heading for the l

Sun 5.24.20

      I am standing at the major underground 14th Street station, at the intersection where commuters being discharged from other trains are heading for the L to get them to the boroughs of Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens and Staten Island.  They come down a ramp, single file, the horde.  “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning. . . “ to get out of Manhattan.  They are maybe 250 yards from me, and I see each face clearly as person after person rounds the corner to get to the L.  In face after face I see the wound.  They, we, have all been wounded at some point or other, severely enough to create a posture of one sort or another through which we interact with the world around us.  The nature and degree of the wound dictates how adaptable one becomes, or chooses their own path.  The wound is inflicted as part of the ritual of baptism into 21st century humanity.

      Without the wound we are lost.  We are able to communicate . . . because of the wound.  The thought being, I can easily tackle, maneuver, a wounded being.  They are safe, manageable, good buddy, colleague, hubby, the little wife.  None of this is true, the other person can turn on you like a black mamba.  There are a few walking among us that are not wounded.  We rightly call them crazy, psychopath, used car salesman.  They cannot be manipulated; they’ve got their program and that’s all they care about.  What kind of society would a majority of these people create?  The problem with them is that although they are a small minority, without the wound, they are more easily able maneuver us, to take control and they do.

      What I notice lately, in the faces of people is that some, regardless of the wound, have retained a loving heart.  You can see it in their faces.  They leave a small footprint on the planet earth, but we know immediately when in their presence that we are in a safe space.  They don’t want anything from us; they’re not trying to manipulate and they are centered.  By a loving heart, I’m not referring to sentimentality, but to an open, trusting, expansive posture that allows the innocent child within oneself to interact with the world.  Obviously, these people are few.  Dealing with the screamers on a daily basis makes the loving hearts a rare treasure when stumbled upon.

The favorite essay this month has again been, Karpman drama triangle