Enveloped in the still of a black night, we chug along through breathtaking beauty. Blindly. Sticky shoulders bumping, eyes darting, jumping, resting. The white of a tube light rolls in and out of my rectangular peep hole. A smell eludes my thoughts…oils. Masalas. I watch as a young woman banters with her friend. Inimitably, cleverly, coyly. A musician some cars down bats ruthlessly with a spoon against his makeshift drum. A chatter that rounds and turns on itself bounces against the moving cabin walls. An unspoken order persists within the drab blues and dirty grays. Shoes removed, hands cleaned, we take our seats, our rented beds, and get comfortable. We share our meals with people we love, people we don’t quite know, people who care. We slither through aisles past unfamiliar watching eyes, calmly watching back. Acknowledging the momentary kinship, we move on. We move through stations and cities, colors and clutters, blurred clips of places we’ll someday go. Varied tongues and differing purposes, we move together towards a destined place. With hope in our eyes and life on our lips, we surrender ourselves to the moving stillness. The peace of what’s here and the painted dream of what’s to come.
October 4, 2010.
Notes from my journal. On a train going somewhere.
