I was sitting in a theatre last night watching a movie I didn’t understand.
Oh well … I’ll just watch the amazing graphics and the sweetness on some of the faces
At some point amid the two hours, another thought:
Your job is to love people
Say again?
You heard me
***
Now it’s the next morning and I find myself whispering …
My job is to lovepeople
The word “job” feels too small. How about “vocation”?
“A strong impulse or inclination to follow a particular activity or career; a calling”
Yes. I am being called.
***
Now the real shocker to this porous human mind. A new image of my future presents itself: an eccentric old man walking the streets of Gent and sitting in its cafés – talking to some, silently loving them all.
As compared to my usual vision of romance to be – strolling with my beloved, holding hands.
After showering and having breakfast, I went to Izy Coffee for a cappuccino. Lies was the barista. She’s my friend.
I told her about my still long arms:
They’re dangling down. It feels like my fingertips are brushing the floor. It’s so loose, like my arms could fall off.
And things are blended at the edges – no border lines. Your face is merging with the air.
Lies looked at me funny. She knows that my heart is good. But I imagined her saying What is this man talking about?
I’m pleased that I told Lies what was happening. I trusted her not to reject me. Later I asked if she thought I was crazy. She said “Yes” … with a smile.
As I received my coffee, Lies said the Dutch equivalent of “Enjoy it.” Apparently it was two words: “Geniet ervan.” I didn’t know either. So I sat down and grappled with Google Translate, focused on adding to my Dutch knowledge.
And just like that, my arms were short again. Things had lines around them.
Easy come … easy go. And I hoped easy come back again.
I’m still in Izy, writing this. Writing takes a more gentle focus than Dutch. And my fingers once more descend.
After I wrote yesterday about sitting before the statue of a saint, my friend Lyrinda replied:
Your saint looks like Saint Therese Lisieux to me. Here is a bit on her name from The Little Flower Organization: “When she entered the Carmelite Monastery to give her life to God, Marie Francoise Therese Martin took the religious name “Therese of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face.” Therese had a great devotion to the Infant Jesus, and her spirituality was a childlike simplicity and trust in God’s love. In Lisieux, the Carmelite Monastery had a great devotion to the suffering Holy Face of Jesus.
…
Because Therese was constantly looking to see the hidden Holy Face of Jesus in everyone and everything, Therese took that second part of her religious name.
Thank you, Lyrinda. May we all see the hidden Holy Face of Love in everyone and everything, whether the Spirit is shown through Jesus, the Buddha, Muhammad, you, me …
Therese was born in 1873 and died in 1897 from tuberculosis. Twenty-four years on the planet.
I went back to the Carmelite Church this morning to see if Lyrinda was right. She was.
And I found Therese’s words:
Love can supply for length of years. Jesus, because He is eternal, regards not the time but only love.
The good God does not need years to accomplish His work of love in a soul. One ray from His heart can, in an instant, make His flower bloom for eternity.
I cast myself into Your arms, and like a little dewdrop, I sink deeper and deeper into Your chalice, O divine Flower of the field, and there I find all I have lost and much more besides.
Living of love is sailing without ceasing, while sowing peace and joy in all hearts. I am like a beloved helmsman: love compels me, because I see You in all souls. Love is the only star on which I aim, the light that spreads.I sail without detours. My motto is written on my sail: Life of Love.
Amid the moving and grooving of Gentse Feesten yesterday, I needed quiet. I retreated to the Carmelite Church on the Burgstraat – one of my two favourite churches in Gent. (The other is Sint-Salvatorkerk on the Sleepstraat)
I’m not a Christian but I know spiritual when I see it.
I love the statue of Mary and Jesus. They’ve appeared on these pages before. The sacred shines from them both.
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a person’s aura. If I’m not sure, I guess the answer is “No”. Nevertheless, I know that I’m in the presence of Divinity when I look into certain people’s eyes. There’s a shimmering that doesn’t seem visible to physical sight but I know. I am touched.
Yesterday I couldn’t find a spot where Mary and I would join eyes. It might have worked if I’d stood on the pew. I’m sure Mary wouldn’t have minded but the local priest probably would have taken issue with my elevation. Mary and I were together but not quite aligned.
***
Elsewhere in the sanctuary, this young saint welcomed me. I can’t remember her name. She probably doesn’t know mine either.
Once again … her eyes and mine. And once again just slightly off centre. That’s all right. We were with each other.
I realize that my most precious moments are when one other human being and I are joining. All else pales in comparison: the beauties of nature, the thrill of a sporting event, a stunning movie, a fine meal.
My job is to fill my day with such moments, accompanied by flesh-and-blood people … far beyond the wood and stone of statues. But when I need to, I’ll still search for Mary’s eyes.
“This is 8-year-old Samuel Reshevsky defeating several chess masters at once in France, 1920.”
All these middle-aged and older men dressed in suit and tie, watching a little kid turn their world upside down. So much mystery behind those facial expressions. But there’s little doubt about the mindset of the man holding his head. What?!
Tucked amid the crowd are two women and one girl but overall it’s the “mature” male ego on display. A troubled ego.
You’re too young
In life, of course, many perspectives are possible. Here are some more of the narrow type:
As a postscript to yesterday, I walked to Amal for the Dutch conversation group, nervous in the knees. I crossed the street, looked up, and there stood a locked gate. Amal was closed during Gentse Feesten.
It felt like long ago times in my life when an exam was cancelled. A burst of freedom … and then knowing that the pressure would return.
I spoke a bit of Dutch to Lies at Izy Coffee and Dominique at Panos. Figuring out their words took so much energy. But that’s okay. I made tiny progress, and I’ll do the same today. Plus next Tuesday afternoon Amal will welcome me for a conversation.
***
I read that during the ten days of Gentse Feesten, about 200,000 visitors show up in town each day – for the music, the dancing, the eating, the drinking and the friends.
Yesterday evening I roamed around, absorbing the marvelous variety of human beings. Here are some photos:
Belly dancers! I too have one but I’m not as brave in displaying it.
Lots of folks. But nowhere near as many as when darkness falls.
Line dancers turning together. It felt strange to watch and not do but my body didn’t urge me onto the dance floor. Somehow I’m both sad and fine with that.
So much music on so many stages. At this very moment, the bass guitarist was coaxing a haunting melody from his instrument.
Ane then there were the rides. Jacob van Artevelde oversees the action, pointing toward the beer tents.
***
My fully fledged oomph will return. For now it’s the meandering of my feet amid the festivities. That’s enough for this young man.
I look at this title and say “Huh?” When I was a teacher, my favourite word in the classroom was “conversation”. Right now, however, I add the word “Dutch” and the white turns to black.
I’m going to Amal this afternoon for a session of Dutch conversation. It’s an organization for newcomers to Belgium. Newbies like me will sit at a table with a native speaker … and we’ll talk. I did this once right at the end of my Dutch Level Two course in late June, and I did okay. A month later, I’m rusty.
Just show up, Bruce. You’ll do fine, oryou’ll do poorly. Either way, you’ll do!
It takes so much effort to create sentences and to follow the sentences of others. Okay. That’s not the end of the world.
I woke up lots last night. And I dreamt – being lost with no chance of being found. Then I was a swimmer, tensed to dive into the pool. Except I can’t swim! Plus I was this skinny little guy, wearing a Speedo. Endlessly poised to dive in.
I set my alarm for 8:00 am. As the morning sun peeked around my blinds, I prayed that it wasn’t 7:55. Covers to my chin, I wanted the protection to continue.
But protecting myself is no way to live. Being away from life isn’t the real me. It’s true that I’ve been recovering from the blood infection and have spent a lot of time in bed, a lot of time watching the Tour de France … being passive.
Yesterday I was in the gym, stretching and riding the elliptical. Then I meditated. When I finish this post, I’m going to study Dutch for an hour. Then it’s off to Amal for talking, no doubt making lots of mistakes.
My life has been way out of balance for many weeks now. The typical joys have been shunted to the background. My rhythms are gone.
It’s time to bring them back. My happiness, and my ability to draw happiness from others, depends on me returning.
To …
Being on the elliptical at the gym
Strength training with light weights
Stretching
Meditating
Playing the cello
Being in Dutch conversations
Singing
***
Woh! That’s seven things. And there may be more that I’m not locating in the moment.
I have energy again. I’m not retreating to my bed in the middle of the day. Here I am, yearning for the bright orange machines at Basic-Fit, the soft green fabric of my meditation chair, my left hand doing vibrato on the A string of the cello.
Today, within the hour, I’ll be stretching on a gym mat and then later flowing the arms and legs on the elliptical. A short and slow session to begin again.
Sometime in the afternoon, the chair you see will welcome me for the mystery of meditation, as I draw the world close in love.
This scene is in the Patershol neighbourhood of Gent, a few hundred metres from my apartment.
Last night it was pleasantly warm on the street. Fifty steps above, in my apartment, I couldn’t get the temperature below 27 Celsius (80 Fahrenheit).
Actually I could have lowered it some … if I’d opened the windows. The tradeoff is noise vs. warmth. We’re beginning Gentse Feesten, a giant street party that attracts about 180,000 visitors every day. In Gent centrum, where I live, it’s sometimes an all night thing.
Oh well.
As I’ve told many people, I signed up for Belgium 18 months ago. I wanted to change countries, to call Gent home … and here I am. No air conditioning. But so much beauty.
My goal for the next week is to get six hours of sleep a night. That may be elusive. (Smile)
I have a tiny electric cooler that spent last night about sixty centimetres (two feet) from my nose. I also have a “white noise” machine that cuddled close when the decibels ran rampant. They both helped.
On I go into tonight, tomorrow night and beyond. Walking the streets and enjoying the music in the evenings. Loving my pillow in the wee hours.
Bruce's Blog 