No sleep

Jottings from my notebook. I was out late last night. I had coffee tooooo late in the night. No sleep. Brain fuzzy. Right, jottings … here we go.

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I descended into the lowest rung of hell, also known as the subway station at Canal and Lafayette Streets (or any other subway station for that matter), in order to make my way to the home of Ms. Sleeping to Dream, who was to feed me dinner and show me “Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers” so that I am properly prepared for a trip sometime in the not so distant future for the third and final installment of the series. (She is forced to do this because I am in need of remedial assistance. I somehow never managed to see it with her in a theatre when it was out last year; hence this evening’s entertainment. She is a fine friend.)
I waited along with many, many of my fellow urban denizens for the arrival of my appointed subway. I had a backpack (heavy) and a rather ungainly tree stand with me (to lend to herself for the Christmas tree her sister gave her without one, but that tale is for her to tell). The train came …
Now, I’m not one for typical rude New York City commuter behavior. I like to let the passengers who are getting off clear out before I get on. But before they could I was moved forward in a tide of commuting fervor that surrounded me. There was this one empty seat between two people. I headed in that general direction, me with that backpack and the tree stand. The train was crowded, so it wasn’t as though I figured the seat would be mine or anything. BUT …
Suddenly someone was forcibly shoving me so hard I very nearly got knocked off my feet! Without knowing what I was doing I hear this voice (coming from me no less!) saying “What is wrong with you, woman? You don’t have to push me!” (I will tell you that this sort of assertiveness is a relatively recent development.) Well, it was an elderly Chinese woman who was doing all the ferocious pushing, to get to that one available seat! She seemed ill; the elderly fellow with her, as I stared behind me, pointed at her and put his hand on his chest, apparently indicating that this was a person with a heart condition. I said to him “But she didn’t have to shove me, did she?” which, of course, he didn’t understand. A fellow passenger did say “No, she didn’t” (bless her); however, the chap to whom I was addressing my question just smiled at me. I suppose I should have realized from the improvised sign language that he didn’t speak English.
I’m happy to report that after he administered what I think was nitroglycerine to the orange blossom, her color returned. A couple of stops later, Mr. Orange Blossom shoved his way into a seat directly beside my standing self. The woman seated beside his wife closer to him tried valiantly several times to offer to switch seats with her, finally standing up and gesticulating to the woman to move to her left to be nearer himself.
What I really want to know is how this fragile flower managed to tackle me like a linebacker in her oh so weakened state.
The dinner was delicious, the movie quite awe inspiring, the night a much later one than I am accustomed to (dangling, I know).
I took car service home.

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Thoughts in the wee hours

Two parts of a whole
each needing to have the other
in the qualities sometimes so polar
for the balance
one slowing down to learn a new form of caring
one reaching out in unaccustomed opening

I see this in the listening
in the slagging and the tenderness
we have many meetings to achieve
in time and space and truths
because there are my lessons
your lessons
and the learning of more
the broad experience in coming to know
all there is in us
why this fate is ours