BEFORE and AFTER NINE

Saturday the 12th of September with a promising cloud, lots of cool wind and relative silence. How many months since the pandemic appeared here? How long can we endure? Endless battles over our heads and under our feet, the planetary power wars, lies and truths float like sand across a desert of social distancing, mask wearing-or not wearing and and and and. What? I'm in the last stages of my time here, perfectly provided with all one might ever need but the simple human interconnect and unable to just walk out, make plans, have goals. This morning I burned a pot (again). A dog barks nearby.

"Ever since I found out that earth worms have taste buds all over the delicate pink strings of their bodies, I pause dropping apple peels into the compost bin, imagine the dark, writhing ecstasy, the sweetness of apples permeating their pores. I offer beets and parsley, avocado, and melon, the feathery tops of carrots. I’d always thought theirs a menial life, eyeless and hidden, almost vulgar—though now, it seems, they bear a pleasure so sublime, so decadent, I want to contribute however I can, forgetting, a moment, my place on the menu." -- "Feeding the Worms" from Bonfire Opera by Danusha Laméris, © 2020

As the day moved forward I gave up. I mean, I slept again and again till dark. I've eaten some leftovers, listened to the younger tenants run downstairs on marble steps to get out for their evenings and read through face book posts feeling disconnected to connecting. Yet here I am typing on the blog as if I were actually connecting to beings out there somewhere. Aren't we all really just talking to ourselves.

Last night there was a Zendo session via Zoom--"The Wisdom Sangha" is a twice monthly meeting with over sixties. I spent the session listening to others. There was a potent sitting meditation where I listened to my body. It had a lot to tell me. Perhaps I've grown accustomed to this form of connecting. I'm seeing via a small cell phone programmed to receive the Zendo sessions and given to me by a generous Zendo brother months ago. The pictures are very small, but I wear glasses and keep a magnifying glass close. I am relieved by the meditation and comforted by the virtual presences.

Now my tiny TV is on Channel 13 and a blast from the past is playing - The title of "Five Easy Pieces" refers not to the women its hero makes along the road, for there are only three, but to a book of piano exercises he owned as a child. ... When we sense the boy, tormented and insecure, trapped inside the adult man, "Five Easy Pieces" becomes a masterpiece of heartbreaking intensity.

Then--The Ghost Writer--When a successful ghostwriter, the Ghost (Ewan McGregor), agrees to finish the memoirs of Adam Long (Pierce Brosnan), England's former prime minister, his publisher assures him it's the chance of a lifetime. Instead, he begins to uncover evidence that suggests his late predecessor knew a dark secret about Lang and may have been murdered to prevent it from coming to light.

I'm done

WANDERING IN THE DARK

It occurs to me that in this City, it is not unusual for an old woman to be seen out and about at Midnight accompanied only by her cane, whereas in many communities it would be like wearing headlights. Hence, when restless, I often walk around Gramercy park several times. Manhattan is a 24 hour/seven days sort of locale. Last Friday night, at 8 O'clock I traveled across 23rd Street by bus to the High line at 10th Avenue to wander uptown on the new extension that goes all the way to 34th Street.

How it used to be...

History at the end gate which will eventually extend out into the Hudson Yards. From here the City looks remote like a scene from a movie.

Along the way, the last of Summer was in evidence against a backdrop of old buildings.

For all the wonders of the High line, it is only right to acknowledge the disruption, loss of privacy and neighborhood that many long time residents experienced during it's construction and continue to experience with the constant flow of tourists and City residents, both old and new, who are enjoying the Park seven days and nights per week. Those of you who have read the blog 'Jeremiahs Vanishing New York' will not be strangers to the devastation it has caused.

None the less, there are very beautiful native grasses...

going to seed.

Asters still blooming

Sweet (intoxicating) Phlox

and Honeysuckle Vine

 I took few pictures actually, there were so many buildings still under construction  towering over me I found myself just looking up, feeling enclosed, oppressed by the cranes and shiny steel.  I did, however sit a while at a stage where the performance from four PEN authors had taken place. I missed it but spent time with tourists pointing out plants and helping them get good photographs with their I-Phones. I exited on to 11th Avenue and strolled back slowly to 23rd street catching a last shot of this woman.

LINKS
Jeremiahs Vanishing New York
Listen to a half hour Interview
http://www.wnyc.org/story/jeremiah-moss
Faceook
https://www.facebook.com/Jeremiahs-Vanishing-New-York-224773690470/ 

WHERE'S CENTER

 Got soaked in a sudden storm while waiting for the bus, all of us standing in a small river. Many more people waiting than I'd experienced for quite a while and not nearly enough room in the shelter for two thirds of us.  Some fellow on the edge of us was spewing incoherent invective about Trump, Mexicans and Muslims not directed anywhere just yelling.  A Muslim couple were nearby so I moved toward them and became cheerful and chatty, attempting to entertain others with humorous commentary on the state of the world and how some people just get mad and strike out...trying to diffuse the situation though there was no real danger.  A few others joined in the banter and finally the bus arrived.  Miraculously I got a seat though it was packed to way beyond capacity.  More trouble erupted a few stops on when a big woman, accompanied by an even bigger man just flat out refused to move to the back. The two were blocking the front entrance/exit and clearly too aggressive to be influenced.  I felt sorry for the driver who must have felt the stress even more than we all did.  When the woman with a cane who had been sitting next to me had to get out I just stood up like a circus barker and projected "Make a channel please, this woman has to get out."  They did but when It was my turn to get out along with thirty or so others, the big woman lashed out angrily that she was "trying" to exit and "everyone had just better cool it"....fortunately no one engaged her and, once again, there was no real danger.  However it made me realize how crowd violence happens, how panic and one angry person can cause a stampede.
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Then I was at the Zendo

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All the way home I was turning over the interview with my Zen teacher.  I was talking to him about my newly diagnosed chronic condition and the dietary changes I've been forced to make.  He had asked, "Are you depressed?"  I paused to consider, then replied "No, not really".....then, as I folded into the evening rush crowd, I began to wonder if I was indeed depressed and simply in denial.  I wondered what would have changed had I said yes...would I have shared all the things I was thinking as I walked...about how most of my life is behind me, about the facts of living so marginally sometimes presenting seemingly dangerous problems.  Would my practice have become more dedicated and sincere, or would I have suddenly radically corrected my inclination to drift away into old habits or just rest in my comfort zone?  I was interrupted by a man needing directions to the subway, then a few more steps and another man needed money for food but I had none so just gave him what I did have, interest in listening to his story.  He wanted to tell me how he lost his food card and how long it would take to get it replaced.  I told him I understood since I'd just lost mine too and was waiting for it to return tomorrow.  We blessed each other in parting.  In moments when I'm interacting I'm no longer alone, but I'm still at the center of my perception even when I'm including a single other, or many others. So where's center?  Could it be that there's no center at all in the larger picture, that center is merely an observation point, the dot before it moves?
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Grace brought that topic up in her blog post tonight, and I'm still thinking about it:
Windthread
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