Still The Same

Such a wonderful face, their mother’s.  As a younger woman she’d been beautiful, far more beautiful than Laurel, more so than any of her daughters, with the possible exception of Daphne.  She certainly wouldn’t have had directors pushing her towards character roles.  But one thing you could bank on was that beauty – the sort that came with youth – didn’t last, and their mother had grown old.  Her skin had sagged, spots had appeared, along with mysterious puckers and discolorations.  Her bones had seemed to subside as the rest of her shrank and her hair frayed to nothing.  But still that face remained, every aspect bright with mischief, even now.  Her eyes, though tired, had the glint of one who never stopped expecting to be amused, and her mouth turned up at the corners as if she’d just remembered a joke.  It was the sort of face that drew strangers, that enchanted them and made them want to know her better.  The way she had of making you feel, with a slight twitch of the jaw, that she too had suffered as you did, that everything would be better now simply for having come within her orbit.  That was her real beauty – her presence, her joy, her magnetism.  That, and her splendid appetite for make-believe.

(I wrote this down more than a year ago, but I can’t remember the author.)

***

Old French Lane

Seven jewels lie in the channel
South of England’s shores
Where you and I once walked together
Where I’ll walk no more

Hand in hand we would go
In the sun and in the rain
Through the streets of St. Helier
Down the Old French Lane

With Jersey sunshine falling on your hair
Shines in strands of red and gold
And eyes of green like the emerald sheen
Of your ancestral home

That was so long ago
Red and gold turn silver now
But eyes of green will never change
In my memory somehow

***

“She’s an attractive woman.”  So said a friend about another friend, who’s in her 50’s.  Yes, our faces are no longer as smooth and upright as a 20-year-old’s.  Under the chin, the skin dangles.  But the eyes still shine.  The smile appears at the flimsiest excuse.  And the soul so often comes to the surface for all to see.

Lifesaving

Just south of me is the village of Port Stanley, Ontario, on the north shore of Lake Erie.  Jackson’s Fish Market is a local landmark, and one of its exterior walls is graced by a large mural – about 20 feet long and 10 feet high.  It depicts a rowboat heading out in wild seas to a stricken ship offshore.  Here is the inscription:

On October 29, 1902, in a savage Lake Erie gale, the three-masted American schooner Mineral State went aground and started to break up off the high clay bluffs east of the Port Stanley harbour.  The gallant Port Stanley lifesaving crew, watched by a large crowd of Port Stanley residents, braved the towering waves and rescued the entire crew of the schooner just as dusk was falling.  In recognition of their bravery, the lifesaving crew all received gold medals from US President Theodore Roosevelt.

I studied the painting.  The gold of sunset lit up the waves and the sky, as well as the faces of adults and kids who were watching the rescue.  The wind blew back their hair.  In the rowboat, a helmsman urged on the six rowers, who were cranking on their oars and straining in their faces.  On the horizon, the schooner’s masts were tilted at a 45 degree angle.

Oh, the fear that must have coursed through those men!  Was this the end?  Would their names be added to the list of fatalities?  How would their families carry on?

As I sat in my cosy car, I wondered how I’d react in an emergency.  I’ve never saved anyone’s life.  In the moment, would I have the courage to do that?  Or would I fold my tent and slink away, comforting myself with thoughts about the people in this world who needed me to stay alive?

Right now, I yearn for the chance to save someone.  And in the next breath, I hope never to face such a crisis, such a call for action.

And when the moment comes …?

 

First Yoga Class

On my meditation retreat last fall, we had weekly yoga sessions.  All new to me.  And I did some basic stretches nearly every day.  They sure helped me deal with the back realities of my yogi job – potwashing.

Now back in the world of Southern Ontario, I decided to take an introductory yoga class.  It started last night.

There were about fifteen of us – mostly women, mostly folks in their 20’s and 30’s.  Old memories of not liking my body and being un-fit dropped in to say hi throughout the evening.  I decided to say hi back and let them be.

I’ve sure made some silly conclusions in my life:

I can’t squat
I have bad knees
If I do certain stretches, I’ll end up incapacitated for life

One of the first moves we did was simply standing on the mat, feet touching at the front and the back, pressing down with the balls and the heels, spreading the toes and then lifting them.  How can that be hard?  But it was.  And here came my train of negative thoughts.  “Hello again.”

Then there was standing with my left side to the wall, hand touching, grabbing my right ankle and bringing it up high on my left thigh, and then pressing everything inwards to keep the foot in position.  Right hand eventually on my right thigh.  “O wondrous imperfect one that you are, Bruce!”  Thank goodness I could laugh at myself.

Late in our session, there I was – left foot against the baseboard, right foot flat on the mat at an “impossibly” long distance from the other.  Hips pointing straight ahead, but moving my right toes outward at a 45 degree angle, then moving my heel in so that the foot was perpendicular to the left one, foot and knee pointing down the length of the mat.  One of the assistants came by to help me with the alignment.

I looked at my twisted body in wonder.  After all, “I have bad knees.”  Or do I?

During the next eight weeks, I’ll be exploring what this body of mine is really about.  Hmm … an adventure.  I’m all for having lots of those.

Nothing To Say

 

I can’t think of a thing.  What would happen if I just sat here and waited?  Guess I’ll find out.

***

I’m just watching my thoughts … the words that bubble to the surface.  I’ll write them down.

***

“Where in the world am I going?”  February 26-29 – Toronto.  April 1-15 – Cuba.  June 7-10 – Vancouver.  June 11-19 – Haida Gwaii.

***

“Why am I going there?”  To meet people, maybe to meet that very special love.  To watch people, in their infinite variety.  To talk to people, to learn about their lives and what makes them “fly”.  To love people, and then let them go.

***

“What kind of person am I?”  Curious, caring, open, determined, sad, happy.

***

“What’s important?”  People, including me.

***

“Will I live a long time?”  I don’t know.  I hope so.  So many moments to sit in.  But maybe I’ll die tomorrow.  It’s been a great life and I know I could happily let go of it (but even more happily enjoy the continuing ride).

***

“Do I want to be with a woman … to give love and receive love?”  Yes.

***

“Is that relationship near or far away?”  I don’t know, but it’s coming.  In its own sweet time.

***

“How come I was never a sports hero?  Or a singing hero?  Or an acting hero?”  I don’t know.  Perhaps none of that is important.  I still want to act but celebrity is not the way I want to contribute.

***

“Okay.  How exactly do I want to contribute?”  It doesn’t feel like a doing.  It feels like a momentary thing … over and over again.  Just show up in people’s lives and stand there … with love.

***

“Do I want to keep talking?”  Actually no.  I can’t think of anything to say.

Smoke Alarm Blues

It bleated away this morning, waking me up.  It’s supposed to chirp intermittently when the battery is dying but this was a continual blast on the eardrums.  Smoke?  No.  Fire?  Not at all.  I pressed the Reset button and it stopped, only to resume ten minutes later.

Okay, Bruce.  The alarm is in your hand, having been twisted off from its ceiling mount.  Look for instructions on opening the thing up so you can switch batteries.  No instructions.  Very well.  Hold the bottom part and twist the top part.  Tight as a drum.  No problem.  There seems to be a thumb hole on the side of the apparatus.  Get your digit in there and pull the top off.  Tight as two drums.  All right.  Stare at the alarm for awhile.  Nothing magically opens.  After more staring, I realize that I have no clue about how to get to the battery.  And I feel incompetent.  How can this beast be consumer-proof?  I must be missing something.  No, I’m not.  I’m a smart person.  But the top persists in remaining unopened.  (Sigh)

I considered taking the alarm to Home Hardware and asking one of the employees for help.  But here comes Renato.  I’ll let him have a go.  My friend picks up the circular warning machine, glances at it for a few seconds, puts his thumb in the hole … and pulls outward, like opening a drawer.  And there revealed was a D battery.  More staring, accompanied by gulping.

Renato smiled.  I sort of did.  Inside, it was more like dying.  What does it mean that my university-educated brain couldn’t figure this out?  That this human being overflowing with Buddhist insights was incapable of uncovering a battery.

I thought about this on and off all day.  Am I a stupid person?  No.  Am I a bad person?  Certainly not.  Am I an imperfect person, complete with this deficiency and that?  Yes.

And so I sit in my man chair, humbled by a gadget.  What’s happening right now?  Sadness.  A wee bit of shame.  And a little chuckle.

Feet of clay
Brain of mush
Heart of gold
I’ll take it

Birthday

Yesterday was my 67th birthday.  Mom told me decades ago that I was born at 10:00 am Eastern Time.  So there I sat in Wimpy’s Diner, my cell phone on the table, watching 9:57, and reflecting on 66.  Finally the number flipped to 10:00, and a little smile crossed my face.  “You’re young at heart, Bruce.”  Yes I am.

This may have been the first birthday where no one I’m in face-to-face contact with knows about it.  What a strange feeling.  I knew that I wouldn’t bring it up in conversation.  I’ll just have a quiet celebration … a Boy’s Day Out.  So I did.

I enjoyed being at Wimpy’s for the first time in six months.  And having a real bacon and eggs, homefries and coffee breakfast.  Plus talking to my waitress friend Angie.  And reading the sports and entertainment sections of The London Free Press.  In the realm of “Pleasant, unpleasant or neutral”, it was a pleasant time.

At one point, I heard singing from the next table.  An elderly gentleman was beaming to the strains of “Happy Birthday”.  I smiled at him, borrowing a bit of his celebration.

I was alone, a bit sad, but mostly enjoying the pleasure of my company.  I knew that around some corner of my future,  there’ll be a new loved one, a woman who will be happy to celebrate my birthdays.  But she hasn’t shown up yet, and that’s fine.  The timing of life is unknown.

I decided to go to a movie at my favourite little independent cinema.  It was a love story between a young mom and her five-year-old son.  So beautiful in the many moments of contact.  Both heartrending and ecstatic, vibrant and tender.  Pleasant.

After a quick bite to eat, and further consumption of the newspaper, I just had enough time to drive across London to a cinema complex.  I was off to see a blockbuster that came out while I was on the meditation retreat in Massachusetts.  It was a shoot ’em up and blow ’em up type film, the latest in a series.  Previously I had been engaged with the characters but not this time.  Hmm … unpleasant.  But underneath the surface evaluation was the sweetness of just being there.

In the evening, I went to a concert – about 50 of us in a comfy old home.  Two singer-songwriters were on the bill.  I wasn’t liking the music of the fellow who performed the first set.  I couldn’t locate a good melody and therefore I didn’t listen to the words.  That’s all right.  His family and friends were there, and they were cheering him on.  That was cool.

For set two, you can pretty much reread the paragraph above.  Another guy.  Another family.  Cool again.  Overall … unpleasant music.  But I did have a lovely conversation with the couple who shared my table.

So no fireworks on this 67th birthday.  I was with myself and we had a good time.  Just being out in the world is a privilege.  Someone will be smiling back at me on a birthday some day soon.  That will be fun too.

 

Asking For More

This afternoon I picked up three tickets for the London Lightning basketball game next Thursday at Budweiser Gardens.  The woman at the box office found me some good seats.

The three of us had the opportunity to get better seats than I’ve ever had in my life – probably first row courtside.  Some player leaping for a loose ball would likely have ended up in my lap!  To secure these gems, all it would have taken was a request to a powerful person that one of us knows.  We decided not to do that.

Would I have accepted front row if the gentleman in question had given it to us with no prompting on our part?  Yes.  But the idea of asking for what hasn’t been freely offered makes my stomach turn.

For me, happiness doesn’t come from the accumulation of pleasant experiences, even though I love pleasant experiences.  Happiness shows up when I know I’ve shown integrity, and when I’m present as I enjoy the people who show up in my life.  I’ve discovered that happiness can even be there during times of sadness, as contradictory as that sounds.  When I touch something immense, no matter what the surface emotion, something sweet bubbles up.  It’s a vastness.  Holy.  And infinitely more rewarding than pushing to get courtside seats.

Next Thursday, we’ll be many rows from the action, and yet we’ll feel the ebb and flow of the game.  We’ll come out of our seats at a slam dunk and groan over a missed layup.  We’ll have a great time with each other.  And that’s certainly enough to put a smile on my face.

The Truman Show

I watched The Truman Show last night.  It’s a movie in which Truman’s wife, his best friend, his neighbours … are just actors, following a script.  A film which many people see as a satire on the media’s control over human beings.  But I think it’s far more.  Truman Burbank’s story calls us to embrace freedom, with all its beauty and blemishes.  To have courage.  To step beyond the norm.  To truly live.

***

TV Announcer: 1.7 billion were there for his birth. 220 countries tuned in for his first step. The world stood still for that stolen kiss. And as he grew, so did the technology. An entire human life recorded on an intricate network of hidden cameras, and broadcast live and unedited, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, to an audience around the globe. Coming to you now from Seahaven Island, enclosed in the largest studio ever constructed, and along with the Great Wall of China one of only two man-made structures visible from space, now in its 30th great year… It’s The Truman Show!

Truman’s whole life … for all to see.  A carefully controlled life – only happy stuff.  No nasty sadness, fear or loneliness.

***

Mike Michaelson: Christof, let me ask you, why do you think that Truman has never come close to discovering the true nature of his world until now?

Christof: We accept the reality of the world with which we’re presented. It’s as simple as that.

And what exactly are we being presented with?  “No, Bruce.  You can’t change the world.”  Spontaneity is somehow bad.  Fit in.  Do what people are comfortable with and life will be smoother.

***

Marlon: [Emotional almost to the point of tears] The point is, I would gladly step in front of traffic for you, Truman. And the last thing I would ever do to you…

Christof: [Feeding Marlon his lines] … is lie to you.

Marlon: …is lie to you.

Oh, may I have true relationships, where people are real in their love, in their anger, in the feedback they give me.

***

Mike Michaelson: The Hague for Christof. Hello? The Hague? All right, we’ve lost that call, let’s go to Hollywood, California. You’re on Trutalk.

Sylvia: Hi, Christof, I’d just like to say one thing, you’re a liar and a manipulator and what you’ve done to Truman is sick!

Christof: Well. We remember this voice, don’t we? How could we forget?

Mike Michaelson: Uh, let’s go to another call, what do we have…

Christof: No. No, no, no, no, no, it’s fine, it’s fine, Mike. I love to reminisce with former members of the cast. Sylvia, as you announced so melodramatically to the world, do you think because you batted your eyes at Truman once, flirted with him, stole a few minutes of airtime with him to thrust yourself and your politics into the limelight, that you know him? That you know what’s right for him? You really think you’re in a position to judge him?

Sylvia: What right do you have to take a baby and turn his life into some kind of mockery? Don’t you ever feel guilty?

Christof: I have given Truman the chance to lead a normal life. The world, the place you live in, is the sick place. Seahaven is the way the world should be.

Sylvia: He’s not a performer, he’s a prisoner. Look at him, look at what you’ve done to him!

Christof: He could leave at any time. If his was more than just a vague ambition, if he was absolutely determined to discover the truth, there’s no way we could prevent him. I think what distresses you, really, caller, is that ultimately Truman prefers his cell, as you call it.

Sylvia: Well, that’s where you’re wrong. You’re so wrong! And he’ll prove you wrong!

Do we prefer our cells?  Our comfy cozy sanctuaries?  Is the world of gains and losses, pleasure and pain, praise and blame, and fame and disrepute, the sick place?  Or is that world also the home of transcendence, peace and true love?

***

Christof: We’ve become bored with watching actors give us phony emotions. We are tired of pyrotechnics and special effects. While the world he inhabits is, in some respects, counterfeit, there’s nothing fake about Truman himself. No scripts, no cue cards. It isn’t always Shakespeare, but it’s genuine. It’s a life.

May I always be genuine, and may you be as well, so we can look each other in the eyes and see ourselves.

***

Truman Burbank: Was nothing real?

Christof: You were real. That’s what made you so good to watch…

Indeed.  Give me a real person to cherish.  Whether rich or poor, pretty or plain, assertive or shy.  None of that stuff matters.

***

Christof: As Truman grew up, we were forced to manufacture ways to keep him on the island.

[flashback to Truman at school]

Young Truman: I’d like to be an explorer, like the great Magellan.

Teacher: [rolling down a map of the world] Oh, you’re too late. There’s really nothing left to explore.

This is not about teachers … in fact, I’m a retired one.  But some folks in our lives don’t want us to stretch, to go outside of the nine dots, to become something new.

***

Truman: I figure we can scrape together $8,000…

Meryl: Every time you and Marlon get together…

Truman: We can bum around the world for a year on that!

Meryl: And then what, Truman? We’d be where we were five years ago. You’re talking like a teenager.

Truman: Well, maybe I feel like a teenager.

Meryl: We have mortgage payments, Truman.

[He sighs]

Meryl: We have car payments. What, we’re going to just walk away from our financial obligations?

Truman: [He stands, whirls around, bends pleadingly, his hands reaching as though to grab the world] It would be an adventure!

Meryl: I thought we were gonna try for a baby.

[He turns away and rubs the back of his neck]

Meryl: Isn’t that enough of an adventure?

Truman: [Truman turns back, waves his arms dramatically] That can wait. I want to get away, see some of the world! Explore!

Meryl: [teasing him] Honey, you wanna be an explorer.

[She rises, goes to him, strokes his cheek]

Meryl: This’ll pass. We all think like this now and then.

***

May the deepest urges of our humanity never pass
May we explore the infinities of life
May we heed the call of adventure
May we not regress to the mean

Horse Tragedy

I saw in The London Free Press this morning that a fire near Guelph, Ontario killed 43 horses.  Before I started reading, I stopped.  “May this article focus on the loss of life, and the sadness that creates, rather than on the economic impact of this loss to the horse racing industry.”

I know that the financial ramifications are a legitimate cause for concern.  After all, many families probably have been hit hard.  Dreams may have been shattered.  All this is important.  But I think everything pales before the sanctity of life and the love of one being for another.

Here are some words from the story, in chronological order:

“We have no idea yet” what caused the fire.

The blaze was described as a multimillion-dollar loss.

The operation near Guelph will continue despite the blow.

“We are thinking of the horses that lost their lives, but also those people who relied on those horses for their jobs.”

He called the blaze “devastating” to the tight-knit racing community, which others noted has been rocked by the closing of smaller tracks and the loss of provincial slot machine revenue to fund racing purses.

“It’s almost like losing a child.  These horses, they’re every part of your life … On Christmas morning, when other people are opening gifts with their kids and stuff like that, we’re out at the farm making sure they’re (the horses) taken care of first.”

The most prominent horse lost was Apprentice Hanover, who won about $1 million in purses over his career.

The horses lost were likely trapped in their stalls and couldn’t flee.

“We are all emotionally attached to these animals.”

***

All very human responses
All to be honoured
God bless us, every one

Sending Love Out Into The Universe

Sharon Salzberg is a Buddhist teacher, and also a co-founder of the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts.

“Whenever I teach lovingkindness retreats in an urban setting,” Sharon explains, “I ask students to do their walking meditation out on the streets. I suggest they choose individuals they see and, with care and awareness, wish them well by silently repeating the traditional phrases of the lovingkindness practice, ‘May you be happy.  May you be peaceful.’  I tell them that even if they don’t feel loving, the power of their intention to offer love is not diminished.  On this day our retreat took place a few blocks from downtown Oakland.  Since we were directly across the street from the Amtrak station, several people chose to do their practice on the train platform.”

“When a train pulled in, one woman from the class noticed a man disembark and decided to make him the recipient of her lovingkindness meditation. Silently she began reciting the phrases for him.  Almost immediately she began judging herself: I must not be doing it right because I feel so distant.  I don’t feel a great wash of warm feeling coming over me.  Nonetheless, reaffirming her intention to look on all beings with kindness instead of estrangement, she continued thinking, ‘May you be happy.  May you be peaceful.’  Taking another look at the man, who was dressed in a suit and tie and seemed nervous, she began judging him: He looks so rigid and uptight.  Judging herself, she thought, Here I am trying to send lovingkindness to someone and instead I’m disparaging him.  Still, she continued repeating the phrases, aligning her energy with her deep intention: to be a force of love in the world.  At that moment the man walked over to her and said, ‘I’ve never done anything like this before in my life, but I’d like to ask you to pray for me.  I am about to face a very difficult situation in my life.  Somehow, you seem to have a really loving heart, and I’d just like to know that you’re praying for me.’”

***

For the last week, I haven’t felt loving.  My whole focus has been on me being sick.  Sometimes, when I’m composing a post, the old Bruce makes himself known.  But it feels like I’m a far cry from the human being who wished others well throughout my three-month meditation retreat.  Perhaps I’m wrong.  Maybe you can’t go back to a less inclusive form of consciousness.  It could be that the physical symptoms are merely masking the essence of Bruce.

Tonight I choose to meditate.  I don’t imagine that tomorrow a guy in a suit is going to say “I’ve never done anything like this before.” and that’s fine.  In Massachusetts, I was clear that my love was reaching people.  I’m somewhat less clear right now … but actually it still touches others, whether I’m feeling euphoric, sublime or flat.

So … I will do what I’m meant to do, through the good times and bad.