Tag Archives: Contribution

Will Ye No Return?

I flew to New York City on August 29.  Naturally there was lots to do before that.  One of the tasks was to fill my two bird feeders – one with sunflower seed and the other with nyjer seed (for the finches).

I flew home on Monday, September 13, arriving at my door as darkness approached.  The next morning I looked out my living room window … and saw that both feeders were full!  Huh?  That didn’t compute.  Then I remembered that I’d used the dregs of the old bag of sunflower seed, rather than beginning the new one.  That must be it: seeds that were after their best before date.

In the spirit of thoroughness, I also guessed that it was time to clean the feeders.  Soaking them in bleach water for a day would cover another base.  And then I’d have birdies again!  The soaking took place on the Tuesday.  Wednesday was for rinsing off the toxic stuff and letting the feeders dry.  Thursday was reassembling the feeders, filling them with fresh seed, and returning them to their positions of previous glory.  It might take a day for my winged friends to find the renewed feeders but Saturday would be a fiesta of flapping wings and full stomachs.

Except it wasn’t.  Not a bird to be seen.

Sunday the same.

Which brings us to today.  I scanned the sky and found no small birdies, just a few turkey vultures in their graceful swoops of flight.  (Sigh)  I thought of the end of things.  Could this be one of those?  Did the birdies get together and decide that Belmont, Ontario would go on their no-fly list?  I sure hope not.  I love looking out the window at the feeder perches well occupied.

It makes no sense that it would be over.  But then much of life doesn’t make sense.  Please come back.  I miss you.

Late this afternoon, I heard a chirp, and then more.  It was a baby sparrow, atop one of the feeder poles.  And leaning in for food down below was mom.  Hello!  Welcome home.  Mom leapt up to the pole and frantically fed the young one, who was vigorously flapping his or her wings.  Surely this was a sign of things to come.  Mom would be a scout, drawing her friends back to gourmet gatherings.

We’ll see.  It’s quiet out there.

Recipe Cards (Part Two)

A long time ago, I asked myself what contribution I could make to the world, something that no other human being would likely do.  I was a devotée of Ken Wilber, a spiritual writer.  For decades, Wilber has attempted to integrate spiritual approaches, to create a structure that would honour them all.  He devised a system of quadrants, lines and stages of development.

Well … if it’s good enough for Ken, it’s good enough for me!  I would take a different slant, however.  I would scour through all these books I owned and find nuggets of wisdom that “sang” to me.  Then I’d write them down.  No singing, no writing.

I started to create categories of wisdom.  Certainly “Love” would be included.  I ended up calling them “Transformational Subjects”.  After composing a list of these subjects, I gave them each a number, alphabetically from 1 to 1000.  I numbered by 5’s: 1, 5, 10, 15 …  When a new topic came to mind, there was lots of room for new numbers.

Why did I start doing this, you ask?  My vision was that if great minds had a profound sentence to say about “Peace”, and I accumulated what I considered wisdom from many sources, the whole would be infinitely greater than the sum of the parts.  “Peace” would shine in previously unimagined glory.

There were years I worked hard on this, and years I didn’t.  Random slips of paper became Day-Timer sheets, and eventually recipe cards.  I bought more books written by a wide variety of spiritual authors.  I found the shining nuggets, and I entered them on little white rectangles.  I refined my categories.

Finally the question came: “What am I going to with all this?”  How are people going to see this huge collection of ideas and musings?  Will I be in deep do-do because I have no idea who said what?  Is some author going to sue me?  So I did what any abnormal human being would do.  I hired a lawyer to research copyright regulations.  Several hundred dollars later, I received the good news that as long as I included a disclaimer at the beginning, saying that I had no intention to steal anyone’s words, and that I wouldn’t be making any money from this, I’d be okay.  The omnibus would be online only, so if any author objected to me sharing their thoughts, I could remove them quickly.

That’s my story up until a little while ago.  Stay tuned.  Oh … and here’s one of my category pages:

A Life

As a teacher for many years, as a school volunteer, and simply as a human being, I’ve often asked myself if my life has made a difference.  Long ago, I wasn’t sure.  Now, I am.  I’ve touched many lives in all these decades and I smile when people’s names come back.  It’s true that I rarely get any hard evidence that I made a contribution, hardly anyone returning from a far off time to say thank you, but still I know.

Tonight I watched the film It’s A Wonderful Life.  George Bailey takes over the Bailey Brothers Building and Loan in Bedford Falls after his father dies, even though he yearns for a life of adventure.  His brother Harry is the one having the thrills and spills as a fighter pilot in World War II.  After the evil and powerful Mr. Potter steals money from the Building and Loan, George faces foreclosure and possibly prison.  He looks down into the winter waters of the local river, and moves towards jumping off the bridge.

Enter Clarence, George’s guardian angel.  Clarence decides to show George what would have happened if he had not been born:

1.  George wouldn’t have been there to save his 9-year-old brother who slipped through the ice.  So Harry wouldn’t have been there to shoot down the enemy plane that was about to bomb an Allied ship full of seamen.

2.  George wouldn’t have been there for Mary to fall in love with.  So she finished her days as an old maid librarian.

3.  Mr. Martini was refused a business-saving loan by Mr. Potter, money that George would have lent.  Instead of the flourishing Martini’s Bar – a centre of community relationship – there was Nick’s, where if you pissed off the owner, a bouncer would throw you into the street.

4.  As a young boy working in the pharmacy, George noticed that the pharmacist had made a prescription mistake, inadvertently putting poison into pills meant for a little kid.  But George wasn’t there.  The boy died and the pharmacist spent years in prison, returning to Bedford Falls as a skid row drunk.

5.  Uncle Billy was supported emotionally and financially by his nephew George.  But George wasn’t there, and the woes of the Bailey Building and Loan led Billy to an insane asylum.

6.  And Bedford Falls?  No, it was Potterville.  Mr. Potter owned virtually everything, and gouged his renters and borrowers.

***

At the end of the movie, grateful citizens came to George with cash to keep the Building and Loan afloat.  They hugged him with smiles as wide as the ocean.  And they sang:

We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet
For Auld Lang Syne

I’m smiling now
I’ve offered a cup or two of kindness in my days
Ours is a wonderful life

Meditating

I often ask myself how I can contribute to people during this time of coronavirus.  The physical basics are clear: Keep myself well so I don’t infect anyone.  Wash my hands a lot … for twenty seconds.  Stay at least six feet away from other human beings.

In the emotional and spiritual arena, I’ve been on the phone with local friends and on Zoom with friends from far away.  On my daily walks, I really say hi to those who come my way.

All of this is good.

This morning I decided to meditate for a long time.  I sensed that this was another way to impact the world.  You may be asking “How can sitting in a chair for an hour and emptying your mind do any good in this crisis?”  And I don’t have a rational answer for you.  As I reflect on this right now, with my laptop on my lap, I simply know, at some mysterious level, that my time in meditation makes a difference.

Just so you know, there’s no emptying the mind of thoughts.  Trying to get rid of them doesn’t work.  By grace, over time, the thoughts lessen in intensity, duration and frequency.  And so it was this morning.  The space within was clear and quiet.  The bouncing ball at one point just stopped bouncing.  Later on, a few bounces returned, but they faded away again.

I didn’t feel like I was sending love to all of us swimming through the pandemic.  For a long time the word “give” was with me as I sat in the chair, but it was like I was in the middle of giving and being given to, rather than an active doer.  Then even “give” disappeared.  The awareness of love disappeared.  All was quiet.  There was radiation outward for awhile … then that too went “Poof!”

I sat for nearly two hours.  Near the beginning, thoughts of setting a new time record came, and thankfully went.  For the rest of the time, there was no feeling of achievement, no feeling of Bruce.  But something was cooking.   Once again, I know this is true.

Am I deluded?  No
Am I strange?  Yes
Am I contributing?  For sure

What To Say?

I don’t know what to say.  And so I’ve said nothing to you for the past eleven days. “How can I write anything of value when the virus is so new and overwhelming for me?”  Well, perhaps now is the time to start.  If anything I say turns out to be helpful to even one person, then I (finally) feel the responsibility to say it.

I have no symptoms and I’m self-isolating at home.  I go for a long walk every day but other than that it’s a lot of couch time with my friends CBC News Network and CNN.  I’m 71, and I want to protect both me and my neighbours.  No doubt like you, this prolonged period of being physically alone feels so strange.

I miss the kids at school, and when my walks take me by their homes I keep hoping that a young one will bounce out their front door and say “Hi, Mr. Kerr.”  And a few times that’s happened.  Being away from children shows me in spades how deeply I value my face time with them.

***

I’ve watched countless interviews and press conferences.  How rarely does a politician answer a reporter’s question.  There’s a mountain of words spewing forth but also a sense of tapdancing around the truth.  When the official finally wraps up their comments, I long for a reporter to say “You didn’t answer my question.”  But I have yet to hear those words.  Yesterday, someone asked a health official “How many respirators are there in Canada?”  As the non-answer droned on for at least three minutes, I felt my exhale draw the life out of me.  But then, wonder of wonders, I heard the final word: “5000”.  So I’m hopeful that the truth will increasingly be revealed.

***

The Premier of Nova Scotia just gave a press conference, in which he declared a state of emergency for his province.  No more than five people gathered together.  Strict self-isolation for positive cases of the coronavirus.  And … the police will be on the streets enforcing these measures.  People who don’t follow these public health orders will be fined $1000 per day until they do.  Thank you, dear Nova Scotia Premier.  A clear principle of classroom management is the use of judicious consequences for breaking rules.  Clearly, adults need these as well.

***

I’m glad I wrote these words.  There’s a place for me within our worldwide response to this crisis.  I don’t know what I’ll say tomorrow, but I’ll see you then.

Animation

No, I’m not talking about Pixar here.

Many moons ago, someone asked me what my favourite words were. I sat back and listened to what was inside … and two bubbled up. The first shone brightly in me, and still does – love. The second was a shock – animation. Huh? Where did that come from, and what the heck did I mean?

Once I was a teenager in Grade 13. One more year and I’d be a high school graduate. My job was to take four yearlong courses, each culminating in a June exam worth 100% (!) of the mark. Incomprehensibly to me now, I chose Latin … a dead language.

It was so strange to see as the year unfolded that Latin was becoming my favourite subject. I loved seeing the roots of many English words, and the meanings often opened my eyes. Fifty years later, I swim in my love of language.

So … animation. It comes from the Latin verb animare.

To bring life to
To breathe into
To blow
To inspire
To rouse
To refresh

It’s up to me. What do I want to bring alive? Who do I want to bring alive? I suppose the answer could be “nothing and no one”. But that’s not true to who I am.

Many or few years remain for me on Earth. I will continue to exhale into the world.

Flavours

Down Main Street, there is a convenience store. In the warmer months, the cooler in there is brimming with tubs of ice cream. So many colours, so many flavours. I’m partial to chocolate peanut butter, especially if I can score some big chunks of yumminess. Next door might be a tub of rum raisin (which, according to my extreme bias, is absolutely revolting). There’s probably twelve tubs, glowing in their differentness from each other.

Further down the main drag is the village’s coffee shop, complete with a horseshoe-shaped lunch counter. The wraparound is usually populated by men. The female regulars prefer a nearby table.

One local guy stopped coming to the diner a few weeks ago. Rumours abound, but in any event he just doesn’t come by anymore for a coffee. I miss him. At times he’s ornery and stubborn but he’s also very intelligent, with opinions that often get me thinking.

A far quieter regular died last year. He was a gentle soul who quietly ate his breakfast, usually responding to neighbours like me with very few words and a gentle smile.

At the other end of the restaurant, near the bulletin board, two women often sat together for conversation. Now it’s just one woman. Her friend also died recently, taking a twinkle of the eye to another realm.

Then there’s the Grade 5/6 class – 24 children. On the days when only 23 seats are occupied, there is a gap. Whether it’s a bouncing kid or mostly a silent one, there is a loss, a missing piece. For four days last week, I was sick and missing. On Friday, I sensed that some kids felt it important that I was back.

***

It’s when your absence leaves a vacuum
that people miss you
Unforgettable is about creating your own space
a space that would be left bare
in your absence

Nesta Jojoe Erskine

Moments Shared and Passed On

I went to a lovely concert last night at the Cuckoo’s Nest Folk Club in London. Singing and playing were Liv and Braden, better known as Tragedy Ann.

I had met this marvelous couple two years ago, as they graced the stage of the London Music Club. That evening I felt our conversation in my heart, and I’ve carried them with me ever since.

Yesterday I saw Braden and Liv in the hallway before the music started. There were hugs and many light words.

I sat in the front row, way to the side of the massed instruments and the two singers. Early on, Liv was introducing a song inspired by The Velveteen Rabbit, and by “a book we were given”. I smiled back two years. Within the walls of the London Music Club, I had given them a copy of Jodiette: My Lovely Wife, the book I had written about my dear wife Jody. She died of lung cancer in 2014. “Is she talking about Jody’s book? Nah … must be some other one.”

Except it wasn’t.

From the song Velveteen:

There’s a tree
Not too far from home
Waving leaves like it knows me

I know such a tree. I wrote about it, and about hearing Jody’s voice there, hours after she died. The bare branches trembled.

I’m waving to you, Bruce. I shelter you. I protect you. I’m here, husband. I will always be with you, cheering you on.

And from Tragedy Ann’s Facebook page just now:

We had been tweaking Velveteen for a long time before starting to perform it live. Inspired by a story read to us as children and a book given to us as adults, we wanted to touch on the nature of lifelong love, loss, and doubt.

Thank you, my friends. We move each other throughout our days and years … you and you and you and you and me.

Contact Then … Contact Now

I walked down Dundas Street this evening. Cradled in my arms was a bag of kettle corn, with the contents easily finding their way to my mouth. I was en route to the London Knights’ hockey game with the Windsor Spitfires. As I walked through the entrance of Budweiser Gardens, there was still a lot of kettle to be consumed. Staff members eyed me warily as I plunked down on a cushy red chair before reaching the ticket gate. “No outside food or beverage.”

A man can only eat so much sugar, but I was giving it the good old college try. Around a corner was a woman’s voice: “Be a fan … bring a can [for the food bank]. We also accept money donations.” As I continued to munch, she continued to spiel, maybe fifty times.

Finally I reached my nutritional limit. I dropped the rest of the bag into a garbage can and turned toward the entrance attendant. The sing song refrain for donations ceased, replaced with “Bruce Kerr”. (That’s me.) The young woman smiled at me and said “I’m Mary Bartlett.” (I’ve made up a name for her.) My mouth dropped. The face I took in was nowhere near the face I remembered from eighteen years ago. Mary said she was 30, far beyond the 12-year-old kid from a school deep in the past.

“I remember you,” I said. “You were such a free spirit, so much yourself. You spoke your mind. I bet you still do.” Mary smiled some more. I went back in my mind to a girl who stood out from the rest. I knew then that she’d be a fine adult.

I told Mary that I was a member of an international group that’s exploring consciousness, with the intention of bringing more love into the world. “If you’re curious, Google ‘Evolutionary Collective’.” She tapped the name into her phone.

Will I ever see Mary again? Probably not. She’s one of the rare former students who re-entered my life, albeit briefly. I detected gratitude in our moments together.

I know that I’ve contributed to the lives of many kids and teens who now are adults. Rarely do I see the evidence of this face-to-face. Thanks, Mary.

Holocaust Hologram

“Is there a way to be remembered forever?”

And do I even want this?  Would it be just as well if the impact I make while living is my sole contribution?  Or would I want to sit in front of people 100 years from now and tell them my story?  After I die, some folks will have fond memories of me … and then eventually they’ll die too.  Will that be it for me or do I want more?

The Holocaust Museum in Chicago has created a theatre in which an old man sits in front of an audience and tells them of his life as a Jewish boy in World War II.  The fellow answering questions is not flesh and blood.  He is a hologram – a three-dimensional image that you’d swear was a real person.  Months before, Aaron had sat down with the high-tech folks.  He answered 1500 questions while many cameras rolled.  The theatre is interactive.  Kids and adults can hear about his hiding in an attic for two years to escape the Nazis, and to escape the death that befell most of his family members.  They also can ask Aaron about his favourite food.  It’s barley soup.

It’s common for people to cry in the presence of the image, and to thank him at the end.  For Aaron’s wisdom runs deep.  “I realized that if I continued to hate, I’d be destroying my own life.”

Aaron was alive and well while the video I watched was being created.  His eyes sparkled and his love for young people shone through.  He had found his mission … speaking to thousands of folks every year about important stuff.  Man’s inhumanity to man must stop.

Aaron smiles when he realizes that his talks with those who have come after will cease upon his death.  “My hologram will take over the job.”

Ahh … to leave something precious behind
Or to merely walk off into the silence of the night

We get to choose