Being Written

I’ve been doing this blog for more than four years, and 750 posts later I’ve discovered a few things:

1.  Whenever I sit down at my laptop to write, a post is revealed.  Maybe I have a clear picture of the future words, or maybe nothing has come to me.  Either way, I trust deeply that my inner me will express itself in some manner.

2.  I write about what moves me, whether it’s silly or serious.  If the topic doesn’t “sing” to me, why bother?  Sometimes I feel a narrowing of my forehead skin and a pursing of the lips … signs that I’m engaged.   A quickening of the heart.

3.  Increasingly, I don’t care what you folks in cyberland think of my thoughts.  First of all, I have no idea how many of you there are.  “Likes” are nice but that’s just small ego stuff.  Even if you don’t enjoy what I have to say, I figure I’m planting seeds that will somehow enhance life on Earth.  “That sounds egotistical, Bruce.”  Oh well.  I don’t think it is but if I’m perceived that way by some, that’s okay.  I deeply want to contribute but even if you’re all sitting there shaking your heads, I’ll keep writing.

4.  I’ve read a lot in my life, and my posts often reflect what someone else has said.  Works for me.  But beyond that, what brand new things can I bring to this existence?  Yes, brand new.  I think it’s in me, and in you, to bring new flowers to blossom.

All right, how about a quote, from one of my faves – Teilhard de Chardin:

I would like to speak as I think, without concern for what is accepted, with the sole idea of translating as faithfully as possible what I hear murmuring in me like a voice or song, which are not of me, but of the World in me.  I would like to express the thoughts of a man who, having finally penetrated the partitions and ceilings of little countries, little coteries [groups that are exclusive of others], little sects, rises above all these categories and finds himself a child and citizen of the Earth.

Often, such as tonight, the words flow from my fingers without much thought.  It feels like I am being written.  It feels like I’m a conduit for something big.

Okay, Bruce, that’s enough musing.  Just publish the darn thing.

Emerging

In any given moment, such as this one, what is wanting to be born? What is just over the edge of the horizon, beckoning to me? I wonder … and wondering is so uncertain, not solid, unknown. I like the not knowing.

I’m sitting in the beer garden at Sunfest, a world music festival in London, Ontario. When I arrived with my trusty cell phone, I had made up my mind to blog about the wild group I danced to last night – Five Alarm Funk. I was going to talk about my wounded knee and still my determination to move the body. But sitting here right now, the story of yesterday isn’t on the tip of my tongue. It’s not pulling me forward. Since Five Alarm Funk isn’t alive in me right now, I don’t want to tell the tale.

And so I sit, watching what I’m drawn to do. Fifteen minutes ago, the musicians on the stage moved me to tap out the rhythms on the table. There was no thinking, just my hands starting to caress the wood. Soon all that morphed into playing table piano, and then this Samsung phone found its way into my hands.

There are about ten people in front of the stage, dancing. I look inside and see that dancing is not emerging, and so I’m still at the table.

What’s real now? The leader of the group onstage has just invited all of us to dance to their last song. What’s bubbling up is leaning over to the woman sitting to my right and saying “I don’t want to dance.” She smiles and says she doesn’t want to either, but she’s happy to tap her toes. Smile returned.

What if I felt into each moment and looked for what wanted to express itself? No judgment, no have-to, no contraction. That sounds like a very sweet way to lead my life. Let’s do it.

Now there are about forty folks dancing in front of the stage. Good for them. I love dancing and I don’t want to join in. Good for me.

And the next moment is about to burst forth.

Boston Pizza Epiphanies

I’m in Cambridge, Ontario for the LPGA golf tournament.  I love watching women hit the ball down the middle and sink curling putts.  Plus most of them are friendly … just nice people.

Tonight I went to Boston Pizza for supper.  I enjoy watching sports on their large screen TVs.  I keep searching for myself onscreen but no luck so far.  I ordered the spinach and artichoke dip that comes with pita wedges.  Yummy.  I was chowing down and not being very observant about my remaining pieces.  Oops.  Three pita bits to go and lots of dip.  Oh well.  A few spoonfuls of dip would go down just fine.

And then Adrianne the bartender comes over and says “Would you like a few nacho chips to finish off your dip?”  I stared for a second, and then smiled.  “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

I fell into the moment of kindness.  It seemed to represent all the kindnesses that have come my way in life.  It was lovely.  Adrianne was lovely.  I believe I thanked her three more times.

When it was time to pay, I reached for my wallet.  But an empty pocket greeted my hand.  Panic … but just for a second.  I remembered that I’d left the wallet in Scarlet’s console this morning.  I didn’t want to lug it around all day on the course.

To Adrianne:  “I have a problem.  My wallet’s in the car.” > “That’s fine.  We’ll chase you if you don’t return.” > “Back in three minutes.”

So off I went into the night.  I stopped walking halfway across the parking lot.  I realized that there was no possibility of me getting in Scarlet and leaving.  That’s not who I am.  Choosing to go back in and pay my bill had nothing to do with the prospect of being caught if I didn’t.  Acting with integrity is simply essential to my being.  I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t paid.  (Oh.  That’s me.  How ’bout that?)

No need for a place of worship
No need for a mountain top
A chain restaurant will do nicely

Off to the Printer

So here I am … an author.  Jodiette: My Lovely Wife is a reality.  I won’t have a proof copy for a week or two, but the deed is done.  Earlier today, I did my last little bit of proofreading.  All the words are as I want them.  And they’re spelled right.  The commas are where I would like them to be.  The front cover (Jody in Quebec City), the back cover (a gorgeous painting called “Cosmic Tree”, created by Kym Brundritt), italics, centering, lots of space around the entries … It’s all there!  Happy am I.

What impact will the recent story of Jody and me have in the world?  Large maybe.  Or small.  I do know that the book will reach people’s hearts.  And those hearts will extend to other human beings.  If something that Jody said or did can foster an opening in someone – wonderful.  Waydago, my darling wife.  Your courage and love and kindness will live on.  You live in me every day, dear one.

Somewhere around March 15, 500 copies will arrive on my doorstep.  This was the number that came into my head months ago.  I sit here right now and smile, knowing that all of those books will find their way into the hands of folks who want to read them.  Perhaps it will take years for that to happen.  I don’t care.  Jody touches.

I’m giving the book away.  It’s the right thing to do.  It makes me happy.

 

 

 

Muddled

Jody’s Celebration of Life is on Saturday, two days from now.  And my brain is messed up.  I still cry for Jody every day.  That’s a blessing for me, not a mess at all.  It’s all the other stuff that intrudes.

I want lots of people to come.  But I have no control over that.  It could be 50.  It could be 200.  I’m trying to let go of the numbers.  I know what’s true is that there will be a lot of love in the room.  That’s what’s important.  Love for Jody.  Love for me.  Love for the loved ones of the loved ones attending.  It’s going to be a Celebration of Life … Jody’s life, of course, but also of life itself.  What a precious gift we’ve been given to be on this planet, to contribute to the lives of others.

I want to laugh a lot on Saturday.  I have some funny stories about my lovely wife and I hope that I’m rolling in the aisles as I listen to her friends talk about Jody’s smile and fun spirit.  But I will cry too.  And I worry about crying all the way through the ceremony as I gaze out at Jody’s friends and think of her.  Then I worry about not crying at all, of suppressing myself, both the joy and the sorrow, as I wallow in the stress of the day.  But there doesn’t need to be stress.  How about if I let things unfold exactly as they do, and trust that our time together will be good for our souls?  Yes, that’s a good idea.

I’m playing four songs for Jody – two YouTube videos and two from DVDs.  I played them at my darling’s funeral too, and struggled with the technology.  What if that happens again?  Well, at the funeral, people were wonderfully understanding of my imperfections.  Nice folks will be coming on Saturday too.  We’re all in this together.

There was a fifth song in November, and it will also appear this Saturday … me singing “Annie’s Song”.  Back then, I only got a line or two into it before my sorrow ground me to a halt.  Friends and family picked up the tune and sang it for me.  It’s okay, Bruce, if the words won’t come again.  The choir will respond.

I think about the food that will be available after Jody’s celebration.  I had to order enough for 150 to get the room.  If only 50 people show up, health regulations would prevent me from donating the excess to the Men’s Mission downtown.  If there are 200 guests, there won’t be much for each person to eat.

Oh, what a tangled web I weave!  Let it all go, Bruce.  As the Desiderata said, “The universe is unfolding as it should.”  Let it do its dance on Saturday.

I’ll let you know early next week how the moments blessed us all.