Roses I Brought In From the Garden Before Last Night’s Storms


We were holding at New Carrollton Station. Ten minutes or so passed before there was an announcement. The first announcement said that there was a “medical condition.” The second, perhaps five minutes later, referred to a “medical emergency” and that we were waiting for medical personnel to arrive. The third announced a “medical situation” and that we were still waiting for “appropriate medical persons” to come, but that we would leave as soon as they arrived. The final announcement let us know that the medical personnel had arrived and that we were about to depart for the next station. That we were leaving immediately upon arrival made it most likely that the person who was sick was leaving the train to go to the emergency room
Sure. I sent a text to the friend scheduled to pick me up on the other end of my trip and wondered how late I would be. Mostly, I took the experience as a reminder to be grateful that I was merely going to be late to visit friends and family (who would be perfectly understanding) and was not suffering from an accident or sudden illness. I spent a few moments in meditation, holding this stranger and those human beings who lives were just shifted by being in relationship to a greater or lesser degree to this stranger. I contemplated how those 15 minutes of waiting may have been of extreme pain and fear.
One red and one yellow cherry tomato were ripe this morning. The first of the season in my garden. Just in time for the solstice.
It should come as no surprise that I ate them before I had a chance to take a photograph. And really, they were far tastier than it was possible to photograph.
After a day of teaching and more discussion and emails regarding the upheaval, I had a memory of petting one of the temple cows at Chidambaram. I was jetlagged and in sensory overload, and then I petted a most wonderful cow. I dropped into a space where I was perfectly at peace and unaware of the time and all the things going on around me. This space is always there for us, even in the absence of a sacred cow, and we practice so that we can find it more and more consistently, especially when we are being challenged.
I did not photograph the Chidambaram temple cow, although a nice Indian lady asked me if her husband could photograph the two of us with the cow, so she has a photograph of herself with the strange American lady in a sari who was petting the cow. I stopped to pet many cows after that. In one town, a man told me, as I was scritching a cow between ears and horns, that the cow would enjoy a banana.