Tag Archives: New

Day Nine: The Best Laid Plans

I had an idea of what I’d say in my WordPress post today.  I didn’t want to talk about tennis matches every day … but here I am at the US Open.  What can I say with a different slant?  I could talk about a pioneer, someone who has led, broken new ground.  “To boldly go where no man has gone before.”  Actually, a woman – Billie Jean King.  She fought for women to be recognized in the world of tennis, and for female players to be paid as much as the men.

But dear Billie Jean, the time is not right to talk about you.  I will do that later.  You have been nudged aside momentarily by Bianca Andreescu, the Canadian winner of the 2019 US Open.  She was playing against Greece’s Maria Sakkari, another charismatic player.  Their match started last night at 10:45 and ended at … 2:15 am!  I was going to write about Bianca developing a cramp near the end and grunting it out anyway, hobbling from side to side, trying to reach Maria’s laser shots.  Then I’d mention getting home at 3:00, and the precious few hours of sleep.

But dear Bianca, the time is not right to talk about you.  I’ve just come out of a match on Arthur Ashe – Canada’s Leylah Fernandez versus Ukraine’s Elina Svitolina, the fifth ranked player in the world.  Elina was in masterful control, just as she has been for years.  She is seen as one of the two best players never to have one a Grand Slam tournament (Australian Open, French Open, Wimbledon and US Open).  The other player knocking on the door is Karolina Pliskova.

All Leylah has done so far in the tournament is beat two players who have been number one in the world – Naomi Osaka and Angelique Kerber.  Anticipating this afternoon’s match, one tennis journalist had this to say about Leylah:

Svitolina’s gift of a draw continues.  Fernandez looks like a star of the future, but she’s also way over her head at this stage.

The two warriors went toe-to-toe.  Three long sets, totalling almost two-and-a-half hours.  Many long rallies of more than ten shots.  Leylah finding severe angles to pull Elina off court and then blasting the ball into the empty corner.  Elina fluidly finding the open spaces with her controlled aggression.

I was enthralled with the speed of the shots, with Leylah throwing her arm to the sky after hitting a winner, drawing the crowd into a massive roar.  And we thousands of human beings filled the space with noise.

As a match duration of 2:23 ticked over to 2:24, a final shot sailed long over the baseline, and the contest was over.  We rose as one and bellowed our approval.  The miracle continues.

Leylah Fernandez

A Colour Never Seen Before

Sometimes you climb the ladder
only to discover it was against the wrong wall

Joseph Campbell (teacher of mythology and religion)

Should we go higher or be happy with our current altitude?  I figure it depends on what realm you live in.  By “realm”, I don’t mean country or culture.  Rather it’s the view of life.

If you live in the world of separation, as almost all of us do, you can easily assume that, because our bodies are separate, then so are our spirits.  We love a few people but we sense there’s a gap to be crossed so we can understand and empathize.

Climbing this ladder may mean advancing in one’s profession or simply becoming a better person.  Yoga and meditation are common journeys of self-improvement.  All this sounds so normal, and it certainly is when you’re solely inside the world of the individual.

Joseph saw another wall and so do I.  In the Evolutionary Collective, we call it shared unity.  A profound connection between two humans beings is available, one in which you feel deeply “seen”.  It’s beyond your personality and the roles you play in life.  It’s a divine uniqueness … unmistakably you.  It joins with the uniqueness of the other.  The climbing in this realm is effortless, and speaks of billowing communion.  Two people experiencing the same world while each remains vividly themselves.

Another wall
Another vista
Who knew?

Shampoo

It’s a simple thing … I need to have clean hair. Otherwise my scalp is burning up and I look like hell.

I’ve used Herbal Essences shampoo for years. The choice of brand has become automatic for me in the grocery store. I venture down that aisle every six weeks of so, in search of a new colour. My recent choices have been blue, green and a purply red.

Up until a few days ago, I was saying hi to “Hello Hydration” every morning. Thick, bluey goop that my hair has enjoyed. But the dregs appeared, and then there was none. Happily I’d planned ahead and “Color Me Happy” was residing in my bathroom cupboard.

A dollop on the palm, the palm raised to the head, and my locks were squishy with novel goodness. The red was bright and the scent was fruity. My eyes opened wide. New! Brand spanking new! My nostrils palpitated with the excitement of it all.

Today is three days later. The scent filling my exterior head is still fresh, but I’m tempted to add the word “muted”. The thrill is gone. The “O my God!” moment is no more.

You might be curious about why I’ve waxed poetic about shampoo. Do I have stock in Herbal Essences? Do I believe the social media axiom “Just say anything about your day – boring or not”? No to both.

There must be some method to my madness …

Perhaps:

How come we don’t see our loved ones freshly every day?
How come we say “Oh yeah, I know what (Joe, Mary, Sayid …) is like”?
How come we’re asleep?

New

Can I, one human being among 7.8 billion, create something truly new?  Something that has never been here before?  The Population Reference Bureau estimates that 108 billion humans have lived on Earth in the span of time.  That’s a lot of people!  What are the odds that Bruce Kerr could, in effect, create a new colour, where people would look at it and say “What is that?”

I don’t know about odds, but I admit the whole idea seems outrageous.  Couldn’t I just settle for coming up with a “new and improved” version of something that someone else had created?  Well, sure, I could do that, but the prospect of Brand New is really enticing!

I’m smart but would I have to be brilliant to bring forth the “unpreceded”?  My intuition says no.  I don’t have to be the world’s most intelligent, creative, witty, empathetic and beautiful person to create something from nothing.  I can do this … and so can you.  That sounds irrational to say, but perhaps reason should take a back seat here.  Perhaps we don’t need to reflect on the accumulated knowledge of millenia either.  Maybe the magical number sequence is worlds away from “1, 2, 3, 4 …” or even from “1, 2, 4, 8 …”.  Maybe the new is in the realm of Nicolaus Copernicus, who in 1543 declared: “At rest, however, in the middle of everything, is the sun.”  Not the Earth.

And … it could be that it’s not an individual, but rather a group who will foster the infinite.  Bruce will be included but it will have nothing to do with his ego.

***

You may be wondering if I can put my finger on what I (or we) will bring newly into the world.  I have a glimpse, barely visible through the mist.  It has to do with moments, with stretching them beyond their apparent point in time.  It has to do with the eyes as organs that not only perceive but evoke.  It has to do with lingering, and hearing the final note of all the orchestral instruments hanging in the air.

Something new is coming

Day Thirty-Eight: Size

I was walking home to the Y in Berkeley last night when I came upon a football field. Young people were running laps and throwing frisbees in front of bleachers that could seat hundreds. Floodlights brought the scene alive. I assumed this was a college … but then the athletes seemed younger than that. Beyond the goal posts was a huge white building. Off to the side were others. As I continued on the sidewalk, there was a sign: “H Building”. Woh. What is this place?

Between the field and the street were letters carved into a low cement wall. They were partially obscured by bushes but I got the gist – “Berkeley High School”!

Here’s what the Internet told me:

Berkeley High School is a comprehensive four-year school serving approximately 3000 students. BHS is unique in that it is the only public high school in a community of over 100,000. Drawing from a diverse racial, ethnic and socioeconomic population, students embrace a broad spectrum of people and ideas.

A high school with more people than my hometown of Belmont in Canada! Oh my God. I tried to imagine what such size would mean for teens battling self-esteem issues. Would belonging to an immense community come easily, or would many students feel lost? What would lunch in the cafeteria feel like?

I welcome “a broad spectrum of people and ideas” but would I be able to find these folks? Would I be willing to speak up in the presence of the masses or would I retreat into my cave?

Naturally I don’t know what the culture of BHS is like. It could be marvelous. It probably is. I’ll likely never find out. Tomorrow I’m homeward on the big bird.

I love discovering the new … and wondering how I’d be in the middle of it. Seems to me that lots more newness is coming my way. Bring it on.

Day Sixteen: Rambles

Wild goats seem to be everywhere

Mariama on the edge of Soucouta

Laundry day

Home

***

Soucouta is a small village only a kilometre away from Toubacouta. Mamadou, Youssoupha and Mariama wanted me to see it. Since it was during the biggest heat of the day, they insisted I ride on the back of a moto, rather than walking.

The people don’t speak any English. French, Warlof and Serai are the words I hear. (I don’t know how to spell the last two.)

Mamadou took me into his home and I met his grandmother. She was old and pretty in her flowered blue dress and head wrap. She smiled softly and extended her hand.

Folks young and old called out greetings to my friends as we walked the land and the streets. Kids ran and jumped in the 37 degree Celsius sun (98 Fahrenheit). I slogged with the young ones to the edge of the sea, which felt like a narrow river. Mud lay exposed in the low tide and we walked the less gooey parts. Ahead of us hundreds of crabs scurried away to their wetter holes in the sand. Sadly, I forgot to take a picture of this migration.

I stood on the moist earth and talked to the water in puddles to my left: “De l’eau … vient ici tout de suite! Je t’attends.” (Water … come here right away! I’m waiting for you.) I stood still with my arms crossed. The young Senegalese gaped at me, then burst out laughing. Dumb white guy, expecting the tide to come in since he told it to. It was great fun.

How incredibly dry Senegal is. The wind blows the sand. The sun bakes the earth. But at least there’s the river and the sea. And through it all the folks of Soucouta and Toubacouta adorn themselves with smiles and splashes of colour.

Before the wrestling competition – drummers on the left and the two female singers on the right

Wrestlers warming up and showing off their bods before the fights begin

Youssoupha, Mamadou, Mariama and Bruce

***

And then there’s the night, when I can breathe easy again and lounge around in t-shirt and shorts. The Senegalese, however, need longsleeved shirts and jeans to ward off the chill. I’ve even seen a down jacket or two.

It turns out that last night was the final session of the Soucouta wrestling competition. I’d thought it would continue to New Year’s Eve. Singing and drumming were scheduled to happen pretty much uninterrupted from 10:00 pm until 2:00 am. Towards midnight, the wrestling would start.

I wanted to go. The four of us walked to Soucouta in the dark, drawn by two female voices beaming from the sound system. They alternated lines of music … seemingly forever. The drums smashed out their beat as we approached the glare of the stadium lights. It was actually a very small space. Only about two hundred of us went inside to witness the spectacle, one white guy included.

Hypnotic … the rise and fall of the singing and the frenzied rhythms of the drumming. The spotlights shone into the darkness, and all around eyes in dark bodies turned towards me. There was no feeling of animosity, merely curiosity.

I sat in a chair at the edge of the wrestling ground. In a flash, Mamadou was at my side, telling me I couldn’t sit there because I hadn’t paid an extra fee. At least that’s what I thought he said, as the music blared and I tried to pick out French words from his quiet sentences. I moved to another side of the arena and sat down in the dirt. Worked for me.

Wrestlers were strutting their stuff in the middle of the open space. Some would pour water over their torsos – naked or clothed – and keep running (dancing?) in a circle. One fellow tossed dirt over himself. All this while the two female singers kept up the drone of the song, while the drummers pounded the skins. The event flowed out from loudspeakers to the world of Toubacouta and I suspect far beyond.

Around 11:30, the first two wrestlers stripped down to loincloths and came to the centre of the field. Judges gave instructions. They crouched towards each other as the drums started up again. Soft touches on each other, reaches to the ground to get dust on their hands, feet moving left and right … then the fierce grabbing, the hips engaged in a supreme effort to throw the other, feet pounding into the sand as the dance moved twenty feet from the centre point. One fellow flipped backwards and fell to the earth, his opponent pressing down. Somewhere a whistle sounded and the match was over. The victor stood above the vanquished, who clutched his knee in agony.

Woh … intense or what. Now I wanted my bed … 2:00 am was a bridge too far. The four of us returned on the black roads towards Toubacouta, with vague human shapes passing us by. Mariama and I walked. Youssoupha and Mamadou shared the moto. I wanted them to stay and enjoy more matches but they would have none of it. Jo had made it very clear to them beforehand: take care of Bruce.

Yes, indeed, I am being cared for in this country, and in this life. I’m in the middle of something big.

Mesmerica

There are IMAX movie theatres, where the show is projected onto a huge dome ahead and above. Then there’s Mesmerica, which I experienced today. The six of us sat in our tilted chairs as computerized patterns of light blended with fanciful music. The creator, James Hood, wanted us to experience an altered state of consciousness … and happiness.

There were moments of transcendence. Peacock feathers vibrated above me. Giant discs of light slowly descended, morphing as they fell. It felt like God was embracing me.

On one arm of the journey, a beam of bluish light wound its way through a forest of deciduous trees, over this branch and under that one. I joined in the search, for what I don’t know. The seeking was soft and sweet.

The explosions of colour throughout the hour felt so new. Mr. Hood let his mind open, and fresh air clearly rushed through. What appeared before us just didn’t exist a year ago. What majesty to bring something unknown into being.

Beyond the openmouthedness of it all was the swirl of disorientation. The constant flow of the images brought me to a swoon. I bet I closed my eyes fifty times during the hour. I needed those respites for centering. A wee bit of me felt guilty for missing some of the display but I was happier when I was taking care of myself. The heavens were being revealed above but there was also a heaven inside to be embraced. And the patterns of light found their way through the eyelids and into my heart. All was well.

Brand New

I went to the regional track and field meet today, featuring excellent athletes from Grades 4 to 8. I loved watching the contorted faces, the blurred legs, the raised arms and the bowed heads. It was a spectacular day on the high school field and I wanted to see all the events. The high jump competition was in the gym so I went inside to watch the action. The athletes soared and my heart lifted with them. It was such a graceful movement, approaching the bar from the side and throwing themselves backwards up and over.

And I remembered. It wasn’t always this version of grace. When I was a kid, we’d face the bar and try to throw our lead leg over. And then something new happened:

Dick Fosbury took a moment to meditate as 80,000 people looked down at him from their seats in Mexico City’s Olympic stadium. The fans at the 1968 Olympic Games didn’t know it at the time, but they were about to witness not only the setting of an Olympic record, but the complete revolution of a sport.

Like most schools in the 1960s, the landing pit at Fosbury’s high school was made of wood chips and sawdust. Before his junior year, however, Fosbury’s high school became one of the first to install a foam landing pit and that gave him a crazy idea.

What if, instead of jumping the conventional way with his face toward the bar [the scissor kick], Dick Fosbury turned his body, arched his back, and went over the bar backwards while landing on his neck and shoulders?

***

How did the high jump community react to Dick’s innovation? Initially with criticism: We’ve been doing it this way for decades. How dare you turn your back on history? Dick was referred to as an “aberration”, as “the world’s laziest high jumper”, and was described as “a fish flopping in a boat”. None of that fazed him.

Consider … the Fosbury Flop, an upside-down and backward leap over a high bar, an outright—an outrageous!—perversion of acceptable methods of jumping over obstacles. An absolute departure in form and technique. It was an insult to suggest, after all these aeons, that there had been a better way to get over a barrier all along. And if there were, it ought to have come from a coach, a professor of kinesiology, a biomechanic, not an Oregon teenager of middling jumping ability. In an act of spontaneity, or maybe rebellion, he created a style unto itself.

***

So dear friends, are we up for a perversion or two, a leap into the outrageous? Are we willing to bring something new into the world, whether or not IQ tests have said we’re really smart, whether or not we have “academic credentials”, whether or not we’re young, old, male, female, outgoing, shy, black, white, Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian … anything!?

Let’s do it.

The Old and the New

The Toronto subway is such a teacher. I was heading to a concert at the Royal Conservatory of Music tonight when people appeared before me. Foremost were three young adults – two women and a man. One woman especially was immaculately dressed. Her rich green sweater was adorned with a gold pendant. She took selfie after selfie of her and her friends. The smiles looked plastic to me. The other lady was majorly preoccupied with her hair. She brushed back this and twizzled that. Our modern life doesn’t require mirrors. A smartphone will get the job done nicely.

There was nothing wrong with the preening. Still, it seemed like such a symbol of “me” and the supreme importance of what you present to the world. It feels like we’ve been walking down this road for a long time.

The return trip presented me with another cultural icon – the ear buds. After entering a subway car, I sat at right angles to a fellow deeply immersed in his music. I must have been too close, for he soon moved two seats farther away. The recipe for happiness is clear: push Beethoven or Iron Maiden into your eardrums and create an island for yourself. Go away rather than go towards.

Narcissism and separation. Am I missing something here or are these lousy representations of well-being? There must be another way.

Just before the concert was to start in the Temerty Theatre, I felt the call of nature. An usher directed me down the hall, where I came upon a bathroom sporting both the male and female symbols. Was that the handicapped room? A quick scan revealed that this was the one and only washroom. Inside were five totally enclosed cubicles, and the sinks were being visited by both male and female hands.

I smiled at my companions and marvelled at how I was having a hand-washing conversation with women for the first time in my life. This was novel, fresh, simply new. We were striding into the wilderness instead of following a well-worn path. And we were having fun. Together.

I vote for breaking new ground with other human beings. Who knows what magic can happen when we climb up to the summit and gaze upon the vista revealed? Let’s find out.

Creating Something New

I wonder what’s possible.  Not just a better toothbrush or a smarter Smartphone, but something outrageously new, with a stunning possibility of contributing to human beings.  An idea, an object, a synthesis perhaps, that no one has ever created.

I wonder if this is merely my ego talking – an effort to distinguish myself from the crowd, to walk the red carpet of societal praise.  Maybe.  But there’s more.  I’m willing for my contribution to be anonymous – no standing ovation.  A willingness to lie on my deathbed with a smile on my lips, knowing that what I gave lives on.

I wonder if how I lead my daily life – the love I bring to people, the swooning within beauty, the eyes I offer – could be my unique gift.  Countless people project love into the world but the blossoming of my particular flavour could be my newness.

Guess I’m wondering a lot …

I’ve had an unfinished project for at least three decades.  I’ve amassed thousands of quotations on recipe cards, words that truly “sing” to me beyond Hallmark greetings and lists of thoughts that others have chronicled.  My vision is to create an online book, putting all these quotes into categories.  If forty writers have thought long and hard about the meaning of “peace”, and if each of their passages has sung in my heart, what’s possible when all those words are brought together?  “The whole is larger than the sum of the parts.”  Can that adage be profoundly true within my collection of quotes?  Can my bringing together of wisdom across time and space and philosophies and other ways that we compartmentalize deep knowledge … make a difference?  Yes, it can.

I suppose my system of categories isn’t really new.  After all, there are a lot of humans out there thinking about things.  But it might be.

And while I’m at it, what else looms just beyond the horizon of my vision?  Is there a brand new flavour that the world hasn’t yet savoured?  I wonder.