Today I had a thought, a vision or skewed perception. I was standing on a train platform and looking out over this town. St. Agnes Church would not look out of place in Rome. The sky, too. A wide expanse of it, clouds adrift. Today my eye caught the storefronts below. It was raining, and the colors of the signs and banners seemed especially bright.
Here was my thought: This idea that I am in one place or another is an illusion. What does it mean?
I stood at the western most edge of the platform, beyond the overhang. The rain fell on my hair and dampened my shoulders, but it was a soft rain and I didn’t mind it. I was reading, too. I looked up from my book, The Orchardist. It had me transfixed, a beautiful book. It was part of why I had the thought. The book had taken me some place, and I was neither here nor there.
In Red Hook Paul was practicing songs. In Cross River Chloe translated “backpack” into Spanish. In L.A. Kim let her dogs out into the yard. In Hurly, Lora was drawing girls and bears, while Rob listened to music and made a note of his thoughts. In Bed Stuy Lianne said she’d been comforted by the moon.
What is that quote by Anne LeMott? “One hundred years from now? All new people.”
There is no place better or worse. No safe place, no place I belong. It’s all the same. Haven’t you ever traveled for many hours only to find yourself on a street that could be any street?
We are all living in the same place, but it’s not a place; it’s a time.