I feel like a million dollars.
I just had a flashback to India.
I had to take a bucket bath this morning.
The week before had concluded with a discussion of what we take for granted. I had the students get in groups and talk about what they did that day, and who was responsible for them getting what they needed. Someone designed the alarm clock, built it, shipped it and sold it, and then powered it with electricity. The pipes had been designed, installed, and maintained to bring water. The refrigerator kept the food in edible condition. The subways, buses and cars were keeping us alive and on time to work (usually). We had people to talk to, and so on.
Later that evening I opened my window after a long walk. A few minutes later I leaned out to take in the night air. Then the window slammed shut, literally on my face and my finger, causing a string of shocked expletives and then the action response. I ran to the bathroom to survey the damage in the mirror. Luckily nothing that bad. I had a small scrape on my forehead that was bleeding, but the cut wasn't deep. I looked at my hand and saw my left middle finger had a small chunk of skin missing. I found antiseptic and luckily had three band-aids left in my apartment, enough to get me through the night. When the initial anger and surprise subsided, I realized how lucky I'd been not to be hurt worse. Sometimes I lean out the window. It could have closed on my neck, or really smashed my face, or given me a concussion, or broken my fingers. I should have known better. The window had slammed shut before, just never when I'd been sitting there and looking through it.
The next afternoon the superintendent came to deal with the leaking ceiling in the bathroom, a problem that's been going on for weeks. Once they came and put glue on it, and then they came and tore off the wallpaper for some reason, but it kept leaking. Then one of the bathroom mirrors detached from the soggy wall, and this week the other mirror detached. Shaving and trimming have been adventures. So they finally came to work on it again, but all they really did was cut a hole in the ceiling and turn off the hot water and all water coming through the shower. Of course, it started leaking again anyway, and they haven't worked on it for two days. Thus, the bucket bath this morning.
I hadn't been reminded of the India connection until I woke up this morning and remembered how I'd had to pour cold water on my body to clean myself the entire first month in that country, and how once it was 40 degrees outside and I did it anyway. But then I'd learned that there was hot water available. So I heated some water on the stove, but not to scalding as they had done in India. Now I feel incredibly excellent, similar to how I'd felt in the Dakota's when I'd jumped in a lake after a week without a shower. Then again, all I had to do was camp back then, whereas now I'm about to go to the fashion district and teach a room full of pretty stylishly dressed peers from around the world, although at this branch, there aren't any students from central America, West Africa, eastern Europe or the Middle East. At least not in any of the four classes I've taught so far. They've been delightful Europeans, Asians and South Americans, and yes, they can afford to put a little more money into how they dress, one of an infinite variety of ways to express yourself or measure your own success. I am happy to have clothes, and, as with most people, I usually feel better when I think that I look better, but I also had a cut on my forehead, which reminded me of something I wrote about in "Chung Fu and the Tiger-Leaping Buddha":
That according to this statue’s depiction of him, the Buddha supposedly had ten heads/faces and could simultaneously ride on four elephants at the same time. That no wonder he felt enlightened, since you would feel that way if you had ten faces. Then again, maybe you don't want to be enlightened, since you're not sure you could handle taking care of so many faces. That maybe enlightenment has something to do with not caring so much about your face. That maybe you do have ten faces, and the other nine are on the back of your head and you can't see them, and people just photo-shop them out of pictures they take of you because they don't want to freak you out. That you're okay with this possibility. That if the Buddha can handle it, and the Buddha is everywhere, then you can handle it."
As with most people, if I'm feeling good and smiling and people are smiling back at me, I'm happy to think that they might like what they see. I also wouldn't want to be physically harmed in a way that attracted unwanted attention toward me. Sometimes I wear certain clothes that help my spirits grow, especially when they're mixing with an already steady flow resulting from enjoyment of the world's show. As for focusing on what other people wear, I don't particularly care, because I see people's souls in how they stare at the bear.
Speaking of which, I am very happy to see all these people from around the world. You see, after they cut a hole in our bathroom ceiling Saturday afternoon, I went for a walk in Central Park just before dusk. I found a great field to lay down and grabbed a handful of grass, realizing just how much I had taken the presence of the green carpet for granted during certain periods of life. While I enjoyed being here, the sky changed colors, from light yellow to dark blue, so that the moon illuminated the field and the trees dancing with the breeze moved by seas of invisible infinities. I enjoyed some music on my headphones because the day before I had finally gotten my headphone jack replaced after weeks without portable music. After listening to my WOW wordless music playlist I continued walking through the park.
I was somewhere on the upper east side when I noticed the hockey game on TV. The Rangers and Kings were tied at 4-4, and about to go to overtime. The waitress asked me if I wanted a menu, so I sat at the bar, ordered some food, and watched overtime. They were both excellent teams. The goalie for the Rangers is named Lundqvist. He reminds me of my mother's Swedish host family, the Lundqvist's. One of them gave me a book when I was younger. It was about a rabbit that smashed his thumb with a hammer, so his friend told him all of the greater pain he could possibly be experiencing, such as elephants stepping on his toes and such, and it made him feel better. Life shouldn't always be an "it could always be worse" philosophy, but perspective is an essential key to living. As for the game, I didn't care who won. The first time I saw the hockey championship, it was the Kings against the Canadiens. I wanted the Kings to win because they had Wayne Gretzky, the "Great One." They didn't win, but the next year the Rangers won. Wayne Gretzky would also play for them too. So which one means I'm rooting for the former team of the "Great One"? Whoever wins this year will be fine by me, as long as they continue to play well. Both games have gone to overtime so far. Meanwhile, the guy sitting next to me at the bar had to guess what was happening based on our reactions, because he could not see. I don't especially enjoy watching hockey, but it was an opportunity to see some poetry, and unlike the man next to me, I can see.
When I had to go to work earlier today, it was pouring rain. At least I wasn't in the same situation as my new roommate, who was starting a job at a financial company, had just moved in yesterday, and was wearing a suit but needed to buy an umbrella ASAP. Of course, during the morning rush I misplaced the perspective and became irritated when my subway card didn't have enough fare on it, and I disputed it with the MTA employee, and then walked away saying some choice words to the machine in front of me, although I specifically said it to "the world," for which I apologize now. I'm sorry world. I didn't mean that. I hope you can tell I wasn't even that angry when I said it, it just felt like the best way to release a lot of pent up stress. I appreciate that you open windows at all so I can see your glory.
On Sunday I used my ability to see to read many of the stories on the site written in 2014. One of them said that on journeys you usually need to face some familiar challenging experiences to remind you and test you on the lessons before any successful milestones. Then I wandered across Harlem to the Bronx. On the way I saw a teenager in the distance. He was shirtless and walking with a pronounced limp. When he drew near he began talking to me, so I removed my headphones. There's always a chance you will learn something. He asked me for some money to eat, because he hadn't eaten in two days. He looked like it. I asked him his name. He said, "Christopher." I have a teenage cousin named Christopher. I asked him what he was going to buy with money. He said it was for a sandwich. He held up a few coins he had collected. I gave him a dollar. He smiled in what appeared to be a genuine way, but who knows... He shook my hand and then limped away, and then I walked over the 145th street bridge to the Bronx and wandered up to Yankee Stadium on 161st street.
I don't like the Yankees, but any team's heroes can inspire me. Babe Ruth. The first American celebrity athlete. I did know that he held just about every baseball record when he retired, and he also hit more home runs during his time than anyone could imagine. I hadn't realized that he was born in Baltimore.
I walked around the stadium, listening to my favorite musical home run hitter, Hiromi, up to 164th street and then back to 161st.
On the way to the field there was another field where locals were playing. It said on the side, "Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains."
I walked back through the Bronx, my former borough of employment, with a few hours to rest before returning to work in midtown the next morning. I wasn't feeling too ecstatic, since it had been a very hot weekend and I hadn't showered in a couple days, and I'd been walking a lot in the afternoon's and evenings after days spent indoors with open windows so I could see the sunshine on the trees while I would write, read, rest and restore energies to be fully ready for new creative endeavors awaiting me.
As I reached the river I started to feel hungry, but obviously there are many more people who are hungrier than I am. A few weeks ago I was the hungriest I've ever been while living in American civilization, as opposed to traveling abroad or being in the wilderness for a long time. I don't know if that would mean anything to you though, because I don't know who you are. Maybe you've known deeper hunger than I have, or you're simply really good at fasting for determined reasons, such as athletics, health, or spirituality. It was my own fault anyway. If I had saved money more carefully, I wouldn't have been so hungry those two weeks in May. But if I hadn't been so hungry, I would have missed some poetry. Besides, I had hope, which isn't a gift given to everybody. I knew that in an emergency nobody was actually going to let me go dangerously hungry. If anything I knew that limited consumption was actually one of the greatest keys to longevity, and that I still had plenty of food for essential nutrient energy. I just put myself into the mind set of an athlete in training, willfully abstaining from food that I hadn't earned yet, a skill I should have honed a long time ago. I'm very lucky that I have people who wish me well and don't want to see something happening to me. That being said, taking care of myself is very important to me, and should be, because I'm a month from 30. You can't always wander and live carefree. As much as I love how that feeds me beauty and poetry, I find that I grow happier to a much larger degree when I share these with everybody.
That's why I give green paintings of pyramids to people who request them. And that's why I'm having a difficult time re-questing through India, because sometimes, when I'm walking through my memories, starving shriveled faces begging me for money is all I can see, and then those calming voices who reminded me that it wasn't me and that the best thing to do for quality was to give money to a reputable charity instead of teaching people that they could get something for free... but what about me? What about everything I get for free? If someone asks me, I'm happy to give them an art work that represents what is already inside of me.
One of the happiest moments of this joyful spring was walking around on a hazy day, because I was so hungry I couldn't think of anything to say, and I held a dollar in my pocket, and I walked up to "Papa's" grocery store on 155th street, and I thought about the story I was told about my grandfather, Papa, surviving on sardines as his only source of protein when he was living his first year in Ithaca and becoming the first member of his generation to attain such a level of education. Because of that, I'd finally embraced sardines as a reasonably healthy way to get protein, but on that night in May, I didn't have enough green. But I could afford a can of beans.
I happily gave them the green so I could have the beans. There would someday be more greens and more beans, but at the time, one-for-one was all I would need.
I hope I never forget how I felt walking home holding that one can of beans in my hands, triumphant, thankful, and blessed to be participating in reality.
When I ate dinner that night, those beautiful beans mixed with spinach and rice, I drank some delicious clean water and thanked the one you thank for life.
I just had a flashback to India.
I had to take a bucket bath this morning.
The week before had concluded with a discussion of what we take for granted. I had the students get in groups and talk about what they did that day, and who was responsible for them getting what they needed. Someone designed the alarm clock, built it, shipped it and sold it, and then powered it with electricity. The pipes had been designed, installed, and maintained to bring water. The refrigerator kept the food in edible condition. The subways, buses and cars were keeping us alive and on time to work (usually). We had people to talk to, and so on.
Later that evening I opened my window after a long walk. A few minutes later I leaned out to take in the night air. Then the window slammed shut, literally on my face and my finger, causing a string of shocked expletives and then the action response. I ran to the bathroom to survey the damage in the mirror. Luckily nothing that bad. I had a small scrape on my forehead that was bleeding, but the cut wasn't deep. I looked at my hand and saw my left middle finger had a small chunk of skin missing. I found antiseptic and luckily had three band-aids left in my apartment, enough to get me through the night. When the initial anger and surprise subsided, I realized how lucky I'd been not to be hurt worse. Sometimes I lean out the window. It could have closed on my neck, or really smashed my face, or given me a concussion, or broken my fingers. I should have known better. The window had slammed shut before, just never when I'd been sitting there and looking through it.
The next afternoon the superintendent came to deal with the leaking ceiling in the bathroom, a problem that's been going on for weeks. Once they came and put glue on it, and then they came and tore off the wallpaper for some reason, but it kept leaking. Then one of the bathroom mirrors detached from the soggy wall, and this week the other mirror detached. Shaving and trimming have been adventures. So they finally came to work on it again, but all they really did was cut a hole in the ceiling and turn off the hot water and all water coming through the shower. Of course, it started leaking again anyway, and they haven't worked on it for two days. Thus, the bucket bath this morning.
I hadn't been reminded of the India connection until I woke up this morning and remembered how I'd had to pour cold water on my body to clean myself the entire first month in that country, and how once it was 40 degrees outside and I did it anyway. But then I'd learned that there was hot water available. So I heated some water on the stove, but not to scalding as they had done in India. Now I feel incredibly excellent, similar to how I'd felt in the Dakota's when I'd jumped in a lake after a week without a shower. Then again, all I had to do was camp back then, whereas now I'm about to go to the fashion district and teach a room full of pretty stylishly dressed peers from around the world, although at this branch, there aren't any students from central America, West Africa, eastern Europe or the Middle East. At least not in any of the four classes I've taught so far. They've been delightful Europeans, Asians and South Americans, and yes, they can afford to put a little more money into how they dress, one of an infinite variety of ways to express yourself or measure your own success. I am happy to have clothes, and, as with most people, I usually feel better when I think that I look better, but I also had a cut on my forehead, which reminded me of something I wrote about in "Chung Fu and the Tiger-Leaping Buddha":
That according to this statue’s depiction of him, the Buddha supposedly had ten heads/faces and could simultaneously ride on four elephants at the same time. That no wonder he felt enlightened, since you would feel that way if you had ten faces. Then again, maybe you don't want to be enlightened, since you're not sure you could handle taking care of so many faces. That maybe enlightenment has something to do with not caring so much about your face. That maybe you do have ten faces, and the other nine are on the back of your head and you can't see them, and people just photo-shop them out of pictures they take of you because they don't want to freak you out. That you're okay with this possibility. That if the Buddha can handle it, and the Buddha is everywhere, then you can handle it."
As with most people, if I'm feeling good and smiling and people are smiling back at me, I'm happy to think that they might like what they see. I also wouldn't want to be physically harmed in a way that attracted unwanted attention toward me. Sometimes I wear certain clothes that help my spirits grow, especially when they're mixing with an already steady flow resulting from enjoyment of the world's show. As for focusing on what other people wear, I don't particularly care, because I see people's souls in how they stare at the bear.
Speaking of which, I am very happy to see all these people from around the world. You see, after they cut a hole in our bathroom ceiling Saturday afternoon, I went for a walk in Central Park just before dusk. I found a great field to lay down and grabbed a handful of grass, realizing just how much I had taken the presence of the green carpet for granted during certain periods of life. While I enjoyed being here, the sky changed colors, from light yellow to dark blue, so that the moon illuminated the field and the trees dancing with the breeze moved by seas of invisible infinities. I enjoyed some music on my headphones because the day before I had finally gotten my headphone jack replaced after weeks without portable music. After listening to my WOW wordless music playlist I continued walking through the park.
I was somewhere on the upper east side when I noticed the hockey game on TV. The Rangers and Kings were tied at 4-4, and about to go to overtime. The waitress asked me if I wanted a menu, so I sat at the bar, ordered some food, and watched overtime. They were both excellent teams. The goalie for the Rangers is named Lundqvist. He reminds me of my mother's Swedish host family, the Lundqvist's. One of them gave me a book when I was younger. It was about a rabbit that smashed his thumb with a hammer, so his friend told him all of the greater pain he could possibly be experiencing, such as elephants stepping on his toes and such, and it made him feel better. Life shouldn't always be an "it could always be worse" philosophy, but perspective is an essential key to living. As for the game, I didn't care who won. The first time I saw the hockey championship, it was the Kings against the Canadiens. I wanted the Kings to win because they had Wayne Gretzky, the "Great One." They didn't win, but the next year the Rangers won. Wayne Gretzky would also play for them too. So which one means I'm rooting for the former team of the "Great One"? Whoever wins this year will be fine by me, as long as they continue to play well. Both games have gone to overtime so far. Meanwhile, the guy sitting next to me at the bar had to guess what was happening based on our reactions, because he could not see. I don't especially enjoy watching hockey, but it was an opportunity to see some poetry, and unlike the man next to me, I can see.
When I had to go to work earlier today, it was pouring rain. At least I wasn't in the same situation as my new roommate, who was starting a job at a financial company, had just moved in yesterday, and was wearing a suit but needed to buy an umbrella ASAP. Of course, during the morning rush I misplaced the perspective and became irritated when my subway card didn't have enough fare on it, and I disputed it with the MTA employee, and then walked away saying some choice words to the machine in front of me, although I specifically said it to "the world," for which I apologize now. I'm sorry world. I didn't mean that. I hope you can tell I wasn't even that angry when I said it, it just felt like the best way to release a lot of pent up stress. I appreciate that you open windows at all so I can see your glory.
On Sunday I used my ability to see to read many of the stories on the site written in 2014. One of them said that on journeys you usually need to face some familiar challenging experiences to remind you and test you on the lessons before any successful milestones. Then I wandered across Harlem to the Bronx. On the way I saw a teenager in the distance. He was shirtless and walking with a pronounced limp. When he drew near he began talking to me, so I removed my headphones. There's always a chance you will learn something. He asked me for some money to eat, because he hadn't eaten in two days. He looked like it. I asked him his name. He said, "Christopher." I have a teenage cousin named Christopher. I asked him what he was going to buy with money. He said it was for a sandwich. He held up a few coins he had collected. I gave him a dollar. He smiled in what appeared to be a genuine way, but who knows... He shook my hand and then limped away, and then I walked over the 145th street bridge to the Bronx and wandered up to Yankee Stadium on 161st street.
I don't like the Yankees, but any team's heroes can inspire me. Babe Ruth. The first American celebrity athlete. I did know that he held just about every baseball record when he retired, and he also hit more home runs during his time than anyone could imagine. I hadn't realized that he was born in Baltimore.
I walked around the stadium, listening to my favorite musical home run hitter, Hiromi, up to 164th street and then back to 161st.
On the way to the field there was another field where locals were playing. It said on the side, "Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains."
I walked back through the Bronx, my former borough of employment, with a few hours to rest before returning to work in midtown the next morning. I wasn't feeling too ecstatic, since it had been a very hot weekend and I hadn't showered in a couple days, and I'd been walking a lot in the afternoon's and evenings after days spent indoors with open windows so I could see the sunshine on the trees while I would write, read, rest and restore energies to be fully ready for new creative endeavors awaiting me.
As I reached the river I started to feel hungry, but obviously there are many more people who are hungrier than I am. A few weeks ago I was the hungriest I've ever been while living in American civilization, as opposed to traveling abroad or being in the wilderness for a long time. I don't know if that would mean anything to you though, because I don't know who you are. Maybe you've known deeper hunger than I have, or you're simply really good at fasting for determined reasons, such as athletics, health, or spirituality. It was my own fault anyway. If I had saved money more carefully, I wouldn't have been so hungry those two weeks in May. But if I hadn't been so hungry, I would have missed some poetry. Besides, I had hope, which isn't a gift given to everybody. I knew that in an emergency nobody was actually going to let me go dangerously hungry. If anything I knew that limited consumption was actually one of the greatest keys to longevity, and that I still had plenty of food for essential nutrient energy. I just put myself into the mind set of an athlete in training, willfully abstaining from food that I hadn't earned yet, a skill I should have honed a long time ago. I'm very lucky that I have people who wish me well and don't want to see something happening to me. That being said, taking care of myself is very important to me, and should be, because I'm a month from 30. You can't always wander and live carefree. As much as I love how that feeds me beauty and poetry, I find that I grow happier to a much larger degree when I share these with everybody.
That's why I give green paintings of pyramids to people who request them. And that's why I'm having a difficult time re-questing through India, because sometimes, when I'm walking through my memories, starving shriveled faces begging me for money is all I can see, and then those calming voices who reminded me that it wasn't me and that the best thing to do for quality was to give money to a reputable charity instead of teaching people that they could get something for free... but what about me? What about everything I get for free? If someone asks me, I'm happy to give them an art work that represents what is already inside of me.
One of the happiest moments of this joyful spring was walking around on a hazy day, because I was so hungry I couldn't think of anything to say, and I held a dollar in my pocket, and I walked up to "Papa's" grocery store on 155th street, and I thought about the story I was told about my grandfather, Papa, surviving on sardines as his only source of protein when he was living his first year in Ithaca and becoming the first member of his generation to attain such a level of education. Because of that, I'd finally embraced sardines as a reasonably healthy way to get protein, but on that night in May, I didn't have enough green. But I could afford a can of beans.
I happily gave them the green so I could have the beans. There would someday be more greens and more beans, but at the time, one-for-one was all I would need.
I hope I never forget how I felt walking home holding that one can of beans in my hands, triumphant, thankful, and blessed to be participating in reality.
When I ate dinner that night, those beautiful beans mixed with spinach and rice, I drank some delicious clean water and thanked the one you thank for life.
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