: “Lovely Is Your Heart”.  It’s one of my favourites.  I don’t think I’ve worn it to the gym before.

Well … did I get some stares from the muscled gentlemen working out on machines!  No vomiting, but the disapproval of some was clear.  I’d often worn the same shirt during last fall’s meditation retreat, and at the end, when we could talk, two yogis mentioned how much they appreciated the message.  But the gym?  Another animal.

What were the athletes thinking?  That I’m gay?  (I’m not)  That I’m hopelessly sentimental?  (I am)  That I’m weird for having “Love” plastered on my chest?  (I suppose I am, but who cares?  Certainly not me)

I walk through life, choosing to be visible.  I know no other way.  It feels healthy not to be slinking around, out of the public view.  I talk a lot and no doubt many folks take issue with that.  I say silly things and perhaps some see me as the height of immaturity.  But one thing I know – I am pretty thoroughly myself.  And that makes me happy.

What a shame that it’s too cold for me to wear my Speedo!

 

Live Big

I went out to the movies tonight.  I saw “Chavela”, a documentary about a singer.  Sounds basic but it was intense.

“She not only slept with women, but also sang love songs about them, wore trousers, smoked cigars, drank heavily, carried a loaded pistol and credited her recovery from polio to shamans.”  All of this was shocking to Mexican society in the first half of the 20th century.  I’m not gay, I don’t like smoking, I drink only a bit and I abhor violence.  But I like the shaman stuff.

As a kid, Chavela wasn’t loved much by her Costa Rican parents.  They hid her when guests came by.  When she was 7, the minister of a local church said “You can’t bring her in here.  Get her out.”  In her early teens, Chavela had enough.  She ran away to Mexico City and started singing in the streets.  And what courage will I show in my approaching 70’s?

“Every word that rolls off her tongue is suffused with pure emotion.  Anyone can listen to her, know what she is feeling, and feel it with her.”  I saw this in the film.  Her voice was not pure.  But her soul ran through every word.

“I became obsessed with her ability to draw people in.  I was fascinated by her lightness and ease, her masculinity.”  Well, I also want to draw people in, and sometimes I do.

“Chavela Vargas turned abandon and desolation into a cathedral within which we all fit,” Almodóvar wrote after her death.  “She emerged reconciled with the errors she had made and ready to make them again.”  Hey, I’ve made big mistakes too.  I like to think I’ve learned from them but some repeats have crawled back into my life.  Still, I will not live careful.  That’s withering.

“At age 81, ranchera singer Chavela Vargas officially came out as a lesbian.”  Perhaps I’ll officially come out as a chronicler of the world’s wisdom.  That’s the secret project I’ve worked on sporadically since 1987.  I’ve accumulated thousands of quotes that touch me to my toes.  (Shh.  Don’t tell anybody)

“I am proud that I do not owe anybody anything, and it is wonderful to feel free,” she said in 2009.  “Now I have the desire to lie down in death’s lap, and I am sure that will be quite beautiful.”  And what will my response be to my final days?  Maybe the physical pain will be great but I intend to go out laughing.

What do I want?

To love people deeply
To suck the juice out of life’s bones
To have others laugh around me
To look way into human eyes and celebrate what’s there
To flood the world

Make it so

Questions

I was volunteering in the Grade 5/6 class this afternoon.  A community police officer spent some time talking to the kids about “peer relationships”.  How marvelous that these young people got to see a representative of the police force as approachable, engaging and funny.  A real human being, not just a uniform and a gun belt.

Adam asked the students some questions.  And I reflected on my life.

1.  Have I ever punched, shoved or hit another person?

Gosh no.  It’s so far away from who I am, and who I’ve been.  My mouth drops open when I even imagine myself being violent with someone.

2.  Have I ever threatened to hurt someone?

No.  If I have differences with a person, or criticism about something they did or said, I want to talk it out, without antagonism.

3.  Do I ever make fun of others, tease them or call them mean names?

No, except for playful teasing when I know that the other person sees I’m on their side.  But never mocking them for being different than me, whether that’s personality, sexual orientation, age, race or ethnicity.  To call a black person a “nigger” is completely foreign to me.

4.  Do I often make fun of others because they’re different from my friends and me?

No.  I love exploring the differences among us, in learning about folks whose lives are such a contrast to mine.

5.  Do I gossip about other people?  Do I spread rumours about them?

Heavens no.  That’s an act of violence, both towards the other person and towards me.  I can’t be happy if I’m aversive to someone else.  I do talk about people who are not right there listening, but it’s in the spirit of fascination and interest, not criticism.

***

Having said all this, I’m no saint.  Sometimes I don’t give folks enough space in their life, pressing forward in relationship when I need to back off some.  Sometimes I speak without thinking, without really gauging the potential impact of my words.  And sometimes I forget important things that people tell me.  But through it all, through those unskillful moments, I know that my intentions are good.

There’s so much pain in the world and my commitment is to add very little to the total, while adding a lot to the sum of well-being.

Oops

On Tuesday, I was sitting in my living room, ready to head off to the gym for an hour on the elliptical.  Since I hadn’t eaten for awhile, I plucked a power bar from the cupboard.  “Better have something to wash it down with, Bruce.”  I picked a Diet Coke.  The beginning of oops.

Firmly positioned on my steed at Wellington Fitness, I flung my arms and legs into space.  Hmm.  I didn’t feel as strong as I usually did.  In fact, I was exhausted after the hour.  Then it was 20 minutes of yoga … but something was amiss.  Why was I so tired?

On the drive home, the nausea hit.  Mild but irritating.  And it stayed with me for the rest of the day.  That evening, I went to a meditation group in London.  At one point, the leader talked about a possible benefit of meditation: a decrease in reactivity.  Since I’ve learned that others often find it helpful for me to talk about what’s happening in the present moment, I spoke up.  “I’m feeling exhausted and nauseous, probably because I drank a Diet Coke just before exercising.  My recent retreat was helpful in dealing with stuff like this.  Although I had a burst of telling myself I was stupid, that self-condemnation passed quickly.  I felt into my body and into my feelings (sadness) and after awhile I was left with just the physical pain, not endless thoughts about what it meant.”  It was a contribution, and I was pleased.

The pain got worse overnight.  Hardly any sleep till 3:00 am, when I started consuming Tums and Gas-X.  Not to mention a laxative.  I also placed a barf bucket close to my bed.  Proliferating thoughts returned.  “It’s the flu.  I’ll be out of commission for the next two weeks.  Tomorrow’s my birthday and I need to cancel all the cool things I’ve planned.  What a horrible way to spend my special day!”  I phoned my hairstylist’s answering machine right then and cancelled my 10:00 am appointment.  “And I’d better cancel my volunteer time this afternoon with the Grade 6’s.  And my dinner with my friend (I’ll call her Mary).”

And then I fell asleep.  I was awake at 6:30 and feeling some better.  I looked at those earlier thoughts, and within a minute of two, decided that they no longer applied.  I phoned my hairstylist and left another message that I was coming.

The vague nausea continued throughout the day.  “Surely a reaction to Diet Coke wouldn’t last this long!  I must have the flu.”  Blah, blah, blah.  Despite what my body felt like and what my mind was churning out, I saw the opportunity.  “It’s easy, Bruce, to be happy when your life is rolling along smoothly.  How cool would it be to enjoy your birthday while this pain does its thing?”

Here’s what happened:

1. My hairsylist (I’ll call her Jessica) counted down with me to 10:00 am (my time of birth, according to mom).  At the dot of 10, I rose from the chair as Jessica squealed “Happy Birthday!”  We hugged, and all was right with the world.

2. At about 1:15, the Grade 6 kids sang “Happy Birthday” to me.  I tried to convince them that I was 45 but those young ones are just too smart.  For the rest of the afternoon, I had some fun conversations with 11-year-olds.  Yay for volunteering!

3. Mary and I had a fine time at Boston Pizza.  My meal was ginger ale, chicken noodle soup and a garden salad with a non-creamy dressing.  Just what I needed.  And so was our talk.  Mary has been having a tough time lately and I think she heard me when I suggested she feel her pain deeply but not to linger on it, then to stand tall and continue moving her life towards happiness.

***

I’m happy.  This morning I woke up to energy and a calm stomach.  No flu.  I went back on the elliptical (without a Diet Coke appetizer).  I lived my birthday.  And I’m committed to doing good in the world no matter what my body is telling me.

Pastor and Me

I had breakfast with a local pastor this morning at the Belmont Diner.  I’ll call him Peter.  Due to the heavy snow falling, he was a half-hour late.  As I sat at the counter waiting for him, and engaging in conversation about the weather and (less convincingly) about the placement of garages, I felt into the sense of loss I was experiencing.  “If he doesn’t show, how will I get to see him again?  I don’t have any contact information.  And then who will I talk to locally about spiritual matters?”

On the retreat last fall, we were encouraged to classify our present moments as “pleasant, unpleasant or neutral”.  This was unpleasant.  Then we’d be asked to see what feelings were present.  This morning it was sadness and fear.  And then the experience of “OK-ness” washed over me.  I didn’t need Peter to show up.  Confidence came … that the universe would create spiritual discussions for me.  Peace was here.  And I continued on with my bacon and eggs.

The Diner door opens and in walks Peter!  I was happy.  Thank you, dear universe.  He had loads of questions about the retreat, starting with what the daily schedule was like (wakeup bell at 4:50!)  I talked about the Buddha’s focus on the present moment, on his insistence that certain types of suffering were always going to be with us (such as sporadic physical pain), but other forms of it were optional.  Mr. Buddha said that craving people and things was the source of that second type.  Peter smiled and expressed his sense of relationship with the Divine, in the form of Jesus.

I marvelled at what was happening.  There was no judgment from either of us.  And no sense of contraction that I could feel, even as we revealed our differences.  Four or five folks sat near us at the horseshoe-shaped lunch counter.  Some, maybe all of them, were listening.  I told Peter that occasionally in Belmont I’m brave enough to venture into spirituality in conversation.  Often people change the topic quickly, but sometimes not.  “A lot of folks think I’m weird, Peter.”  His response?  “Welcome to my world!”  I love it.

To expand my range of spiritual contacts, I’ve decided to rejoin a meditation group in London, usually about a 40 minute drive away.  Their first meeting after Christmas is tonight but the snow continues to fall.  Travel is not recommended.  But it doesn’t matter if that reunion happens tonight.  I’m drawn to it.

Peter and I arranged to talk again next Monday.  Who knows what epiphanies might arise?  Or maybe not.  But we will connect in a way that transcends the rational mind.

Rosie

My B&B hosts Anne and Ihor have had a sleepy cat for 14 years.  On my visits, Rosie would curl up behind a certain chair in the living room … and doze.  She knew me, and would occasionally favour me with her eyes, but she never came close.

On Friday, my friends had their kitty put down.  Lung cancer had invaded Rosie’s body and spread to her brain, just like my dear wife Jody.  A pall of sadness covers the house, despite some good-natured conversations around the dining room table.

Anne told me about Ron, a former long-term guest in their home.  Ron was a cat lover, and Rosie knew it.  The two became friends.  Late in the day, Rosie would sit on the window sill that gave a good view of the driveway, and wait for Ron’s car to appear.  Then she would trot over to the front door to greet him.  Ron always sat in the same spot for breakfast and Rosie would nestle close to his feet.  When he was in his room with the door open, Rosie would lie at the threshold.  Anne says “She was too much of a lady to go in.”

Eventually, Ron’s time in Toronto was done and he said goodbye, especially to his beloved feline companion.  In the days after, or maybe weeks after, Rosie would climb up on his chair and pine.  It was the only time she would be on a chair.  Anne didn’t want her cat to do that but she saw grief and let Rosie be.

I too am a cat lover.  I had many kitties before meeting Jody but none thereafter since my lovely wife was allergic to them.  Looking back on my times at Anne and Ihor’s B&B, I wonder why Rosie didn’t come calling.  I would have loved her attention.  And I sit here now and say “It’s okay.  Ron was her soulmate.”

Sometimes in my life, I have cared deeply for a human being who loves someone else more than she loves me.  Although sadness comes with those memories, there’s a sweetness as well.  To love purely without attachment to being Number One is sublime.  The ego lets go.  The heart continues to open.  And it doesn’t matter what comes back to me.  All is well.

Where Does The Universe End?

Ha!  I’ve wanted to write about this for years … and I have no idea what to say!

I just stared at the sentence above for ten seconds and started laughing.  Usually when I write, I have a vague idea of what I want to accomplish, but not today.  My words will be deeply within “I don’t know” and quite possibly irrelevant to many folks.  And I don’t care.  Something is pulling me towards this topic and who am I to resist?

I’m looking at my coffee cup on Anne and Ihor’s dining room table.  They’re my B&B hosts in Toronto.  I know things.  I know that there’s “coffee cup” here, and right beside it “no coffee cup”.  That’s the way the entire world works, isn’t it?  Well, maybe.

Some folks say that the universe is endless.  What in God’s name does that mean?  How can there be something where there’s no inside and no outside?  More on that later.

Being an inquisitive type, and totally enamoured with Google, I launched myself onto the Internet to seek answers to this mystery of life.

Where does the universe end, and what is it surrounded by?

“I think everyone should try to be the next person who comes up with the theory everyone ridicules, just like half of the big names in science in the past.”

“The Hindi Upanishads say that the universe is infinite.”

“Peanut butter”

“It’s anyone’s guess.”

“I recommend you find a nice spot away from the city and the lights, have a cup or glass of your favorite drink, look at the night sky and reach your own conclusions.  Who knows?  You might find a new perspective, a new glass for humans to look through.”

“The universe is expanding into nothing.  Can our brains comprehend nothing?”

“Mindblowing endless nothingness”

“It’s totally irrelevant.  It as nothing to do with your happiness or personal progress.  Waste of precious time.”

“If the universe is defined as everything that’s exists anywhere, what could be beyond it?  What is not a thing?  Is a thought, a ghost, a soul, a spirit or a god a thing?”

“Perhaps beyond our universe is just an infinite amount of other universes occupying an infinite amount of space.”

“We humans just don’t want to accept something that never ends in any direction.  That’s because our entire lives involve things with beginnings and endings.”

“Kinda crazy thing to comprehend, huh?”

“The universe ends outside of the Milky Way, and then it becomes Mars bars.”

“Everything has to start and end somehow and somewhere.”

“Nobody knows, and that I know as a fact.  Please don’t write back with some scientific answer.  There is not one.  The End.”

***

All righty then.  Contemplating the end of the universe feels like a Zen koan.  Unanswerable by the rational mind.  So what can I let go into that will allow me to sit peacefully with endlessness?  What has no beginning and no end?  Is there a state of consciousness that is timeless and spaceless, eternal in the sense of being beyond time rather than “a very long time”, everywhere in the sense of beyond the idea of locations rather than including all locations?

Is it possible that the infinities that I occasionally touch within my mind mirror the infinity of the universe?  Is there something in my head that indeed has no beginning and no ending and is totally consistent with an endless universe?

Gosh .. I guess anything’s possible.  What would my life be like if I let these unformed thoughts escape from their corral and pour through the fences I’ve erected, to embrace an unknown that mostly I can’t conceive of?  What would be unleashed in me if I welcomed such freedom despite the likely admonitions of my fellow man and woman?

Perhaps I’ll set off to find out.

 

Day Four B

“What Now?” is the question, for the conference participants, and for me.

I want to reach people with my ideas and experiences.  For three years, I’ve told myself that WordPress is a good way to do that, but now I wonder.  On an average day, it appears that only five people read my posts.  But I have maybe 100 followers and I’m guessing that any views from them don’t count in the stats.  I don’t know if that’s true.

Jody loved being on Facebook but it never drew me.  I sensed that the posts of many folks focused on “What I did today”, and I didn’t want to do that.  But now, after watching hours of conference sessions, I’m thinking about opening a Facebook page, to see if my grappling with big issues and experiences could reach a wider audience.  We’ll see what energy is behind that thought, and whether there’s enough oomph for me to begin.

***

It was the last day of the conference and there was no shortage of intriguing comments from the presenters:

“Ask yourself:  ‘Since I arrived at the conference, has anything shifted in me?’  Shifts that are experiential and embodied, not just centered in your mind.  Are you moved to do and say new things?  When you share about this, bring your life force to it.  Don’t tell us your shift in a monotone way.  The energy of your voice shifts things.”

I’ve long been fascinated with the human voice as an instrument of change.  I had a theory once that the greater the processing of oxygen, the greater the consciousness that’s revealed.  So running, cycling, talking with passion, singing … they feel like ways to reach Spirit.  But then again, I don’t think it’s just about speech volume.  What if I could be totally present with each person I talk to?  What if a current of energy was transmitted to the other person whether I’m whispering or belting out the bass part of “O Come All Ye Faithful”?  More experiments needed.

“What’s alive for me at this point in my practice?  What matters to me is two things:

1. The cultivation of a reliable, trustworthy community, people who understand that evolution is beautiful but not necessarily pretty.  It makes a difference to have a tribe.

2. The transfer of what I’ve learned to a younger generation, acknowledging that they’re creating new things, that they come in with another set of capacities.”  [The presenter is around 60.]

I’ve decided to rejoin the meditation group that meets weekly in London, Ontario.  A sangha.  I need to talk to people who are not brand new to what I’m experiencing.  As for the second point, I’ll soon be 69.  I need to find ways to share my values and experiences.  I want there to be some remembrance of Bruce when I die (even if the solidity of Bruce is a total fiction!)

“I’m no longer engaged in those questions.”

And it’s okay if past passions have morphed into pleasant memories, with no current juice coursing through my spiritual veins.  I used to be fanatical about playing beautiful golf courses on my computer.  I bought lots of them.  I loved the lay of the land, and still do.  But now, I don’t want to play, and that’s just fine.

“When you think about the following domains, what arises?  What questions do you feel pulsing from the inside that are the most urgent and beautiful?  What wants to live through you?  What would you die for?

1. My purpose on the planet
2. Intimate relationships
3. Spiritual practice
4. My stage of life”

I’m here to love people and make them laugh.  I deeply miss being in an intimate relationship, and I realize that I may, or may not, have one again.  With the Dalai Lama, I say that my spiritual practice is kindness.  And coming up on 69?  Don’t waste time.  Don’t miss the stunning moments of life.  Give.  Be sacred in each moment – to others and to me.

“Stand up whenever one of these statements is true for you.  Pause and be seen.  See who’s standing with you.  See who’s sitting down.  No judgments.  Then sit down.  If you’re sitting, witness those standing and hold the truth that the statement is not resonant for you.

1. I feel connected to my deep life purpose
2. I’m still searching for my deep life purpose
3. Right now, in my current life stage, I am preferencing autonomy (i.e. self-development, caring for myself first)
4. In my current life stage, I am preferencing being with others
5. Right now, in my current life stage, I am contemplating mortality on a regular basis
6. In my current life stage, I am at ease
7. In my current life stage, I am not at ease”

How lovely.  No one right.  No one wrong.  Just the truth.

***

Thank you, Integral Life, for creating this forum.  Folks in Colorado.  Folks on their computers across the world.  And folks who know nothing about what’s happened in a Denver hotel ballroom over the last four days.

Us

 

Meeting Royalty

I still have two hours of the “What Now?” conference to watch on my laptop so my “Day Four B” will have to wait.

***

Johnny Bower died last week at age 93.  He was my boyhood hero, the ageless goalie for the Toronto Maple Leafs.  Tributes for this hockey player and humanitarian have been pouring in, and I got to thinking about another human being.  I wonder if they ever sat down for a coffee.

Johnny Bower

“Everyone had a story about the way the Hall-of-Famer treated every Leafs fan who asked for an autograph, who asked for time.  He smiled.  He laughed.  He cared.  He was kind.”

“Bower’s grandson … told stories that involved his grandpa laughing: laughing when he fell off the three-legged wooden ladder he had built; laughing when he spilled a can of paint on the carpet when trying to paint the living room when his wife was away; laughing when he would take out his dentures, put on his wife’s swimsuit and hat, and walk around the cottage trying to make other people laugh too … Grandpa could laugh at anything, especially himself.”

“Johnny considered it a privilege, and not a right, to be a Toronto Maple Leaf.  Gratitude drove him to be the best he could be.”

“Every Canadian team is a public trust, a repository of hope and obsession and love, and Johnny Bower never wanted to let anyone down.  So he spent a lifetime making the people he met feel like they mattered, because he thought they did.”

“Overwhelmed by how genuinely nice he was and just a beautiful human being.  He seemed so sincere when he talked to you, and always had such a great smile on his face.”

“I got a good 10 to 15 minutes to talk to him … and he spoke to me as if there was no one else in the room.”

“An honorary member of the Union of Ontario Indians with the name ‘Johnny With A Heart As Big As An Eagle’s Wingspan Bower'”

“Generous, soft-spoken, warm and welcoming.  I’m sure Johnny had an ego but he didn’t show it.  There was no entitlement in Johnny Bower.”

“He took time for every person, for every kid, every fan.  He made sure they got what they were looking for.”

“Not only had Johnny played Santa Claus for many years at the Toronto Maple Leafs family Christmas parties, every day felt like Christmas when you had a chance to chat with Johnny Bower.”

“I read an article a few years ago.  A park in Mississauga, Ontario had been renamed after Bower.  Then the story related how Bower took it upon himself to be the person who would go out on a daily basis and clean up the litter in the park that bore his name.  That was his credo.  Get the job done right.”

“He never had a bad day and he made a point of never having anything but a positive interaction with anyone.”

The Dalai Lama

“We spoke of universal consciousness … We spoke of current military actions and politics.  We laughed.  We mostly laughed in amazement at his bellowing belly laughs … I felt a complete sense of clean, sincere, awesomeness.  In my most humble estimation, this guy registered as The Real Thing.”

“In the West, you have education, and this is good.  And you have technology, and this is good.  But you do not educate your people in values.  Values of the heart.  Compassion.  This you must do.”

“And then the Dalai Lama did the most incredible thing.  When I thought he was about to exit left and hightail it out of there, he moved toward the doorway entrance and waited patiently for each of us to file out.  And then he hugged each one of us goodbye.  Slowly.  Firmly.  Like your favorite grandparent hugs you – with thankfulness and deep care, like they have all the time in the world.  And when he pulled back from our Most Holy Bear Hug, he looked me in the eyes, as he did with each of us, and he smiled wide and nodded.  And let me tell you, without an ounce of romanticism, being in his gaze was like having the Milky Way grinning down at me.  I have only rarely in this lifetime felt so clearly seen, and so clearly loved.  The simultaneity of recognition and acceptance was intoxicating.”

“I tried to contain my excitement but it exploded when we saw him arrive.  Everyone stood up and rushed to the walkway and security held us back.  He is already 81-years-old and had to be supported by people as he walked.  Still, he looked at us with a cheeky smile.  He didn’t just walk past.  He stopped to watch the crowd carefully and made sure he greeted all of us.”

“His infectious smile and laugh came suddenly and exuberantly, and rippled through the whole gathering each time.  He regularly made jokes, looking around to see if we were all paying attention.”

“I felt like I was meeting a small kid who cheers you up with a merry smile.”

“There is a real joy surrounding him.  When he looks at you, he looks into you.”

“Having met HHDL numerous times, I would say it’s like meeting yourself.”

“During the talk, the subject of Tibet came up.  You could tell this was a very painful subject for Tibetans because the Tibetans around us were either weeping or holding back tears, but he talked with such serenity, without a single trace of anger in his voice, and he repeatedly emphasized non-violence, mutual understanding and his appreciation for the Chinese people.”

“What a sweet soul he is.”

***

Well, ladies and gentlemen, it’s not just about two famous guys
It’s about you and me