Tag Archives: Moments

Into France

My friend Lydia and I wanted to go for a walk today. “Let’s go to France!” she said. “Huh?” I replied. It wasn’t the only jolting moment of the day. Turns out that the French border is only a 40-minute drive from her home in Nukerke, Belgium.

We roamed the French roads, which felt like Belgian roads, except there were subtle differences in the architecture. Soon before our eyes was the Château de l’Hermitage, a UNESCO World Heritage Site built in the 1780s. No subtlety there.

Two many bathrooms.

We wandered onto a trail through the woods. Soon it widened and became cement. It parted around a large circle of grass. As we approached, Lydia asked “Shall we go left or right?” I smiled without thought. I led her arm-in-arm right down the middle. My path is clear.

As you look at the photo of my friend with arms wide, do you see anything potentially strange in the background? I didn’t.

As we strolled on, my eyes didn’t believe what they were seeing.

“What?!”

Ahead was a huge tree … a sequoia tree. They live in the United States, in California. How did this giant find its way to France? Did someone bring a seed across the ocean in 1903? I was stunned.

I wrapped my arms around the ancient tree and felt my fingers press into the outer bark … so red, so old. I craned my neck through the branches to the sky. A new friend.

The sign said that the sequoia was 120 years old, 144 metres tall (472 feet) and 5.26 metres in circumference (17 feet). Immensity beyond measurements.

How mysterious this life is

How glad I am to be here

The Best

Here’s a photo of my friend Cara and her mom Petra. The family, including sister Tessy and dad Pascal, took me out to dinner a few nights ago to l’Heritage – a fancy and delightful restaurant only a one-minute walk from my home.

I’m not going to write about our fine evening. The picture reminds me of the most precious moments in my life.

Long ago I thought that sublime times immersed in nature were the best. I once scrambled up Mount Lineham in Alberta, Canada (i.e. no ropes needed). The vista revealed was a circle of snow-capped peaks. I was speechless, and lingered long at the top. Now there’s a sadness that I’m not strong enough to gaze upon that beauty again.

Or the best sometimes settled in my mind at a concert. Last August 50,000 of us witnessed a joyous Lady Gaga performance in Toronto. She gave ‘er and gave ‘er some more for over two hours. No breaks in the driving beat and soaring voice. Surely that was the top of the mountain in my life moments.

Another candidate is the epiphany often revealed when I’m alone. In October I spent twelve days in Quebec City. One evening I walked a narrow street, alone in the darkness. It was just Bruce, so simply me. A smile came easily.

Above the mountains, above Lady Gaga’s Edge of Glory, above just me in the quiet of the night … are times when I’m with one person. We connect in the eyes and share our world with each other. And it’s good.

The Best

It All Fades

The highest of highs … the lowest of lows.  I’ve had them.  I imagine you have too.  In the moment, the intensity was breathtaking.  Whether I was soaring or plummeting, blood coursed through the body, the mouth dropped open, cells were blasted apart.

***

1.  I played the cello in the huge All-City Orchestra on the square in front of Toronto’s New City Hall.  I remember the aged Sir Ernest MacMillan shakily wielding his baton, leading us through “Land of Hope and Glory”.

2.  There were four years of weekly swimming classes in high school.  Boys only, everybody in the nude.  Since I couldn’t swim, and it seemed that adults had given up trying to teach me, I piddled around in the shallow end while my friends did laps.

3.  It was a large auditorium in Edmonton, Alberta and I spoke from the heart to hundreds of people.  I was in anguish at the coming death of an organization.  At the end, they stood.

4.  High above a mountain lake, I clung to a cliff, frozen in place, seeing my death falling away.  Twenty minutes of terror.  Why did I have to die so young?

5.  On a Sunday in May, 1986, I crossed the finish line of the Vancouver Marathon.  My goal was to break four hours.  My time was 4:12.  The smile matched the outstretched arms.

6.  Two hours later, I lay down on a bench in downtown Vancouver, knowing that the chest pain would soon kill me.  A cabbie found me and took me to Emergency at St. Paul’s Hospital.  I survived.

7.  On the university track, I lined up at the start line with some Grade 6 kids.  “Ready, Set, Go!” someone cried, and we blasted off on the 100-metre run.  They were 12.  I was 68.  I finished forty metres behind the slowest kid, smiling all the while.

8.  At 3:00 am in the hospital room, I could no longer hear my wife Jody breathing.  Soon the nurse nodded that she was gone.  I kissed my wife’s lips.

9.  On the west coast of Vancouver Island, I climbed a sandy hill, the sound of faraway surf in my ears.  As I reached the peak, the glorious waves of Long Beach stretched to the horizon.

10.  In January, I was awake for 44 hours as planes took me from Dakar, Senegal to Brussels, Belgium to London, England and to San Francisco, California.  After all that, how did I survive the one-hour BART trip to Berkeley?

***

What’s left now are blurry memories, in the realm of pleasant or unpleasant.  I still smile and frown as the images return but the moments feel muted.  But I am definitely not muted.  I feel alive, surging with promise, my hair blowing in the wind.  Somehow the energies of yesteryear have found their way inside me.  They’ve settled in the nooks and crannies of my life.  And I am the better for it.

An Inside Job

I was riding the UP Express train to downtown Toronto just now. Houses and streets flashed by. For two seconds, I saw something special: attached to a tiny house was a sunroom. Inside, there sat a cutesy round table and two chairs.

I imagined a couple holding hands and having a glass of wine. Lovely. And then another thought: the train roars by every fifteen minutes from 5:00 am till 1:00 am. Wouldn’t that put a damper on romance? Well … not necessarily. What if their love shone like the sun? What if each of them was looking deep into the eyes of the beloved? What if time stood still in the other’s presence? Hurtling missiles outside the glass would matter not.

***

Now I’m on Toronto Island, walking towards St. Andrew-by-the-Lake Church. It’s been six months since I’ve attended a brunch and a concert here. I think of all the Island residents I’ve met … and many of their names are lost to me right now. I feel the contraction, the “should” of remembering their names, and then, magically, the deficit disappears. A little smile crosses my face and stays for a visit.

***

Two hours later, it’s music time. A saxophone quartet is here to entertain. Their loud and fast pieces bang against my ears. But I listen more carefully and the deep notes of the bass saxophone vibrate my heart. I watch how the musicians blend, how they take turns in the spotlight. I see their smiles and give them one in return.

***

Next, on the ferry back to the mainland. A fellow I met at the concert sees that a young boy is wearing the kit of the Chelsea football (soccer) team. Both of them are fans and their conversation flows along. I wrinkle, wanting to be the man talking to the boy. And then … I open my eyes wider and see the beauty of the moment. I bask in their joy together. And that is enough.

***

Moments in a day, each containing the same lesson
And all is well

Energy Spikes

I wonder what I mean by that title.  The words just came to me.  They don’t seem to be about running the 100 metre dash in ten seconds, or lifting twice my body weight.  Some other energy is afoot.  I sense a sudden inbreath of astonishment – a moment that moves me, jolts me, and in some sense frees me.

***

We had a farewell assembly today for the teachers who were leaving, including our marvelous resource teacher, who offers certain kids extra academic help.  At the end of the ceremony, she was sitting right beside me by the wall of the gym.  From the far side, a Grade 5 girl rushes over in tears and gives the teacher a long, gentle hug.  The 11-year-old’s love shone from her.  It was a holy moment, and a privilege to witness.  How we can touch each other.

***

Yesterday a neighbour of mine died.  He was so sweet to everyone, and always interested in how my life was going.  His granddaughter goes to my school and I couldn’t imagine her showing up for the final day.  But she did.  “Emma” sat there in the assembly, looking vacant.  At lunch recess, I knew I wanted to say something to her but the yard was a flurry of kids.  What chance did I have of finding her?  After aimlessly walking around for awhile, I spotted a few kids in a little opening in the trees.  One child emerged – Emma.  I approached her and said what I needed to say.  I believe she felt the love behind the words.

***

Assembly number two featured one of the school’s bus drivers.  “Fred” walked onstage with his guitar and launched into “Puff The Magic Dragon”.  He had a lovely voice.  A song or two later, he began one of his own compositions.  It was the story of his riders.  As he followed his route in the verses, each child’s name was mentioned.  I scanned the room and saw face after face come alight as Fred shared one of their fine qualities.  On one level, I was amazed that he could memorize all this.  Far deeper was my joy as light after light turned on.

***

Last recess.  One of my favourite kids asked if I was going outside.  I said yes.  We walked together for a bit and then sat down at a table.  She and I talked about our summers – camps for her and music festivals for me.  She encouraged me about the early end of my bicycle ride.  The differences in our ages didn’t matter.  It was two people talking about important things.

***

I was invited to this evening’s staff party.  It was so generous of the teachers to include me.  We sat in a big circle and the banter whizzed around.  Usually I love these situations but tonight was not usual.  Just like yesterday’s foray onto the 401, I felt fear, and my hand started shaking.  As the conversation sped up and the laughter grew, I couldn’t handle it.  Too many inputs.  Too much energy whirling this way and that.  I was so much not myself, and yet for these three hours my tense silence was Bruce.  I let myself fall into the fear … and how very unpleasant it was.  I stopped trying to manufacture happiness, and my eyes widened in response.  As I left the party and said a few words of explanation, the smiles on faces said they understood.

***

These are the moments that stood out today.  Whether I enjoyed them or not, they brought me to an deeper vibration, and for that I am thankful.

Day One: Some More

Over the world we flew. On the prairies I came upon a long stretch of tiny lakes. Didn’t exactly fit with my image of endless grain fields. Above the Rockies, fresh snow etched the rocks in pencil-thin lines but bowls above the tree line were flush with a blanket of white. Then the coast, with the Pacific stretching between all those islands. Canada lay beneath me, as it will lie beneath my bicycle wheels in the coming weeks.

At the luggage carousel in Vancouver, I called to a woman to watch out as I swung my heavy bag off the belt. And then we talked. Sarah and Stephanie wanted to hear about my bike ride across Canada. I talked too much, roaming from Canada to the wise words of the Buddha. He essentially said “What you resist will persist.” And that hit home with Sarah. Both women seemed to enjoy my presence, as I enjoyed theirs.

Then it was time for a taxi ride to UBC. Jaswant so loves Vancouver, even with his long hours at the wheel. We searched and searched for the Bike Kitchen, folks who’ll be putting my bicycle back together tomorrow. And … success.

Now I’m at Koerner’s Pub on the UBC campus. A beer or two and a burger later, I’m reflecting with Andrew about the joys of the bicycle. Rap music fills the space … and I’m on vacation on the left coast, where the land is green and the trees soar above. A private party is about to begin and I’m revelling in the freedom of it all.

What will become of me over the summer? Will a book leak out of me in the fall? Will Canadians step forward to say hi as I roll through their town? Will we riders hold each other up through the rain and the hills and the heat? Will I look in the mirror and see a new man looking back at me? I think yes.

On we go.

Little Peaks on the Graph of Life

Today was full of conversations, such as how Belmont survived the ice storm, the performance of the Toronto Maple Leafs and neighbourhood condo issues.  All of these are fine topics of concern.  My ears, however, are usually tilted towards the emergence of other moments, ones that transcend the norm.  And there were a few of those today:

1.  Walking down Main Street, picking up pieces of garbage on the way to the Diner and back home again.  Two small plastic bags full.  Quiet satisfaction.  For the greater good.

2.  Talking to an 80-something Belmontonian at the breakfast counter about raising teenage hell with a friend of his (long since dead).  A wistful look in his eye, and a tiny smile of remembrance.

3.  On my return trip home, a woman calling out from across the street “Thank you for picking up garbage.  It helps Belmont.”  (Smile)

4.  At the gym, a friend and employee looking me in the eye and saying “The future needs you, Bruce.”  (Astonishment.  I’d never heard those words before)

5.  Getting out of my car in the school parking lot and hearing “Hello, Mr. Kerr” coming out of a happy Grade 6 girl.  I felt so welcomed.

6.  Seconds later, a kindergarten girl wanting so bad for me to remember her name, and then the two of us taking turns hiding from each other behind a metal post.  For a few seconds, our gazes held each other.  Contact.

7.  A Grade 5 girl asking how my training was going for the ride across Canada and me telling her that I wasn’t feeling too well lately, and hadn’t been training as much as I wanted to.  Great concern for me in her eyes.

8.  Watching a girls’ basketball game after school, in which our team was being beaten badly.  Wondering at how our players continued to push the ball hard and guard their opponents closely.  No sagging heads.  I was so proud of them.

9.  After the game, telling one of the students that I loved seeing her usual reaction after missing a shot or having the ball taken away from her – a huge smile.  To which she replied with … a huge smile.

10.  Sitting down in the Belmont Arena for a senior citizen dinner – a free meal paid for by the Lions Club to honour us oldies.  What a sweet thing to do, I reflected, as I gazed across the sea of local folks.

11.  After eating, we heard a fellow sing the classics.  And two very senior women at my table mouthed the words to a few love songs.  They seemed afraid to sing way out loud, but their hearts were on full display.  It was a privilege to witness their memories.

***

I was above the usual roll and warble of daily life … eleven times.  Thankfully I often had the eyes to see these radiant blips.  Lucky me.  As for tomorrow, whether it’s one moment or twenty-three, I’ll be there.

 

Loveliness

I’ve witnessed moments of grace over the last few days.  Here are three of them:

1.  I went to a folk music concert at a couple’s home.  My chair was four feet from the piano player and I was immersed in the sweetness of the tunes.  And then the unexpected: A 40-ish fellow got up and approached a woman sitting on the couch.  I’d guess she was in her 70’s.  He extended his hand.  She smiled and offered hers.  She stood.  And they danced to the music – a soft twirling motion accompanied by more smiles.  It was lovely.  The whole was truly greater than the sum of the parts.  We the audience were quiet … and so very present to the sublimity, I believe.

2.  I met a jolly gentleman, really a gentle giant.  He asked me to look at his book.  It was a little thing, with each page headed by a date of the year.  It sounds like a diary, and I guess that was its original purpose, but my friend had turned it into a birthday book.  He asked me to sign it, and give my phone number, on the appropriate page.  I quite naturally chose January 9.  Maybe twenty other human beings were listed there.  Good for us.

The best part is that this fellow phones each of us and sings “Happy Birthday”.  Thousands of folks are serenaded on their special day.  Such a big wow.  Such a gift.

3.  I’ve been in Toronto the last couple of days.  I usually park at the train station before heading downtown.  This time there was a gate blocking the area of the lot where I park Scarlet.  But there were still some public spaces on the far side.  I went up to the train attendant to find out what was happening.  The woman was behind her panel of glass but she also moved right into my heart.  Her gaze into my eyes was constant and soft.  She explained all the ins and outs of the changes and clarified when I got confused.  But she could have been reciting names in the phone book for all I cared.  I was bathed in her kindness.  I was transfixed by her presence.  I was thankful for her existence.

***

May I continue to attract such moments
May people continue to express their beauty
May I have eyes to see and ears to hear

Experience Squared and Cubed

I wonder if my mathematics is off. I’d say that’s likely. But whatever numbers I choose, I’ll have them point to a hierarchy: okay … good … great.

I’m looking at the moments we have during our days. Most of them seem quite ordinary, hardly noticed in the bustle of life. Then there are the special ones – they get my heart beating faster. But beyond that are moments that defy description, ones that take me to the centre of life, far above the hum and the drum.

I could rank life’s experiences on a “1, 2, 3” scale but that doesn’t seem grand enough. How about “1, 5, 10”? Getting there. No, I propose “10, 10², 10³”, or more simply “10, 100, 1000”.

10 can be life’s ordinary moments: talking to someone about sports, politics or local gossip; doing your income tax; navigating traffic. Ho hum.

100 represents the awesome play in sports, such as a great pass, a long putt or an impossible catch. Transcendent. Or the most exquisite performance of a lovely song. John Lennon’s “Imagine” comes to mind. These are moments that transport me to bliss, thanks to what another human being has brought into the world.

1000 is a different kettle of fish. I see it when I look deep into another person’s eyes and them into mine. True contact, connection, communion … so rare. I’m taking a live course on the Internet about relationships – deepening my moments with any human being willing to “be with” me. Today I gazed into my laptop screen and saw a woman from Oslo, Norway and later another one in Sacramento, California. We told each other what we were experiencing. Words like “comfy” and “cozy” came out of me. And the times of silence were sublime. At one point “Lynne” from Sacramento and I were skydiving – arms and legs all horizontal, floating free together … no fear. Then we were deep in the ocean, dancing. So sweet.

***

There’s no doubt in my mind: the numbers are real
There really are levels here
May I bring myself into a cubed world, again and again

Hello Traveller

I’m sitting in my comfy meditation chair after a long period of quiet.  Right in front of me is my big bed, with its bedspread of splashy colours.  Beyond is a large window looking out on the backyard, with its recently planted deciduous tree – about 12 feet tall.  Then the land slopes down to a farmer’s field.  Maybe 400 metres away is a creek with a series of trees standing guard, their branches bare.  After that is a field which climbs toward the horizon, with Harrietsville Drive flowing left to right way back there near the end of the world.

And I reflect.

Before I started meditating, I took off my clothes and put on my red housecoat.  Those clothes are piled on the bed, helter skelter.  I look at the pile and realize that they’re my clothes, a symbol of Bruce now divorced from the body.  But I see me there.  I think of all the garments I’ve worn in my life, and I smile.  It’s nice to have remembrances of me.  They help me love myself in the moment.  Sometimes I need reminders that I’m a good person.

Outside of the window but unseen from my current angle are two bird feeders.  A flash of wing often crosses my field of vision and some birdies take turns clinging to the branches of the tree.  Then again, the tree is often birdless … such as right now.  I want my friends to show up, so I can enjoy them.  I sense that a few of them are at the feeders, just beyond my sight, but somehow that’s not good enough.  I want them to be with me.

Way out there on Harrietsville Drive, a car is roaming left to right.  “Hello, traveller.  I hope you’re happy.  Thanks for coming by.”  Too soon, the car disappears behind my bedroom wall.  I long for another to take its place.  A right-to-lefter would be just as fine.

Right now, there’s no vehicle on the horizon.  I feel an odd pain about that.  But I look at the trees by the creek and see that their branches are waving at me.  “Hello, dear trees.”  Unlike the birds and the cars, they’re not going anywhere.  Come the spring, however, their leaves will disguise the waving.

So at times there is no waving, no birdies and no humans in their cozy cars.  And that’s okay.  Part of the rhythm of things.  And I know they’ll be back.