Story with No Title, Day 27

 

 

Oh my god, you will not believe what I just saw happen ­– right before my eyes.  I’m not kidding.  This is the real thing.

 

But I need to give you some background.  It was late afternoon and getting cold, but I didn’t mind, I wanted to get out of the apartment.  The bro had been studying some contract all afternoon, something about arms sales to Uzbekistan, or something like that.  Who cares.  I needed some air, I’m just that way.

 

I headed out to the street and, as I always do, first looked to the sky where I could see clouds drifting into the darkness; then looked to the left up the street, my favorite bar, with favorite chums starting to congregate; then down the street to the right, toward the center of my city.  But half way down the block, there was a small group of people standing in a circle in a place where no one ever stops – I don’t think anyone notices that, but I do – so I was curious and it caught my interest.  A direction to walk, if nothing else.

 

I started down the street and had to dodge a runner with ‘dog on leash’, or maybe the other way around, and scuttle past the coffee shop, a very small affair with only 6 seats, always full, now getting late but still there, enjoying their espresso.  The young woman at the chair closest to the door, looking up as I pass by and waving.  Or maybe just jittery.  I should probably spend more time visiting the barista rather than the bartender.  We’ll see.

 

Anyway, after crossing the street onto the next block, there he was.  Some sort of street performer.  Boring, I’m thinking.  But I joined the group of 4 or 5 standing and watching including one who was filming.  He was goofing with the two girls at the front, you know, getting their names and stuff, like it was somehow a part of his show.  But I could see though him, no problem.  About then he moved 10 feet in front of us, still facing away and started in on some odd chant and then – I’m not shitting you – levitated about 4 inches off the ground.  Unbelievable! 

 

Then he was back at the group and asking questions.  Next thing he had the 2 girls’ phone numbers.  Now there’s some real street magic. 

 

But that’s not what I wanted to share. 

 

He next started in on something about the breath of life, about the gods and the earth.  He was down on his knees, rocking back and forth, bent, searching through the dirt and pebbles at his knees then along the edge of the building where it joins the sidewalk – and we all know that is the spot completely filled with debris – still not finding what he wanted.  One of the girls walked up behind him, peering over his shoulder at the ground beneath, hoping to be helpful, I suppose.  He finally stood, placing fists on hips, and looking annoyed.  Ah, but then he had an idea and walked over to the closed window.

 

There on the mantle, between the brick and the metal of the frame, was an assortment of dead insects, mostly of the m. domestica species, I would say.  He picked one up carefully by its wings and laid it gently in his palm.  And there before us, he slowly raised his palm to his mouth. 

 

So, here I am thinking he is about to eat a dead fly, and I’m looking for a handy spot to puke.  The two girls must have been thinking the same, as their noses were scrunched up and mouths gapping. 

 

But instead, he whispered into his palm, into this lifeless insect, into the seat of life itself.  And there, before us, we witnessed the fly suddenly popping up, looking around briefly, and then flying away.  Just like that.  One of the girls stumbled backward, looking like she was in a swoon, her friend catching her.  The others cheered.

 

But me…  I just stood there and sobbed.  This miracle.  This miracle worker – declining offered donations; humbly thanking his small audience, embracing the fallen girl.  Then, slowly gathering his materials and chatting with the cameraman, the small audience dispersing, he walked away.

 

And I followed him, this saint on a mission.  I so much I wanted to ask, wanted to know.  The mantra he spoke.  What was the power of his whisper?  I would be following him still, but he was swallowed by the increasing number of hominids on the street, until in the distance, as I watched, he stepped up and onto his chariot, his MTA city bus.  The door closed and he was gone.

 

So now I have stumbled back to my apartment and it is late.  My roommate was already sleeping, leaving the apartment to my ambling and pacing, for I cannot stop thinking, reveling in this new understanding of life and not life.  To be roused from the insensate; awakened to existence beyond mere life.  Maybe, just maybe, there is more to this exoskeleton than I have thought.

 

Tonight, I read བར་དོ་ཐོས་གྲོལ, the Book of the Dead.