Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Spring in New York

So begins a blank slate.

Sometimes, being in a routine makes you forget where you are or have been. Fast-paced walks across town, forgetting about work for a few days, and taking chances are surefire cures. Snap-back to a new season, with some new resolutions.

Noninjury (ahimsa) is not causing pain to any living being at any time through the actions of one's mind, speech or body. But can it be done?

In a cab, the driver rocks out to loud, slow, romantic Hindi music. "You know what this song is about?" He asks. I say I don't. "It's a pathetic song," he says. "The man knows he is no good for the girl. And she knows it. But she loves him. And he loves her. 'How do you not know?' He asks her," the cabbie explains. "'How can I tell you I love you? I think of you all the time,'" the cabbie lamented for the song-writer. "They do not see each other, but they love each other and never should have let one another go."

A really smart person once said relationships aren't true or false or even multiple choice questions: they're essays. It's springtime in New York. Air is fresh. Windows open, music gets a little louder. My feet are bare and their soles turn into blisters that turn to callouses in preparation for summer months. Blame the booze. Blame the fire in the belly. Blame the sunshine and story-telling. I wonder how long this sense of empowerment and freedom will last.

I used to be in cahoots with a leftover, flighty belief in something that could be so out of bounds it would be beyond sense, beyond matter, all-consuming and exactly what I'd always needed - something more complete than even I myself was. I thought that holding on for dear life might make it so. But am I still so sure about this or that as to gamble with this time of mine? And then what'll it be? Twilight Zone is the only thing I can stand to watch for now, but it makes me dream about time travel. And so on.

These are the mysteries. And today, I'm filled with a strange new kind of thing. Cheers to new beginnings. First kisses. Sunroofs. Wing-flexing and old tapestries spread in new grass.

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