Tag Archives: Happiness

Women Golfing

I’ve loved golf for most of my life.  I remember as a kid hitting balls into a field on my grandpa’s farm.  And then blissing out when a nine-hole course opened up a few farms down the road.  I’ve had trouble breaking 100 but there were always a few shots each round that leapt off the sweet spot of my clubface and arced towards the green.

Then there’s computer golf.  I have lots of courses on my laptop and sometimes on the screen I hit it straight and long.  Oh, I have a rich fantasy life.

And of course there’s watching the pros play on TV.  Many exciting down-to-the wire finishes.  Over the years, though, I’ve lost interest in seeing the men play.  Everyone seems so businesslike, so serious.  Nary a smile to be seen.

It’s not like the women are completely opposite to this but still a lot of the female players show their personalities … saying hi to people in the galleries, congratulating a competitor for a great shot, flashing the teeth when all is well, and even sometimes showing a rueful smile when the ball goes out of bounds.

I love women.  Men are fine but in general women are easier to talk to.  Okay, that’s a big stereotype but there’s some truth in it.  On the Ladies Professional Golf Association tour (the LPGA), there are many pretty women, and many nice people.  That’s what I want to see … genuine human beings.

The LPGA season starts tomorrow in the Bahamas.  I’m so taken with a young Canadian golfer – Brooke Henderson – who’s kind, intelligent and attractive.  I want her to do well as she starts her professional career.

The little voice in my head tells me that I’m wasting my time and energy when I wax poetic about women players such as Brooke.  “You have a spiritual life, Bruce, and you’re here on Earth to spread love around, not to walk the fairways at tournaments and watch highly skilled players do their thing.”

The larger voice points to something sweet on the golf course.  The sport mimics the great journey of life … 18 holes of ups and downs.  I want to see the joy on the golfers’ faces, and the sadness when things are falling apart.  I want to see kindness, determination and acceptance.  I want to see life.

I enrolled yesterday in the “LPGA Fantasy Series”, where I pick a team of professional golfers and get points based on how well they do in the real tournaments.  I don’t care about the prizes.  I care a bit about winning the series, as I compete with a few thousand other fans across the world.  But I can handle finishing near the bottom of the heap.  I’m thrilled that I picked players who strike me as being lovely humans.  I’m also happy that so many countries are represented on my team: Canada, USA, Italy, South Korea, Paraguay, Scotland and Spain.  The world community.

All this makes me happy, even though I know that comes from within.  And a happy Bruce touches people.  So thank you, golf, and thank you, women players.  May we all hit it straight down the middle, and be gentle with ourselves when the ball ends up in the rough.

Creating Happiness

 

A few days ago, I went to a London Lightning basketball game with two friends.  Last night, I was at a London Knights hockey game on my own.  I didn’t like either game.

I’ve always loved seeing sports events but clearly “always” no longer fits.  It’s more of the same internal conversation that I’ve been having with myself since coming back from the meditation retreat – “Bruce is …” > “Actually no, he isn’t.”

There weren’t many people at the basketball game.  “That’s it.  I feed off the crowd’s energy.  No wonder I was flat.”  But there were 9000 souls in Budweiser Gardens last night.  Lots of crowd noise.  Except for the guy sitting in Section 303, Row H, Seat 6.

“I need to share the experience with someone.”  Jody and I went to lots of Knights games and had a good time.  Well, my friends were right beside me at the basketball game but none of us “entered the excitement”.

Last night, I was way up high in the arena.  It was a good view, but the players looked really small.  “Okay then, I need to be close to the action, to feel the thrill of Mitch Marner exploding down the ice and blasting a shot into the net.”  However, we sat only ten rows from the court at the basketball game.

Well, Bruce.  You know this.  Happiness is an inside job.  You can keep adding marvelous events to your life, and there’s nothing wrong with that.  Actually that’s exactly what you’re doing in the next few months … Toronto; Cuba; Haida Gwaii; Cambridge, Ontario.  But what will you bring forth in those strings of moments?  That’s up to you.  It appears that team sports no longer draw you, even though you enjoy the sports section of the newspaper.  But the experiences that currently animate your life – lovely friends, concerts, beaches, tall ships and golf tournaments – are all on the outside.  Bring forth you.

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 Messiah … Part Two

I went to hear The Messiah on Wednesday evening and wrote about the first half of it the next day.  Now it’s Saturday [and now it’s Sunday] and I wonder if it’s “old news” and maybe I should write about something else.  The answer is no.  First of all, I said to myself and to you that I would comment about the rest of the words sung.  As well, I can bring freshness to it three days later.  So here we go:

 He was despised and rejected, rejected of men
A man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief

Who amongst us hasn’t been rejected, tossed aside, treated like a thing?  We all hurt.  I remember being fired from a management job.  I knew I had done the best job that I could muster.  My self-esteem as I cleared out my desk was teetering on an edge.  “Bad person, good person, bad …”  And then there was losing my dear wife Jody to lung cancer.  How the grief came in waves, subsided, and then rolled again.  And it still comes.  Blame and loss … let them just be there, Bruce, when they appear.

Surely he has born our griefs and carried our sorrows

Something holds me in a tender embrace, especially when the world seems black.  There is an inner knowing beyond reason.  “All is well.”  Even amidst the storms.  Maybe my job is to just sit quietly and let the essence reveal itself … in its own time.

And with his stripes we are healed

The First Noble Truth of the Buddha: there is suffering.  Unlike angels and other heavenly folk, our lives are a mixture of pleasant and unpleasant.  The Buddha talked about our “precious human birth”.  We get to experience it all.  The pain teaches compassion, because we all have that pain.  We become more fully human.

All we like sheep have gone astray

I hurt a few people on the meditation retreat.  I tried to make them laugh, which is what I usually do in life.  But in the silence of a retreat, emotions are heightened.  Life issues appear right in front of the eyes, in surround sound.  And some guy playfully hiding your water glass at the dining room table may be an assault of great magnitude.  (Sigh)   So imperfect am I.  Don’t smash yourself in the head about this, Bruce.  Just notice and look for a better way.

Lift up your heads, O ye gates
And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors
And the King of glory shall come in

To what shall we lift our heads, so that the sun meets our eyes?  Whatever it is, it’s inside us already.  No need to go out and find the King of glory.  It’s found us.  No need to trek in the Himalayas or go on long meditation retreats in Massachusetts.  It all resides at our home address.

How beautiful are the feet
Of them that preach the gospel of peace

No preaching needed.  Just be peace.  Get out of the way.  Peace will emerge.  People will know.

Their sound is gone out into all lands
And their words unto the ends of the world

Peace radiates beyond the assumed boundaries of time and space.  That oil worker in Kuwait.  That business leader in New York’s One World Trade Center.  That astronaut circling Earth in a space station.  They feel your peace.

Let us break their bonds asunder
And cast away their yokes from us

How do we help people free themselves from greed, hatred and delusion?  Not by lecturing, cajoling and in general giving the message that I’m right and you’re wrong.  Instead I gradually purify myself.  I stand and speak and act as one who is following the path to freedom.  Either others will see something curious and valuable in me or they won’t.  And I won’t drown myself in their suffering.  I will be with it, let it wash over me and then fall away.  “I care about your suffering.  Your happiness depends on the decisions you make.  I will stay with you on that journey.”

Hallelujah
For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth

Happiness is when the love flows.  When compassion and equanimity follow me throughout the day.  Love wins.

And though worms destroy this body
Yet in my flesh shall I see God

Bruce doesn’t last forever.  Nothing does.  Impermanence.  While I live, every moment beckons me to contact the inner glow.  It’s not going anywhere.  I often don’t see it.  May I uncover, again and again.

The trumpet shall sound
And the dead shall be raised incorruptible
And we shall be changed

Do I have the ears to hear?  Will I allow the flatness to fall away and animate the moments left to me until I die?

Forever and ever
Amen

Now, now and now
May all men and all women be happy

My Meditation Retreat … Part 2

I yearn for the routines of a day at the retreat center.  Now the Buddha would say that I am thus attached, and that attachment causes suffering.  Fair enough.  But a bit of clinging has its upside.

We wake up at 5:15 to the sound of a gong that a yogi (retreatant, such as me!) carries through the dormitories.  The gong marks transition times during our day.  There’s no need for a timepiece.

From moment one, I have choices.  Do I zoom to the communal bathroom, hoping to catch one of the shower stalls?  Naw, that’s just more societal rushing.  So I begin by shaving in my room.  (As I now reflect on removing hair from skin, my right hand goes to my head.  Yesterday, Julia, my hairstylist took it all off.  No … I don’t mean that she’s a salon stripper – it was my hair that disappeared.  I had her do the shaving not because I’m a nice little Buddhist guy, but rather as an issue of practicality.  During my three months at the Insight Meditation Society (IMS), I have no way to get my hair cut.  So I’ll start from zero and let it grow.)

After the emergence of upper cheek smoothness, I then saunter over to the bathroom for a shower.  If the stalls are all taken, oh well.  I’ll get clean after breakfast.

The first sitting in the meditation hall is at 5:45.  One hundred bleary-eyed folks sitting basically upright.  Over the years, I’ve had thoughts of looking good in the hall.  You know, the full lotus position on the cushion.  Well, you’ll be happy to know that I find the full lotus impossible and even the half lotus is a massive pain in the knee.  So I sit in a chair.  So much for appearances.

In the warmer months (like right now), I wear traditional Buddhist garments – T-shirt and shorts.  In such circumstance, I just love walking into the hall for the first sitting.  (Oops, I feel ego flaring!)  All my shirts have something to say and past retreats have taught me one thing: yogis experience inner laughter at 5:45 when they read my shirt-of-the-day.  I suppose  a true Buddhist wears plain shirts.  Maybe I’m a fake Buddhist.

The sittings range from 30 to 45 minutes, with another gong marking the conclusion.  I go into a instant place of bliss and remain there eternally (Not).  Thoughts of a lovely or morose nature just show up.  I’m getting good at waving and wishing them a good day.  They wave back and sooner or later just mosey away.  Sadness and joy come easily, usually not at the same time.  My back lets me know that it wants to be included in the fun.

Breakfast is cool.  One hundred of us in the dining room, with the only sounds being the clittering of cutlery and the shuffling of feet.  No eye contact with the human across the table.  Mostly, my head is down and I look at my food, which I taste with slow pleasure (usually).

After breakie, one of the teachers will talk to us in the hall about what the Buddha had to say about leading a good life.  I’ve always hoped that I’d hear a recommendation for chocolate peanut butter waffle cones, but that must happen in the advanced class.

Then there’s the 45-minute work period … dishes, vacuuming, cleaning bathrooms – whatever task I’ve been assigned.  The commitment of the yogis includes “taking what is given”.  So I do my job without complaint and hopefully without leaning towards a job I’d like better.  On one retreat, part of my responsibility was to vacuum the office.  I moved slowly and did the work thoroughly.  So thoroughly, in fact, that I used the long wand to clean the window sills, upon which sat a tiny clay Buddha.  I sucked it up, you might say, resulting in little Buddha bits on the floor.  It hadn’t been fired.  Oh, the guilt!  The totally useless guilt.  Later that morning, breaking the code of silence, I apologized profusely to the staff member whose sill was now empty.  What fury did I receive in response?  None.  “Life is impermanent, Bruce.  No worries.”  (Sigh)

I could keep going here, and I will tomorrow, but I have about 1.5 million tasks to complete today, and it’s time for vroom … vroom … in a meditative way, of course.

Day Forty … Quiet Times

Just sitting around at home, or better said, my home away from home.  I feel accepted as a brother, without the “in-law” tacked on.  Also as an uncle, even though I’m 50 years older than the kids.  Several times during our trip, servers have identified me as “grandpa” and who am I to complain?  I like it.

If you look at a lifetime through the lens of a year, I wonder where I am?  It feels like October.  All those bright fall colours.  I don’t get that I’m buried in snow and cold, even though the white stuff is lovely when it glistens in the sun.  But I wonder what I’ll be feeling like on New Year’s Eve.

I was watching women’s golf on TV yesterday afternoon, trying to suppress my obsession with Canadian golfer Brooke Henderson.  I was comfy in a black leather chair.  I expect that Jace doesn’t like TV golf, but here he comes to snuggle up to me.  We watched several holes that way.  I felt like dad.

Later, Jaxon came over to me as I sat on the couch.  He leaned over and gave me a hug.  The boys and I hug to say goodnight but it was cool that he did it in the middle of the day.

I can feel that Jaxon, Jagger and Jace are sad that I’m leaving this morning.  Ember too.  Bruce too.  Family, you know.

We watched another episode of “Just For Laughs Gags” before bed.  Gosh, I love that show.  Here’s my favourite:

A woman walks down the street wearing a hat.  She tips her head back and the hat falls off.  She keeps walking.  A fellow behind reaches down to pick up the hat.  As he does so, the woman takes an identical hat that she’s been carrying and puts it on her head.  The man looks up and, astonished, sees that another hat is in place.  He comes up to her and extends the hat to her, to which she replies ” Oh, no thanks.  I’m already wearing one.”

Makes me happy.

In a couple of hours, I’m back on the road towards Weyburn, Saskatchewan, where I’ll be staying with Henry and Louise again.  I’m not going alone.  Lance, Nona, Jace, Jagger and Jaxon will be in the back seat.

Memorizing

As some of you know, I want to be Jake in the play Jake’s Women, which will be performed in St. Thomas, Ontario in February, 2016.  Auditions are months away.  I’ve told people that I’ve started memorizing Jake’s lines, and that’s true, but I haven’t turned a page in a month.  Time to begin again.

Many years ago, Carol, the librarian at the Port Stanley Library, challenged me to learn the poem “Twas The Night Before Christmas” in time for the kids’ talent show in December.  I showed up day after day at Sebastian’s, a cozy restaurant on Springbank Drive in London, to talk to myself creatively.  And the deed was eventually done.  Onto the stage I walked in a nightgown and night cap, holding a candle, and I told the story to the children.  “And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.”

This afternoon, I drove from home with the script beside me.  I knew that all the libraries were closed on Sunday, so where to go?  A hotel.  Good idea.  Which one?  How about the Sheraton Four Points on Wellington Road South?  Sure.  The lounge at the Four Points had been one of Jody’s and my favourites.

My early attempts at learning Jake had been weak.  I was full of negative thoughts.  “Maybe I’m too old to memorize hundreds of lines.”  A friend of mine told me of some research about meditators.  Apparently those who practice regularly can remember things more easily.  Well, that’s good, but I still wasn’t bringing my whole self to the task.

Today, I sat in an easy chair looking out at the rainy world.  I decided to order a glass of white wine.  How about a Gewurztraminer, a semi-dry variety that I used to love?  Sounds good.  Now … page one.  And guess what happened?  I wasn’t scared.  I tackled the sentences with gusto.  Cool.  I’ve seen six performances of Jake’s Women in the last six weeks – three in Belleville and three in London.  I knew the flow of the story.  I remembered Jake saying this and saying that.  Yay!

After multiple sips of chilled white goodness, I opted for food.  The menu proclaimed that French fries in garlic with bits of some fancy cheese was a winner.  And the menu was right.  There I was, the glass of wine perched on the right arm of the chair, the bowl of fries sitting on my lap, and my left hand hoisting Jake’s script.  I talked out loud between bites and slurps.  Oh, I had fun!  And I was Jake.  Wonder if the patrons halfway down the lounge thought so too?

I was getting some lines right, and some almost right, but more importantly I was on stage, at least in my mind.  And here comes page 12, where Jake speaks at length to the audience.  Power, and more power, flowed through me.  I can do this.  Who cares if I’m “old”?  I sure don’t feel it.

“That little room up there [where Jake writes] is eight by ten feet but to me it’s the world.  The universe!  You don’t get to play God … You get to be God!”

“She’s so damn stubborn and intractable – only she’s not saying it.  You wrote it!  You’re bright, witty and clever and she’s a pain in the ass.”

My free hand was gesturing.  My mouth was alternately orating and devouring.  My heart was thumping away.  No smallness here.  I’ve got stuff to say, hopefully in February, 2016.  And the words will come.

On The Train And At The Play

So off I went yesterday, taking VIA Rail from London to Belleville, a trip of 6 hours including a stopover in Toronto.  I found my precious window seat and introduced myself to my neighbour.  I’ll call him Trevor.

We talking about lots of stuff, including our interest in Buddhism.  Trevor and I compared notes about the retreats we’d been on.  Very cool.  He mentioned a book that sounded familiar.  The author started with an historical incident, in which Chinese troops were chasing Tibetan refugees who were fleeing their country for Nepal, and wove a tale of adventure and morality.  “It’s called _____________,” Trevor said.

“I have that one on my Kobo.  Haven’t read it yet.”  And our discussion continued.  Only after a minute or two did I clue in to the fact that I was sitting beside the author.  My small voice said, “Golly gee.  I’m talking to a famous person.”  Happily, that voice closed its mouth almost immediately.  We were just folks, Trevor and me, chatting about our love of words.  It was fun.

Later, as we said goodbye, Trevor and I exchanged books … his about nineteen human beings who were “cast adrift on an ice floe”, mine about my dear wife Jody.  At the Bed and Breakfast in Belleville, I read snippets of reviews about Trevor and his story:

“A triumph of a novel … [Trevor] has pulled off a masterpiece.”

” _______________ is up there with the best work in the genre … This is gripping stuff.”

What a blessing to have spent time with Trevor.  But truly, what a blessing it is to spend time with anyone.  We all glow, even though with some of us, the body is currently hemming it in.

***

“The play’s the thing.”  Would you believe I just made that up?  No, I didn’t think so.  It was time for the first of three performances of Jake’s Women at the Pinnacle Playhouse.  I walked in the door, showed a woman my Internet ticket for last night’s show, and she walked off into another room.  “I’ll be right back.”  When she returned, she was carrying three real tickets wrapped in a little piece of notepaper.  I opened the note and read:

“Hi Bruce,

Read your blog.  Glad to have you here.  Enjoy the show(s).  See you after.

The Cast of Jake’s Women”

Awesome!  I cried out in joy in the lobby.  Another woman approached me and I showed her the note.  She had seen it before.  Her husband had written it.  “I know who you are,” she said, smiling.  Oh, this is a good time.

I sat in the front row and watched Jake’s every move, every subtlety of mouth and hands, of tone and pause.  He was magnificent.  I was happy for him.  And the woman playing his wife Maggie so deeply inhabited her role, it was a joy to see.

***

It’s Friday morning.  After a yummy breakfast, I’m in a sitting room, cheerily tapping away.  I’m so glad I’m here.  After a day of meandering around downtown Belleville, strolling by the Moira River, and perhaps getting lost in the trees of Riverside Park, it’ll be time for round two of Jake’s Women.  I’m ready.

What To Possibly Say?

I’m back from my 9-day silent meditation retreat.  I feel very open.  Actually it’s like there’s space around each of my cells.  Breathing room.  And I don’t know what to say.  Most of you probably haven’t had the experience that I’ve just lived through.  How can I have you understand?  I’m sure you’re all smart people.  It’s not that.  But you may not have the context to hold whatever I have to say.  And so the likelihood of me being misinterpreted is great.  Maybe I’d try to talk about A but all you hear is B.  Such as the word “surrender”.

What I do know is that I want to communicate with you about what the past week has meant.  Part of me doesn’t know how.  But I know that part of me does.  I’m willing to risk being misunderstood.  So I will put fingers to keys over the next few days … and see what happens.

It was a fine journey, and continues to be so.

Visitation

Yesterday, I went to the visitation for my friend Darrell’s wife Joanna.  Gone at 64, cancer I believe.  Even though I had never met Joanna, I wanted to go.  Many years ago, when I was trying to get a teaching job with the Catholic school board in London, Darrell wrote me a letter of reference.  And I got the job!  Darrell and Jody both worked at Parkwood Hospital and were joyous friends.  Always having fun.  So good to each other.

I showed up at the church right at the beginning of the visitation period, and there already had to be 50 people ready to say hello to the family.  And there were probably 25 of them.  So I experienced the “line that doesn’t move” syndrome, and that was fine.  I knew only one person there, but others probably knew the whole family.  Who am I to begrudge them precious moments with people they care about?  So the waiting was good.  There were two or three screens in the sanctuary, showing all sorts of pictures of Joanna.

Folks who came later than me were seated in the pews, waiting for the opportunity to join the line.  As I stood, I heard two precious words among a group who were seated: “Jody Kerr”.  A woman who works at Parkwood was talking about my lovely wife, about what a joy she was to see every day, and about Jodiette’s bright tops and pants.  I turned and sought out the source.  The four of us chatted for ten minutes or so about my dear girl, and I couldn’t care less about losing my spot in the line.

Then it was time to greet the first family members.  I was feeling a little nervous, but really not much.  I was clear that it didn’t matter what I said to all these strangers.  “Just be with them, Bruce.  All will be well.”  And it was.  I told different groups that I had never met Joanna, but the slide show on the walls showed me all I needed to know.  She just glowed in photo after photo.  There were even recent shots of her smiling broadly at the airport, as some of her kids and grandkids were heading back to Western Canada.  I imagine that everyone knew this was goodbye, but that didn’t stop Joanna from showering her world with love.  “Was she always like this?” I asked.  And one of her daughters answered, “Yes.”

To other linemates, I talked about what a huge presence Darrell was at Parkwood before he retired.  He’d be walking down the hallway, see someone he knew a hundred feet away, and start smiling.  I think it was one of his sons who added, “And he probably had a couple of conversations before he got to that person.”  Indeed.

When I reached Darrell, we gave each other a lingering hug.  He told nearby folks about the letter of reference, and mentioned that ever since I’ve been paying him with a toonie every time I saw him.  At which point I plunked one of those $2.00 coins in his palm.  And he did what Darrell does – tried to stuff the toonie into my pocket.  But I was too fast for him.  And in Darrell’s possession the coin remained.  Just like always.  I mean the guy has to keep his retirement well funded, doesn’t he?

Lots of visiting at the visitation.  Joanna and Jody were happy to see it all.