Friday, February 25, 2011 (in transit)
As I sit on the ferry boat waiting to ride from Europe to Asia, I gaze out the window at the lit up mosque, golden against the night sky. A lone bird is bleached as it soars above the minarets. I sometimes still marvel that what I see before me is now my home, at the mystery that got us and keeps us here. The things that were once so foreign to me have become familiar. The sights and sounds that are now part of our lives. The traveling with the masses from one place to another on a rainy day. The umbrellas and boots and the quiet sitting together on buses and ferries. The silent moving of prayer beads in the hand of the man beside me. The cellphones and headphones that keep strangers strangers to one another. This mass of humanity.
It's among this mass of humanity that I travel with that I experience life in a way I never experienced in the scarcely populated places of my past. There I came alive in places of solitude and among a membership of sorts, where the landscape was large skies an endless horizon and a cottonwood tree growing tall. There were no crowds, no masses of colorful people before me and around me. But here when moving with crowds of people, I feel like part of a mosaic, like a small gear in a machine of humanity set in motion. As I weave my way among the crowds, I travel with a keen awareness that I am one among so very, very many and that so many, many separate lives are passing by.
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