Tag Archives: Letting Go

The Machinery Of The Universe

I was afraid.  I felt, I still feel, as if on that island there’s a hatch that comes ajar.  On this side is what we’re pleased to call “the real world”.  On the other is all the machinery of the universe, running at top speed.  Only a fool would stick his hand into such machinery in an attempt to stop it.

Stephen King

Wow.  I don’t know what to say but I want to say something.  How about that?  Is it the nature of the machinery that my rational mind can’t comprehend it?  Do I just need to get out of the way to allow unknown forces to flow through?

In the conventional world, I’m sick – dizzy and weak.  I’m afraid of not getting fit enough in time for my crossing of Canada this summer.  I worry about whether person A loves me anymore and wonder why person B hasn’t contacted me in awhile.  Except I’m often the one who lapses in the contacting department.

My long meditation retreat allowed me to see some of that machinery beyond the day-to-day.  A sense of being present as everything keeps changing.  Feeling peace flow over me.  Glimpsing that one moment is no better than any other one.  When I’m feeling well, these often show up unbidden.

What will happen if I let it all go and just let the wheels turn? I don’t know.  I still have to function in the “real” world.  My bathtub has backed up –lots of standing water.  I tried using the submersible punk to drain the water.  But I plugged the pump into the outlet beside the sink – designed for shavers and such – and now there are no lights in the bathroom.  The bulbs are fine.  The breaker downstairs wasn’t tripped.  So I need an electrician.  That’s fine.  I’ll call one tomorrow.

But what’s beyond all those strategies to have light, a clear drain, and the end of illness? What exactly is down that hatch?  Maybe saying “I don’t know” and keeping my hands away is the ultimate path to the unknown.  Something is calling me.  Even through my coughing.  There is a wellness past illness, a grace beyond thought, a being beyond doing.

I await

 

Sick

It hit me last night – probably a cold, hopefully not the flu.  Today I’m very weak, sort of stuffed up, headache, coughing.  Just like every human being on the planet has experienced.  No big deal.

Why write about this?  It’s so ordinary.  And shouldn’t I take a break from tapping on the keys?  I’ve decided no.  Some of my favourite writing has been when I’m right in the middle of some experience.  It’s so much cooler than “This happened to me yesterday.”

During the meditation retreat, I learned how to watch my mind, without judgment.  To be curious about where it goes.  This morning, it’s gone off in many directions.

At 2:00 pm today, I’ve scheduled a Skype call with the organizers of the Tour du Canada.  They want to know more about me and I have lots of questions about the summer bicycle ride.  “But I have no energy.  I won’t sound like a potential crosser of my country.”  Too bad, Bruce.  Give them what you have in the moment.  It’s enough.

“What if this turns into seven weeks of bronchitis, like it did after Jody died?  How will I possibly get fit enough for the ride?”  Now there’s a little smile on my face.  I’m not quite laughing but I’m getting there.  Silly man.

“Will I have to cancel my trip to Cuba?  And the BC tall ship trip in early June?”  No, Bruce.  You won’t have to.  It’s just a cold, my friend.

“Is this the end of my newfound strength training?”  Oh, my.  That’s quite the mind you have there.  “Well, right now it’s an ill mind, having trouble putting thoughts together.  And struggling to maintain my self-esteem.”

“And I got turned down a couple of weeks ago for further life insurance – ‘a current abnormal ECG and blood profile results.'”  Don’t sweat it, Bruce.  Julie, your doctor, is looking into this stuff.  She’s always thought you were a very healthy specimen.

***

The Buddha had a word for the proliferation of negative thoughts … papancha.  “Well, hello papancha.  Nice to hang out with you.”

No judgment.  Just a human being being human.  I sort of like the guy.

 

Perfect

But on the surface, it didn’t look that way.  On June 16, there was an article in The London Free Press about local authors.  It contained a photo of Jody on the front cover of our book, and a short description of our story.  I had hoped that many people would e-mail me to ask for a copy.

The response so far: 0

Yesterday was my book signing at Chapters.  I brought boxes of boxes and targeted 200 purchasers.

The response: 11, 3 of whom were Chapters employees

Oh, “the best laid plans of mice and men”.  The truth is that I put my energy out into the world with no promise of what will return.  Sometimes the goodness that returns to me is clear as a bell.  And sometimes it’s so subtle that I don’t even feel it.

What impact is our book making?  I think a lot.  I heard from a friend who read about Jodiette and me, and now her mom is starting it, with her daughter waiting in the wings.  And who knows the lives that will be touched through the few books I gave away last night?  I know that there’s more love in the world because of Jodiette: My Lovely Wife.  How much?  Impossible to know.

I’d say that 95% of the people who walked by my table in Chapters didn’t make eye contact.  Some of those faces were etched with pain and exhaustion.  I didn’t intrude in their lives.

I had sent an e-mail to over 300 folks a few weeks ago, mentioning that I’d be signing books on June 26 from 4:00 till 7:00.  By 6:45, none of those people had come to say hi.  I was sad.  But at 6:50, my friend Theresa strolled in to do exactly that.

Let go of numbers, Bruce.  Be in the moment with the human beings that show up in your life.  And that’s what I did last night.  A teenaged girl suffering through the death of a beloved teacher.  A woman in her 60’s whose family has been wracked with cancer.  A young woman struggling emotionally with a series of cruel events in her life.  Just be there, Bruce.  Be with them.

To Be With You

To be with you this evening
Rarest of the evenings all
And listen to the whispering leaves
And to the night bird’s call
The silvery moonlight on your face
To be with you in some still place

To be with you somewhere within
This evening’s mystic shade
To hear your plans and hopes
And tell you mine, all unafraid
That you’d forget to hold them dear
When I’m away and you’re not here

To be somewhere alone with you
And watch the myriad stars
Far golden worlds beyond the noisy
Earth’s unkindly jars
As quietly they sail night’s sea
Above the world and you and me

Max Ehrmann

Dying and Living

Light and free you let go, darling
You are doing this so beautifully, so easily
You are going toward a greater love than you have ever known

I don’t know who wrote this.  I wish I had.  But I’m glad that someone let these words flow out of them.

I don’t know what’s next for me after this lifetime.  I don’t know what Jody’s experiencing now.  But whatever it is, I sense it’s good.  My wife is happy and her essence is with me every day.

What if Jody has merged into a force of boundless love?  What if she’s being cradled by that love at every moment?  What if some form of her is waiting for me to cross over, so I too can experience that love?

Next lifetime, it won’t be “Jody and Bruce”.  How about “Chantelle and Pierre”?  And I’m perfectly willing to be Chantelle.  Or maybe our Spirits will explore a realm far from this physical life on Earth.  I’ve always wanted to fly.

What if next time there’s no “self and other”, no “Brucio and Jodiette”?  Maybe each of us is a single atom in an unfathomable celestial body.  Maybe my darling wife and I entwine in a spiral of joy in which “my love for you” and “your love for me” become … love.

I don’t know.  And isn’t that so true?  The mystery beckons me onward.  To open, open, and open some more.

Clothes

I started one day a month ago but I couldn’t handle it.  I stopped.  And this morning I began again.

I know that I need to get Jody’s clothes out of the house, but it’s hard.  So many memories of my darling wife enjoying her bright ensemble.  One of the first items I looked at was Jody’s wedding dress.  What a fine day that was … June 25, 1988.  My sister-in-law Nona said that I could put the dress in storage, but that didn’t feel right, and it still doesn’t.  I’m going to give all of Jody’s clothes to Goodwill.  Right now, I’m looking at a 24×36″ poster of my lovely wife that’s hanging on our family room wall.  She’s beautifully wrapped in the dress and veil.  But all that whiteness is not the woman I love.  “Let go of my clothes, Bruce.  They’re not me.”  Okay, Jodiette.

My favourite photo of Jody is of her sitting in a Quebec City restaurant, looking at me.  She’s wearing a short-sleeved top, with horizontal stripes of light and dark blue.  When I found it hanging in our closet a month ago, I held it to my chest and cried.  “Let it go, Bruce.”  So I did, folding it gently and adding it to the pile in a huge clear plastic bag.  Sigh.

This morning, I made an agreement with myself to work on Jody’s clothes for an hour.  I kept my word.  But now I’m exhausted.  An hour in a closet … remembering, crying and packing.  Also marvelling at the beauty of Jodiette’s tops and pants and dresses.  The colours of the rainbow, reflecting my girl’s embracing of life.  How I miss you, dear one.

I held a scalloped green-turquoise-black dress, adorned with glitter.

“You’re so pretty in these pretty clothes, life wife.”

“Thank you, husband.”