I sat in Lunchroom Martens on the Oudburg this morning, enjoying my tropical sandwich, yogurt and granola, and latté.

Fran (the owner) and Lieve (her mother) were busy assembling chairs.  It’s a lot of work to put ten of them together.

I found myself thinking about chairs.  Why not?  Maybe tomorrow I’ll write about tables.

I reflected on the one I was sitting on.  It was dark brown, worn at the seams, and heavy.  It’s done the job for months.

Soon two of the new ones were assembled and placed at the neighbouring table.  They were bright orange.  I couldn’t resist going over for a sit.

I pulled the orange one out.  It slid easily.  And the fabric … so soft.  My bum felt at home in a second.  Good choice, Fran.

And then my mind went quiet, even as the thoughts continued to roll.  Imagine someone who’s depressed coming for breakfast.  The world is closing in, pressing hard.  But the orange chair beckons in all its loveliness.  Perhaps the hand rubs across the fabric … again and again.  In the sitting is the cuddling.  A place to rest.

It might help

We see the outsides of everything – people, trees, walls …  And there is beauty on the surfaces – the smoothness of the skin, the roughness of the bark, the yellow of the wall.

But what is inside?  In the physical realm there are the bones and organs of the body; the insulation, wiring and wooden studs of the walls.

And there are other realms.

There’s a spiritual history in each home and a soaring of the Spirit in each human being … infinite space within, beckoning the observer to embrace the majestic unknown.

***

Shall I enter your portal and discover who resides there?

Shall I feel the presence of Anne Frank in the attic of Prinsengracht 263 in Amsterdam?

Shall I walk towards the universe of the heart?

I keep thinking back to Thursday, when I had the hospital procedure to explore my esophagus.  It was going to be the first time I’d have general anaesthetic in many years.

I had an idea of what it would be like.  A nurse would take a soft mask connected to a tube and place it over my nose and mouth.  She’d ask me to count back from 100 …  And I’d fade away.

Did that really happen to me long ago or have I just watched too many movies?  I don’t know.

Anyway, that wasn’t the story on Thursday.  A fellow put an IV into my left arm.  I later figured out he was an anaesthesiologist.  He knew I was Canadian and told me about his vacation in British Columbia on the Pacific coast while he did his work.  “What a nice guy to talk to,” I thought.

A nurse stood to my right and we chatted about how great Gent was.  Two cool people.  I was comfy, wrapped in the blanket of lovely human beings.

And then I was gone.

I believe, as well as doing their jobs to relax the patient, both of these medical professionals were simply nice folks.

I thought of the many easy friendships I’ve had in my life, where the conversation is effortless.  No edges, even if we disagree about some topic. 

I imagine talking to a friend late at night, both of us tired.  And slowly, sweetly … we fall asleep together.

Anaesthesia and love

Why not?

I’m loving this novel by Philip Pullman.  Awhile ago, I mentioned The Golden Compass, a film about a 12-year-old heroine named Lyra – based on another Philip story.

La Belle Sauvage is the name of a canoe piloted by young Malcolm, who with his friend Alice is saving the infant Lyra from evil forces.

I love Pullman’s writing.  He creates a turn of phrase that catches the human moment exquisitely.

Here are a few of my favourites from La Belle Sauvage:

1.  He was fond of most things he knew.

So few words to describe a glorious way to live.

2.  This little room was where he felt how big the world could be.

Other than the word “little”, Philip hasn’t described the room.  But I can feel it … where possibility lives.

3.  These other folk, they’re all like us, in the same position, kind of thing, but you don’t enquire too close, it en’t polite.

People may look different than us but we know deep down that they share our thrills and agonies.  We’re so curious … but we don’t reach out to connect.

4.  Everything was saturated, whether with rain or dew or the remains of the flood.  Everything he touched was heavy and soaked and rotten.  His heart was just like that.  He would never manage to light any of it.

Sometimes there’s the hopelessness of life.  The rain keeps falling and the sun is forgotten.

5.  The look they exchanged in the mouth of the cave before going back to the fire was something Malcolm never forgot: it was deep and complex and close, and it touched every part of him …

A timeless moment of contact.  May we all experience such times for the rest of our lives.

I had agreed to do three things over the past 24 hours.  I gave my word, and I would have damaged myself emotionally if I’d pulled out of any of them.  I haven’t had much energy post-Covid but that’s not an excuse to drop away.

A.  I hosted a playreading last night

Eight of us gathered in my apartment to read “Death of a Salesman”.  I committed to the evening about two months ago.  People were counting on me.

I’d bought the scripts and thought about how we’d divide up the parts, especially the juicy ones like Willy Loman.  The play has two acts.  I divided each one in two … so four of us would have the chance to try on “the crumple-suited sales rep facing the abyss of obsolescence”.  That worked well.  And I thought each of us had the chance to really inhabit some classic characters in literature, to fall into the speeches and conversations.

I knew the play was a long one, and there had to be time for breaks and refreshments.  Plus I was aware that if we ended pushing against midnight, my fellow readers would be scrambling for last trains and buses.  Happily it worked.

B.  I attended an Evolutionary Collective Zoom meeting

A group of us within the EC have taken on a heightened commitment.  We’ve agreed to attend a 90-minute meeting “early” on a Thursday or “later” on the next Thursday.  Since most of our members are in North America, the times are friendlier there.

Bottom line: last Thursday was 6:30 to 8:00 pm for me.  Many months ago, I asked my friend Sarah when her next dance recital was.  The answer was Thursday, October 24.  I agreed to go … and I loved it.

So, to keep my word to the EC, I was online for our Zoom meeting last night from 1:00 to 2:30 am.  No big deal.  I simply did what I said I’d do.

C.  I had an esophagus procedure done at the hospital today

This was the date I was given several weeks ago.  This time it was keeping my word with me and my health.  I showed up at AZ Sint-Lucas at 9:15 am and was heading home by 1:00.

The doctor put a long “snake” down my esophagus and into the stomach to investigate my swallowing problem.  I was asleep.  Thank God for general anaesthetic.

The result?  There’s a fungus growing in my esophagus, restricting the passage.  I’m now well equipped with medication to deal with the situation.  I can see French fries returning to my life soon!  (Except don’t call them that in Belgium)

***

I knew the past few hours would be challenging

I knew I would get the job done

And I knew my bed would be waiting at the end of it all

When my dear friend Jo died two years ago, I looked through the many messages of condolence sent to Lydia, Lore and Baziel, written in Dutch.  One word appeared in at least half of them:

Sterk

Essentially … “Be strong”.  I found it strange.  You’ve just lost your beloved.  Of course you’d feel weak and lost.

My body feels low these days.  Some well-meaning person might advise me to go to the gym but all of me says “No” to that.

This morning I went to The Cobbler on the Graslei for breakfast.  My usual approach to the dining room is climbing fifty steps up a spiral staircase.  Not today.  I took the elevator with zero guilt.

My croissant was accompanied by a little jar of strawberry jam.  I couldn’t twist it open.  I saw my server Floreaka standing nearby.  She’s probably twenty.  For a millisecond I had a male ego thought … then it disappeared.  I asked her to help, and the task was easily done.

Tomorrow I’m having a procedure done in the hospital to widen my esophagus.  I sometimes have trouble swallowing.  It’ll be with general anaesthetic.

I’m on a blood thinner medication but I’m not allowed to use it for the three days before the procedure.  To keep me protected, I needed to have an injection today in my belly.

My family doctor said “You can do it or you can visit a nurse.”  An hour ago, a nurse stuck me with the needle.  I wasn’t emotionally strong enough to do it myself.  Again no guilt.

Tomorrow the doctor will feed a long “snake” down my esophagus.  I don’t want that pain again and so I’ve decided to be unconscious while the job is being done.

***

Okay, that’s my story.  I’m choosing comfort instead of pain, resting rather than exerting, asking someone for help.

I feel light.  And I feel the light pouring in

It’s a “yes” to the reality of Now

I walked into Izy Coffee this morning, feeling the exhaustion.  Yesterday I completed everything about my Will, my Power of Attorney, and having my executor Lydia contact my beloved ones after I die.

And now I’ve crashed.  Plus Covid seems to be lingering.  This will be a short post.

Catriona, the barista, said:

Last time I saw you, you were going to sing karaoke

Bruce replied:

No, I had Covid.  I didn’t have the energy and I didn’t want to infect people

With my cappuccino, I sat down on the black couch next to my friend Samuel.  He hadn’t heard my conversation with Catriona.  Minutes later, though, he asked:

Do you sing at home?

And we talked about the glories of song.  Something shines and fills the room far beyond the human voice.  When we open our mouths to sing, out come the vibrations, the sweetness of the lyrics, the flow of the melody.  The world is touched.  Within the body is a line of yearning that curves upwards from the toes to the mouth.  And the song emerges to seek out the far corners of the universe, to colour human spirits beautiful.

And … I can’t access any of that right now

My mouth is silent

The words of love are dormant in my lungs

***

But why not smile about the “not now”?

All will be expressed again …

What then is important?

How shall I apportion my time?

Who will I befriend?

And what say I of the one in the mirror?

***

Don’t prioritize your looks, my friend, as they won’t last the journey

Your sense of humor, though, will only get better with age

Your intuition will grow and expand like a majestic cloak of wisdom

Your ability to choose your battles will be fine-tuned to perfection

Your capacity for stillness, for living in the moment, will blossom

Your desire to live each and every moment will transcend all other wants

Your instinct for knowing what (and who) is worth your time will grow and flourish like ivy on a castle wall

Don’t prioritize your looks, my friend, as they will change forevermore

That pursuit is one of much sadness and disappointment

Prioritize the uniqueness that make you you, and the invisible magnet that draws in other like-minded souls to dance in your orbit

Judy Dench

Years ago, a friend told me about her father.  When he died, she found out that he hadn’t told anyone about his after-death wishes, and so it became a mess to decide what to do.

I remember saying to myself “That won’t be me.”

And so it isn’t.

Lydia and Luc were my companions in Liège yesterday.  Awhile ago Lydia agreed to be the Executor of my Will, and also my Power of Attorney.  She’ll make decisions about my property and medical care if I’m no longer able to.  Thank you, Lydia.

It’s been straightforward about my Will but the Power of Attorney is another story.  Belgium and Canada look at those documents very differently.

Making sure that “Ik wil niet worden gereanimeerd” really happens has been an ordeal.  Do not resuscitate.

Lydia has copies of almost all the documents she would need … five more to go, and we’ll deal with them this afternoon.  Yay!

But there’s something else – the Samsung S23 phone that sits in my hands right now.  She’d need passwords … easily done.  And then there’s my gigantic list of contacts.  I’m spent a few emotionally draining hours writing down stuff for her.  And here’s the result:

When I die, Lydia needs to contact 38 companies, organizations and government agencies.  That’s essential.  I hope she’ll also reach 42 friends.  I want them to know that the body is no more.

It was much easier describing Liège yesterday but today a future reality called death is front and centre in my mind.  And so I’m telling you.  It’s the right thing to do.

Later today, once we’ve examined those last POA documents, I will be complete (“flat”) with this topic.  And I will smile.

I’ll let you know when that moment occurs.

***

Now!

Today my friends Lydia and Luc invited me to join them on a train trip to Liège, Belgium.

Few words … lots of pictures:

The train station in Liège – glorious curves and colours.

Lunch at the Bovaria.  I had a scrumptious ragu with big fat noodles.  Délicieux.  (We’re in the French part of Belgium)

We sat on a bench in front of La Boverie art museum for a long time … watching people stroll by and leaves flutter down.

Inside was a marvelous exhibition: Les Mondes de Paul Delvaux (a Belgian surrealist painter).  Here are my three favourites:

All these faces, sadly none of them smiling

I wonder what she’s thinking.

And this young woman.  Waiting for?  Going to?

What a colour in the sun!

We turned a corner in Liège centrum and saw this.  I gulped.  I also knew I had to do it.

La Montagne de Beuren … 374 satisfying and exhausting steps.

And then back down by tiny streets, our day nearing its end.  What a privilege to share this majesty with friends.