Sic transit gloria mundi: a philosophical train ride
The situation with the shelter has not improved (still very long lines, garbage, and many dejected people sleeping outside) but this story is not about my block but about a philosophical train ride
During the times of decay, the decaying world itself becomes an Ionesco play. I will now try to describe just a couple of hours of my life, a New York train ride.
After a short wait, the train arrives. I am looking inside and see a homeless guy, comfortably sleeping on the seat. Catering to the joys of my nose, I run to another car. I am having a good day, so there seems to be only one homeless guy on this train so far. Yay!
At the next stop, a half-possessed guy comes in, crazy as they come. He could probably be treated from whatever occupies him and be much better—which I secretly wish for him because he is my fellow human being and I don’t know his life—but right now, I need to be cautious as he is moving around in an unpredictable, focused, angular fashion, responding to his internal sensations, picking stuff up from the floor, pacing the train car energetically, back and forth, back and fort. Feels like a hundred times, again and again, back and forth. Peaceful, inward-looking, non-aggressive—just crazy as they come. After an endless express train stop filled with his pacing by me very briskly a gazillion times like a pendulum, he exits the car. I am relieved.
Looking around, I smile from ear to ear at the masked co-passengers in my mostly empty train car—but they don’t smile back. Or perhaps they are just as happy about the end of the jerky pacing act as I am—but I can’t see their smiles, hidden behind their masks.
It’s 2023, hey.
Then a Russian dad with a son of about nine or ten enter the car. Both of them look poor-postured, pale, and low on life force. Not unhappy, not tormented, just quietly low on life force. The dad starts telling the kid very loudly about sin, lust, and satanic traps. He weaves a very convincing story through which he tries to stomp out the boy’s desire for pleasant things and replace it with an almost palpable artificial spirit of fear-based restraint.
The child is taking it in and asking questions. The dad is sounding like a simple Russian man. He uses very crude, colloquial words when he describes the satanic traps. It is almost comedic as he is mixing church language and colloquial words. Then suddenly, he switches the subject to “pissing” and talks to his son about that for a good ten minutes, using even cruder words. The child looks stoic and trustful of his dad. But pale, very pale. My inner caring self wants to get them both into the sunlight and make them feel loved somehow. But I don’t know how, their lives are not my business, so I wish them well and forget.
My stop. I leave the train, walk onto the street, and see a disabled, skinny, childlike grandpa in a wheelchair, rolled around by a caretaker. The grandpa is communicating with the world through baby-like squeals.
Seeing helpless elders fills my heart with sadness, so I get into a pensive, philosophical mood thinking about things like, sic transit gloria mundi, and how there was once a time when this grandpa was a man in his prime—thinking about work and women, dreaming of better days—and now he is a skinny, big-eyed grandpa in a wheelchair, communicating with the world like a baby, through squeals.
What is the conclusion? The conclusion, I think, is the passionate, humble joy of life.
There is a lot of crap in this world, yes. There is a lot of pain. But there is also beauty—and love, and total aliveness, and the extremely satisfying commitment to doing what’s right—not out of fear but out of love. Love feels good. It feels good to be a creator and to bring about love.
There will be times when we sing from joy. There will be times when we scream from pain. Hopefully, there will always be more joy than pain. And no matter what, we have no obligation to be zombies. Every moment we are walking this earth is the moment we can choose aliveness and love, no matter the past. And then live it. And live it. And live it until we really have to go, and then we can look back and say that we really lived. It will be a happy thing.
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A lovely essay. As always, you speaking to our loving souls. And coincidentally... I was on the Toronto subway system on Monday. Not something I do often as I rarely need to be downtown.. thank goodness 😆
On my way home, I made for the least crowded looking car - and realized a bit late that it was nearly empty because of the homeless guy stretched out asleep across 3 seats. Oh well. I just stayed standing and watched as stations went by. He was curled up under what looked like a hospital blanket, his back turned to the aisle. He had a grocery cart filled with pop bottles in varying stages of emptiness, and a pile of aluminum soda cans, which I’m guessing he was collecting for money. All this was locked with a cable & bungee cords to a rail.
I couldn’t really see him, just a mass of long tangled grey hair peeking out from under the blanket.
After a while I heard him starting to mutter and curse. His ire was aimed at young guy sitting down nearby, who was reading his phone. The curses & comments about him never having had a phone increased in volume. When the young guy left, silence reigned for a few minutes. My back was turned to the homeless guy when I heard him quietly ask “do you know what day it is”? I turned around & he was peering at me. “It’s Monday “ I replied gently. He said that he loses track of days & I laughed & told him I knew the feeling.
The next half hour was a conversation where I learned he was an engineer & welder, who worked the shipyards of the Great Lakes. He described opening a hole in a dry-docked tanker to remove the diesel engine that needed an overhaul. And then replacing it & welding a new plate over the hole. Travels all over Canada, following the work. From the Great Lakes, out to the pacific coast. Wow. What this guy had seen & done.
I asked him if he’d consider going back to welding & he felt afraid that he was too old (70). So I suggested teaching. I could see a spark of interest. I hope he pursues that. When the train reached the end of the line, I gave him what little cash I had, maybe $40. He never asked for anything. It was the best subway ride I ever had.
Intriguing observations and insights. I love your "sharings". Thank you Tessa. Also, The "Soul Eaters felt very spot on.