As a young adult, one of my favourite novels was Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse.

I didn’t know where to go in life but I knew my life had to be big.  Books pointed the way … many ways.  This particular paperback novel grew to be well thumbed in my hands, worn and folded.

Here’s the gist of the story:

“In Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse, we journey into the contrasting lives and philosophies of two medieval men.  Our story begins in a monastery, where Narcissus, a gifted academic and ascetic monk, recognizes the restless spirit and individualistic drive in his pupil Goldmund.  While Narcissus devotes himself to studying and spiritual pursuits, he recognizes that Goldmund has a contrasting destiny and encourages him to leave the monastery in pursuit of artistic and sensual pleasure.

With Narcissus’ encouragement, Goldmund embarks on an exploration of the outside world, a realm teeming with sensuality, art and the fleeting beauty of life.  Through these experiences, he revels in the pleasures of the flesh and discovers his talent as a gifted sculptor, crafting artistic renditions of the human form.  Goldmund’s world becomes one deeply rooted in senses, emotions and capturing the transient beauty of life through his craft.”

Ah yes.  My mind was vibrant even way back then, and my fingers yearned to be.

Many decades later, I have expressed my divinity in voice, piano, guitar and cello, with a small dabble of batik.  All this as the spirit climbed … alone and in connection with beloveds.  The two views remain friends.

I’ve forgotten the flow of dialogue between Goldmund and Narcissus but I smile when their moments return to me softly.  A few minutes ago, I wanted to share with you something that Goldmund said, something that would shine on our faces.

And I found what I was looking for:

I believe . . . that the petal of a flower or a tiny worm on the path says far more, contains far more than all the books in the library.  One cannot say very much with mere letters and words.  Sometimes I’ll be writing a Greek letter, a theta or an omega, and tilt my pen just the slightest bit.  Suddenly the letter has a tail and becomes a fish.  In a second it evokes all the streams and rivers of the world, all that is cool and humid, Homer’s sea and the waters on which Saint Peter wandered.  Or becomes a bird, flaps its tail, shakes out its feathers, puffs itself up, laughs, flies away. You probably don’t appreciate letters like that very much, do you, Narcissus?  But I say: with them God wrote the world.

***

Thank you, book companions of the past

Welcome to the present

And what of the future?

As opposed to “in here”.  Throwing myself into life, arms splayed, tongue out.  Rather than all contracted, tight into a ball, blocking the outflow.

What you see is one of the iconic photos in Canadian history.  Our Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau has just finished meeting with Queen Elizabeth of the United Kingdom.  As she and her entourage turn to leave, Pierre does a pirouette behind them.  Protocol be damned!

I love Pierre, even now so many years after his death.  He lived large.

I want to do the same.

A few weeks ago, a writer friend of mine asked if I wanted to hear about the novel she was working on.  I smiled and said “No”.  And then I proceeded to listen.  But where did that word come from?  It just bubbled up my throat.  Is that you, Pierre?

And then the day before yesterday, a conversation about seagulls turned into a lap of the restaurant, me flapping my wings all the while.  I passed a few coffee drinkers looking up to me … and kept flying.  Why not?

Just so you don’t see me as a totally free spirit, please know there is one potential that I’ve so far closed down.  My dream has been to sing from my balcony over the Oudburg, serenading the folks strolling below.  That dream is over a year old now, and not a single note has flowed from my mouth.  (Sigh)

***

Surely Pierre too had his moments of contraction

But I know he returned to the dance

My cello lesson is this afternoon.  My newest piece “Meditation” presents challenges – new positions for my left hand on the neck of the instrument.  As a teenager, I played in First Position and Fourth Position.  That was it.  “Meditation” introduces me to two versions of Second Position and to Third Position.

Here’s a diagram showing some of it:

You see the four strings of the cello running vertically.  Look at the string on the right (A) and follow it down until you see “Re”.  In First Position, I put my fourth finger down to hit that note.  Easy.  But in Upper Second Position, I shift my hand and play the note with my second finger.  In Third Position I use my first finger.

Before last week’s lesson, I studied this a lot, which led to an exploding brain.  I got so mixed up … and that was clear as I tried to play the piece during the lesson.  It was embarrassing to play poorly.

At which point my teacher Lieven stopped me.  I was invited to feel the melody on a piano, see what finger was written on the sheet music for a certain note, and then slide the finger on the string till the sound matched what the piano said.  “Forget the positions!”

Woh!

I was being asked to dismantle the scaffolding, lean into my cello and fall into melody.  Inside my head was a message: “Let go, Bruce … and now some more.”

***

I moved my cello into the bedroom, where my keyboard lives.  For the past few days, I bounced back and forth between the two instruments so my body could absorb a bar or two of the melody.

And then yesterday in Music Theory class, Jan (a friend and classmate) showed me an app called “Perfect Piano”.  Now I can set my phone on the music stand.  As I sit with my cello and read the sheet music, I can play a short of stretch of melody on the phone keyboard.  Much better!

***

I’ll practice some this afternoon before my lesson.  And then I’ll sway into “Meditation” with Lieven and my classmates, moving through the good notes and bad, “positionless”.

Hopefully with a wee smile on my face

The first thing I need to say is that I haven’t seen a single seagull this morning.  I miss my friends.  They fly so sweetly … and I can’t fly at all. 

I’m sitting in front of a giant window as I write.  I’ll let you know if friends show up.

***

Lying in bed this morning, these words came:

Bruce, you wrote a post a few days ago that was lovely.  You said something that was so true for you.  But there’s a new danger in those words, and you need to clarify the situation with more writing.

Huh?

I have no idea what I’m saying

I’ve looked back at my recent posts and I still have no clue.   Did I dream this stuff up?

Often I’m swimming in a space of “not knowing” … roaming around in my head, tilted, even upside down.  I’ve discovered that it’s not a problem.  I just have a lot of loose moments.

In our Evolutionary Collective meetings on Zoom, we’ve learned to do a practice where the possibility is great that we’ll connect deeply with another human being.  Often we’ll do two 15-minute practices, each with a different person.  A common experience I have is to quickly forget who I practiced with.  What is that about?  It seems like such a diminishment of the other.  But I have no ill will towards them.  They just … disappear from my mind.

Years ago I was great at remembering names.  Now that usually has faded away.  I don’t think it’s old age.  My life has become more porous, like a white lace tablecloth.

So frequently I’m walking in a spiritual mist, not knowing what’s up and what’s down, seemingly not located in time and space … dissolving.

***

So there you have my current state of Bruce

Focus will no doubt return when it feels like it

I’m in no hurry

***

Still no seagulls …

I’m in the middle of an experiment.  It’s about money … one twenty-euro bill.  Several times now I’ve dropped it on the floor of Izy Coffee, just to see what would happen.  But my friend and barista Arjen keeps picking it up and giving it back to me.  My friend Geert just did the same.  So now I’ve dropped the bill in a less conspicuous part of the floor.

I wonder what you’re thinking as you read this.  Perhaps some version of “crazy”?  How about “stupid”? 

The bill is sitting where I can’t see it.  Maybe someone has already picked it up.  But I’ll just stay here on the couch a while longer.  How cool to not know what’s happened!

A few years ago, I did a similar experiment at Niagara Falls in Canada.  Twice I was the host for two young people – one pair from Belgium and one from Canada.  Both times, at the edge of the Falls, I took out a twenty-dollar Canadian bill … and tossed it into the flow of water.  Especially one pair of 20-year-olds didn’t find it funny.

Okay, I can’t resist.  Here I am getting up and peering around the corner of the counter.

The bill is gone!

And I start laughing.

***

Am I willing to be considered crazy? > Yes

Am I willing to be considered stupid? > Yes

Am I one or both of those? > Possibly

I’ve spent a lot of my life being concerned with how the world is responding to me.  In my lingo … energy in.

Do you like me?

Will I be given what I need to be happy?

How do I deal with the bad things that come my way?

I’ve learned to raise my hands to shield the face from the troubles that are fast approaching.  Not a recipe for happiness.

***

Or …

Energy out

What leaves from me and flies out into the world?  More and more I feel the need to go towards rather than backing away from.

Words come that feel true:

Give

Express

Discover

Nose-to-nose

***

And in the moment, this happens:

I’m looking out the window at Izy Coffee and a young couple are walking by with their young one in a stroller.  A sky blue balloon falls off and rolls away, unseen by the adults.

I stare fascinated as the small roundness bounces along the cobbles … and then stops.  The couple have disappeared from my view.

After a pause of maybe thirty seconds, I see my body rising from the couch and going outside.  A balloon is gathered up.  I start walking in the direction I guessed the family went.  I don’t see them.  I keep walking.

I see them!  I catch up.  I extend the light blue.  Her eyes widen.  She thanks me with words and a smile.

I return to my cappuccino.

***

I choose energy out

It was my privilege many years ago to see Leonard Cohen in concert.  He loved his songs.  Sometimes he would kneel on the stage as the words kept flowing.  Then he would remove his hat and hold it to his chest.  I saw love there … for the lyrics, for the melody, for us, for life.

I want to sing for people.  I want the songs to reach the audience hearts.  I want each person to feel entered by something marvelous.

This song is “Hello In There” – written and performed by John Prine.  It welcomed me decades ago but I never was brave enough to sing it for anyone.  That has changed.

I love the message: don’t exclude old people.  Welcome them into your fold.  I wonder if the young folks will open to the words of the song.  Hearing it, will they go towards the homeless person lying on their mattress in a doorway?  Or will they continue what the past has been … averting their eyes and walking briskly by?

Will souls be touched by the trembling of my voice, the sweetness of the poetry, the lilt of the melody?  I hope so.  There is much to love in the world.

So here is “Hello In There”.  Perhaps I will sing it for you someday soon.

We have an apartment in the city
Me and Loretta like living there
It’s been years since the kids have grown
A life of their own, left us alone

John and Linda live in Omaha
And Joe is somewhere on the road
We lost Davy in the Korean War
And I still don’t know what for, don’t matter anymore

You know that old trees just grow stronger
And old rivers grow wilder every day
But old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say “Hello in there, hello”

Me and Loretta, we don’t talk much anymore
She sits and stares through the back door screen
And all the news just repeats itself
Like some forgotten dream … that we’ve both seen

Someday I’ll go and call up Rudy
We worked together at the factory
What would I say if he asks “What’s new?”
“Nothing, what’s with you? Nothing much to do”

You know that old trees just grow stronger
And old rivers grow wilder every day
But old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say “Hello in there, hello”

So if you’re walking down the street sometime
And spot some hollow ancient eyes
Please don’t pass them by and stare
As if you didn’t care, say “Hello in there, hello”

I was going to write about choosing a song to sing … but that can wait till tomorrow.  I have been taken over.

Milan-Sanremo is happening right now, and it’s pulling on my heartstrings.  This is a 288-kilometre men’s bicycle race in northern Italy that’s celebrating its 115th edition.  It’s one of five Monuments – the oldest  and most prestigious of the one-day races on the men’s calendar.

The picture above shows the finish in 2017 – Michal Kwiatkowski bulling ahead of his sprint rivals.  An amazing photo.

Many of world’s best riders are here today.  And on the climbs of the Cipressa and Poggio – both etched in cycling history – all hell may break loose as one or more of them attacks, furiously plunging the pedals down to blast past the others.

My nose will be pressed against the TV screen.  I wish I was the one on that bicycle, supremely fit, sweat pouring off my brow.  Alas, my time for sporting heroics has passed.  But the sweat and pumping legs still show up every few days – on the elliptical.

***

Now at home.  The lead group of nine riders is five kilometres from the base of the Cipressa climb.  Some of the streets through little towns are so narrow, and packed with cheering and clapping.

The big group of cyclists (the peleton) are closing in on the leaders … less than a minute now.

The colours of the riders’ jerseys treat the eyes.  Some camera angles show the incredible speed.  The snake writhes.

No attacks on the Cipressa but here comes the Poggio.  About ten cyclists separate themselves from the others.  Then Tadej Pogacar attacks!  Mathieu van der Poel stays with him.  My heart has left for the heavens.  Seeing the two of them give everything.

Now a five kilometre descent to the finish line.  Daredevils around every curve.  And then a group sprint … Jasper Philipsen edges the next guy by a few centimetres!  Whew.  I love this.

I also loved the smiles afterwards.  The second and third place finishers were real in their comradeship with Jasper.  True smiles.

One thing about moving from Canada to Belgium – my old sports aren’t available on TV: ice hockey and basketball.  And it is so not important.  I’m loving the flow of bikes over the land.

I’m home in so many ways

It’s a poem written in 1927 by Max Ehrmann.  It has cuddled me on and off since my 20’s.  And I wrote about it in these pages in 2019:

“There must have been one too many moves in my nomadic youth, because The Desiderata left me one day.  I don’t even remember missing it.  My walls filled instead with paintings – visual heart-tuggings rather than the majesty of the phrase.  I didn’t think of Max’s masterpiece for decades.”

“But the man has returned.  He smiles at me once more.  And it’s all so gentle.  Not all of the sentences still shimmer, and that’s okay.  The whole has guided me over the years, and I didn’t even know it.  A magical absorption was at work.  And I am the better for the words having roamed around within me for so long.”

***

And now I return to those words.  Age 75 rather than 25.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

I don’t want to be placid.  Sometimes I want to be explosive.  I still revere silence but two people speaking our truths to each other, in deep connection, moves me more.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

I realize that I won’t be close to every person who comes my way … because some want to hang back, in the shadows, far from my soul.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Yes, saying it quietly is fine.  What’s crucial is to say it, without antagonism, without concern that I’ll be rejected for my words.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit.

Nothing has changed here in fifty years.  Being in the presence of complainers and excluders still is poison.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

No, I disagree.  Your abilities in one area of life may be more than mine, your contribution to life there more encompassing, but we are each expressions of Divinity.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

I have fewer plans now.  I feel pulled toward the future, towards the growing goodness of it, but the painting has not yet been created.  And my career as a teacher is in the past, even though I believe my presence in others’ lives often teaches.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

I see heroes every day.  They kneel down to help.  They lift us high.  Far sweeter than the ordinary exploits of famous people.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

Same.  True love blesses the loved one.  It enfolds.  And it is always available if called upon.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

However … despite the stiffness of the body I choose to continue dancing.  The arms still need to fly up to the sky.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

My fears still come but they don’t plunge as deep.  And as Mark Twain said, “I have spent most of my life worrying about things that have never happened.”

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

Damn it, I do!  This is my home, as it is yours.  We get to put our feet up on the couch and shout from the rooftop.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Unfold away, dear universe. I’m with you on the journey … to God knows where.  There is beauty ahead, a deep contact with other travellers, a magnificent belonging.

***

Some things change, Max, and some don’t

For years I’ve had various words in my head that teach me how to live.  I don’t know where they come from … but they’ve definitely been there.

Some of them show me the moment, and ask me to stay there.  This is a prime example (as opposed to that).  So I’ve often awakened with the word on my lips, especially if I’m grumpy on the waking.  I could cover my distress with a fake smile but that isn’t this.

Many of the words that bubble up from nowhere are about how I want to treat my fellow human beings, such as Light the world.  I want my presence to be glowing, not darkening.  Perhaps I can show one way to pass through a gloomy wood.

This morning my eyes opened once more … this time to a new thought:  “I could utter a single word every time someone is willing to make eye contact with me: Love.”  It would be a love broader than the beauty of “I love you”.  It would be love that falls like a mist, that embraces us all.

And now my experiment has started.  I connected this way with a friend of mine, with the word silent and present.  And then with another friend. 

I offered the word to two strangers, and the love was not returned.  That’s okay.  They didn’t know what I was giving.

“Keep offering, Bruce”

I will

It’s a good way to live