There’s a man with an overly long trenchcoat who gets on the tram and when he does so he pushes past the assembled commuters towards a bright yellow pole. His eyes take in no one and nothing. He greets not a soul. He is in his own world. Alone, perhaps, save for his iPod. Around him, as the tram eases again towards town, are his kin. Ironic. The kin of the alone. There’s the woman with the constant suspicious look, eyes darting over the top of her newspaper, folded crisply to the crossword page. The school girl reading over some hand-scrawled notes, iPod working away. There’s the Swanston Street crowd, work-a-day uniforms of corporate worlds on bodies matched with resignation on faces. There’s the William Street crowd, similarly fitted out, but with more tailored corporate uniforms (sometimes even a waistcoat!)
At Spencer Street the mass of humanity spilling from the train station each morning pushes against me and my travels. I, the rainbow trout, jostle against the current of scores of trenchcoats, pleated skirts (and matching runners), wet hair and rush. Everyone rushing. Must be important. So very important. Fighting at the pedestrian crossing to weave a path against the tide. I must have made face-contact with hundreds by now. And not a single smile amongst them.
Most mornings, at this point, I sing. Singing my way across the pedestrian crossing has advantages. My repertoire is limited, but the song that most aptly comes to mind, observing these great shoals of business–fish is “across the universe,” and in particular its opening line of: “words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither wildly as they make their way across the universe…”
The city in morning rush hour (no kidding!) is no place for emotional sustenance. Or for children. Where are the children? My school teaching days wash fondly forward as I traipse up the concrete & steel hill; yet more windswept grimaces surrounding me, cigarettes lighting en masse. (“Hi Mr Wilson – hey did you see the show last night? Mr Wilson – nice tie. Hi Mr Wilson – why are you wearing footy shorts?”)
Thinking of this now, I am reminded of a message shared recently with a great friend. I’m sure they won’t mind.
----
Think of the mundane & the trivial & the challenges & the exhaustion & the last time you were furious with your lot.
I thought of this and then i thought of a patient and watchful gatekeeper.
Like an elder.
Someone of gravitas and of unspoken wisdom.
Someone who doesn't shirk anything.
Who doesn't flinch.
Someone who bears all before them and who listens and who accepts.
And who is sought.
I was thinking about this person & how I reckon that's a valuable person and then I thought of that daily load again.
I'm picturing that person. it's a woman & now she is lying on the ground.
She lies down to rest.
It's not as easy as it looks - this wisdom that she carries.
She lies down on a big flat rock that sits in the late evening sun.
The floodplain is below her.
She sighs and she breathes.
She breathes deeply through her nose.
She knows that this clutter of emotion and of noise in life is constant.
But she breathes again and is rested.
A light breeze shuffles branches & leaves overhead.
She hums and she smiles.
----
Who are we? Who are you?
I shared a week in Cairns with work mates. Truly shared. exhausting. wonderful. Meanwhile, at home, we were burgled - back door smashed in, computers & jewellery & video camera & hard drive (with photos, stories, etc) stolen. No one was home, so family are all fine.
Breathe.
Breathe.
That photo there was taken off the coast of Cairns. Snorkled with a turtle! Yes siree.
Breathe.
adios.
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