This is not a thrilling, dramatic or provocative story, but it contains a few interesting events that sort of made the evening click. It is early morning, the time for reflection. I thought perhaps some would care to hear of these events.
5:00 in the evening, sun still shining brightly. Partly cloudy. My appointment with the Sensei at the Temple (Buddhist) is at 7:30. It's time to catch the bus. The bus has always proven to be an extraordinary adventure in the past. After preparing my computer for others to use it, I walk out the door and head to the bus stop. Immediately, it starts raining. Upon arriving at the bus stop, it begins to rain harder. I wait.
And I wait.
It's rush hour, of course. The bus is running a bit late. There is a bench here for me to sit, but it is wet. I stand for close to 20 minutes. Finally, the bus arrives. I pay my two dollars, somewhat grumpy, and sit down infront of the rear door, where I like to observe people as they leave. As the bus pulls away, the rain slowly tapers. Soon, the sun is shining again.
I know I have a long bus ride ahead of me, so I open my book and begin reading. It is not long before the bus driver signals my attention, speaking with an extremely thick Jamaican accent that I am finding very much trouble sifting through. My trepidation over offending him by asking him to repeat himself does not help my ability to understand his english either. It seems he's trying to tell me that this bus will be out of service before I reach my destination. Also, by the rate he has been driving, it is clear that he is not interested in driving this vehicle much longer. About halfway to where I need to be, he hands me a generous transfer (three hours), an apology, and lets me off the bus, promising to radio to the following bus that I am waiting.
It begins raining again. This time, thankfully, it is only a light drizzle. The Jamaican bus driver kept true to his word. Within minutes, another bus arrived and picked me up to continue me to my destination. I arrive at the train station without further difficulty. At the train station, purchasing pre-paid tickets, I have the familiar experience of attendants and clerks mistaking me for a female.
The train ride is somewhat uneventful. There is a brutish looking man sitting across from me bellowing into his cellphone to his friend about how drunk he is, and how he hopes to become much more drunk with his friend when he arrives. I arrive at 3rd street station, and continue to walk to the Temple.
Now, I've never walked to the Temple before. Naturally, of either direction that would lead me toward or away from the Temple, I chose the latter. Within 10 minutes, I'm completely lost in downtown Calgary. I ask a very well-dressed French couple in their late forties for the time. They are very kind, and inform me that it is 7:00.
Knowing that recovering my bearings and reaching the Temple on time is rapidly becoming impossible, I signal a cab. A very nice Quebec man drives me to my destination. He hands me this newspaper clipping:
We had a good laugh together. Six dollars later, I'd arrived at the Temple, just in time. I pay the nice man and tentatively climb the steps. I speak with the Sensei.
I won't go into detail about what was said, but what was most notable was this. I asked him, "Being born and raised underneath a culture that somewhat indoctrinates it's generations with a self-centered, self-first attitude, how can an inexperienced person such as myself develop a genuinely altruistic attitude?"
He frowned very deeply and thought for a moment. "All I can tell you is to constantly question what you do. Ask yourself why you react to a given situation the way you are. Ask why it is you perceive yourself as a victim of suffering." He added, "Oh, and try to put yourself inside other people's pain. When you see people suffering, imagine yourself absorbing that suffering into your being, and replacing it with all the loving kindness you can muster. Do this all the time."
I thanked him. We continued to speak a while longer, and at 9:30, I left. As I walked toward the door, he called to me, "If you see a worm on the sidewalk, pick it up and put it on the grass!"
I managed to walk my way to Olympic Plaza station, where I waited on the outdoor platform for the train. Across the street, I could hear people yelling. I moved infront of the shelter, the shape of which allowed me to hear what was said more clearly. A woman was very angry with her mate. It seemed to me that I was witnessing a very serious relationship unravel. He came into view, standing slumped, looking defeated. The woman was yelling about past experiences with her father, and other males in her life. It became clear that whatever this person did to this woman, he struck a very sensitive nerve. After much time yelling, she screamed in her loudest voice, "Turn around and walk away from me!" followed by "I will never see you again!"
He paused, and eventually turned around. This is when I caught the look on his face; a look of absolute destitute. He looked confused, crushed, terrified, as though his world was ending. He began walking slowly, wavering, when behind him came a loud smash. She had thrown a bottle at him. He looked back, paused again, then continued walking toward me. He collapsed in tears on the sidewalk after about twenty feet. The woman could be seen fleeing in the opposite direction.
And so this of course was the perfect opportunity for me to exercise the Sensei's advice. I can say without hesitation that it was a painful, but effective exercise. Of course my thoughts and my stare could not affect this person's destroyed spirit, but in me came a very strong sense of commonality. The notion of myself as the center of the universe became slightly weaker, for the rest of the night.
I debated approaching the man and offering my support, but concluded that I lacked both the capacity as well as the gall to put myself where my business was not appropriate. I have not forgotten of them, and I do genuinely hope they both find better things.
The train arrived. I boarded. I headed home. Two teenage boys boarded at one of the more northern stations.
These two guys were completely baked. I mean just absolutely blasted. I could smell the marijuana even as the doors were opening. They were walking slowly and with poor coordination. Their eyes showed the usual signs. Their grins as well as their young dress suggested their inexperience with marijuana. I knew immediately I was in for an entertaining ride home. They sat down, the doors closed, and the train moved onward. There was a long pause.
"DUDE!" the shorter one bursted, "Let's order summmmmm.......... PIZZA!" His eyes burst open and bulged; a look on his face like he'd just had his first orgasm.
His companion was enthused, but lacked the responsive faculty to communicate so fervently. After another long pause, jovial expression unwavering, he replied very slowly and deliberately, "I could eat pizza three hundred and sixty five years an hour." Realizing his speech error instantly, the uncontrolled laughter began immediately between the two of them. My smirk became a grin.
After the laughter died down, they continued a very intelligent discussion about the negative effects of daily pizza consumption. PSS, or "Pizza Saturation Syndrome," is a condition characterized by a reddening of the eyes due to sustained pizza sauce intake. "I'm not stoned, I've got PSS!" they chimed, behind restrained giggles.
Eventually, they arrived at their stop, and attempted to depart the wrong side of the train. I told them that the platform was on the other side. They exited, laughing.
At my stop, I took the bus that stopped nearest to my home. Once there, I ran home. I could not wait to get home. Upon arrival, I received a most extraordinary surprise.
My girlfriend produced to me in all her familiar enthusiasm, a ziplock bag containing five grams of dried p. cubensis. A surprise for me, after this rewarding day! Oh, how complete it was. And so we slept, and awoke this morning. That is Ped's June 2.
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Edited by Ped (06/03/03 12:05 PM)
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