Yesterday turned out to be a remarkable day, one of those days which feels like it contains a lifetime of experience. I knew early that it would be special, because the sunrise that flowed across the sky at 7:30 AM was so sweet. Not "Hallelujah Chorus" beautiful, but subtly, with layers of pastel orange, pink, apricot, lavender, and blue. That's the type of day it would end up being.
I went to the public library. Goddess bless public libraries. I was looking for the kind fiction you might expect of me (set in England and/or about English history and/or on the theme of women's spirituality). The librarian kept making good suggestions long after I had chosen more books than I could possibly carry around town in my tote bag. As the day progressed, I met some new friends, and visited an old friend who is recovering from surgery. In the evening, I attended a heartwarming multicultural music/storytelling event. A woman of about my age sat nearby accompanied by a much younger woman in a wheelchair, perhaps her daughter. In a flash, I knew that their every life choice for decades had been defined by that wheelchair. What remarkable people. What a journey they have had.
Most of the day's travel had taken place on the city bus, with all the extra time it takes to walk to bus stops, make transfers, wait at the bus terminal. As I have mentioned before for the sake of readers overseas, American city buses (except, say, in Manhattan) tend to be used mostly by riders who aren't affluent. Some days, this Smithie finds it hard to embrace a sense of community with the other riders; old snobberies and impatience surface. But yesterday was one of those good days when my heart literally went out to all of us. In the end, we are all just people, trying to get from Point A to Point B without a car.
The day ended watching a TV news piece on the horrible conditions faced by the refugees from the Northern California fire. So much for my impression of ever-warm California -- the daytime highs at this refugee "camp" aren't much better than Duluth, maybe 40 degrees F. People in parkas mill around look shell-shocked. Speaking of cars, all they may have is a car and a wallet, having thrown themselves and family members or pets into a vehicle with minutes to spare, outracing the flames. No more belongings, no more homes, no more neighborhoods, no more places of employment, no more nothing. For very different reasons, I know this impasse, and my heart unfolded yet again to embrace their bafflement, their incredulity, their terror at the empty slate ahead.
So November 15 was a tour through the truth of the human condition. We are all just trying to step forward, to get to tomorrow, to achieve safety and security (if such a thing is possible), to have a home and to achieve our dreams. We are all simply hoping that the stream of love will flow us where we need to go. I was thankful to have caught the wave and successfully navigated the stream, at least on this one day, the day the truth flowed.
