I’m not a religious person. I’m not even a particularly spiritual person. In fact, I pride myself on my rationality. I tend to shy away from (if not outright mock) the airy-fairy New Age bullshit that’s being peddled by the Deepak Chopra types on the Oprah network. If I had to pick a modern Buddhist teacher whose beliefs are most in line with my own, I’d pick Brad Warner, author of Hardcore Zen. Brad is a Soto Zen priest who is also the bass player for a hardcore punk rock band. I’m also a native New Yorker and have developed a fairly thick skin after years of riding the subways and haunting the streets at night. Paying attention to the troubles of other people doesn’t come naturally to me. Hell, I suspect it doesn’t come naturally to anyone, except maybe the Dalai Lama.
Part of what I’m trying to do with this project is to become more aware of the needs of others. There is no better place to do this than in the mass transit system. Everybody needs something down in that rat hole. More space, a seat, food, a good psychiatrist; things like that. Yesterday I was making my usual last minute dash for the 4:31 and I found myself walking neck in neck with a spry septuagenarian past the almost full LIRR cars. We spied the empty seat at the same time and both quickened our pace. It looked like it was going to be flying elbows at the door, since neither one of us wanted to stand for the duration of the 55 minute trip, or worse, be consigned to the dreaded “middle-seat.” As we approached the aisle, I remembered my plan and I let her scurry by me into the seat.She flashed me a look of triumph and I smiled and found another seat.
I realize it wasn’t much, but it was my first day and Penn Station is a very difficult place to practice compassion. 364 to go.
No comments:
Post a Comment