Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Cursor BY Evince.4t.com
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She can't be much older than me. She sits on dirty subway tiles, an upturned cup in her hands and a hungry toddler clinging to her sleeve. The young woman looks tired and wan and cold. Nobody pays her any attention. Hurried bodies rush past her, carried by a tidal wave of people too wrapped up in their own lives to pay any attention to one of the fallen.

Wait, I've skipped a chunk in my tale. Let me backtrack:

I'm nineteen-years old now, and free. Free as a bird [Beatles]. To be more specific, I'm walking the streets of Paris in the evening, watching as the nightline lights up, the crepes-makers pack away their carts, tired business people filter out of the metro. Even the subway is different here. In America, I could make a new best friend just while touching up my make-up in a public bathroom, because America's a land of garrulous people. Here, people whisper even into their cell phones. After a while, I find myself whispering, too.

It's my first time away from home in another country, and I couldn't feel freer.

What's even funnier: for the first time in my nineteen years of life, I feel like I'm truly at home. My second day in Paris, a gaggle of French girls had stopped me in the metro. Excuse us, but we're lost. How do you get here? They imploringly hold out a map.

Take Line 3 to the Place de la Concorde. You can't miss it.

Hey, thanks.

Everyone takes me for a citizen, so I just grin and allow myself to get swallowed up. These cobblestone streets and gently rounded buildings are home. I can't explain it. It's like I've been here before. It's as if the entire city and it's population has welcomed me, embraced me like a long-lost relative.

And then there are the people who aren't so lucky.

As I'm walking home this evening, I get jostled through one of the multiple tunnels in the subway's labyrinth and pass a familiar sight: another homeless person begging. The woman and her young daughter sit quietly. I suppose lack of food makes movement a little difficult. As a vegan, I've grown used to irregular feeding times in a culture that worships cheese and meat, used to the empty feeling in my stomach. But I have pocket money to buy bread, roasted chestnuts from street vendors, falafal from Jewish eateries, rice and vegetables and pasta and fruit and beans from the market. Still, vegetarian-foraging isn't as plentiful as in the States, and for the first time in my life, I understand hunger a little.

The mind is a very dangerous thing. The soul will cry out at suffering, because the soul understands all. All souls understand each other and are horrified at another's pain. The mind hates living in the present, is too analytic and wants reasoning.

Before my mind can persaude me otherwise, I stop at a newspaper and croissant vendor and buy two pains au chocolat, thick chocolate creme wrapped in crisp buttery dough. I backtrack down the corridor against the tide of human bodies and wordlessly hand the wrapped croissants to the little girl and drop my remaining change - about five Euros - into the woman's cup. I say nothing. Nothing needs to be said.

The woman looks up at me and smiles. "Dit 'merci' a la belle fille, chou," she says to the little girl.

"M'ci," says the child, and hides behind her momma's skirt.

I just smile and give a little salute with fingers, feeling a little embarrassed. I don't want thanks. I'm not doing this for positive attention. I see someone with a need to be filled, so I did it. If only everyone else could do the same.

It's a year later, and I'm reclined against a wiry old tree on my New Jersey campus, my hands dusty with charcoal and ink as I draw, my bare toes biting into soft earth. The sunlight is warm and could rock me to sleep ... and then I notice the boy walking down the path. He's also barefoot, but it's the sign that grabs my attention: Free energy healing.

I bolt upright as if someone's jammed a hot poker into my spine. My mother's done energy therapy ever since I can remember, taught me how to meditate by the time I was ten-years old. By the time I was thirteen, I was discussing religion and God with people four times my age. I'd never seen another kid vaguely interested in anything like this. I'm fascinated. I suppose it's how Superman would've felt if he suddenly saw another survivor from Krypton show up in the Daily Planet one day looking for a job.

I've never seen this kid before, would certainly remember him if I had. He's tall, lithe, with tight blond dreads and worn cut-off jeans. I had a friend in high school with blond dreds, but these are shorter and a lighter, butter yellow. For some reason, I think back to my brief adventure in the French metro, giving to a poor family, and then back to this young man, giving to complete strangers.

A girl stops him, so he quietly lays his hands on her shoulders, and after a few minutes she starts rotating her arm, looking pleased. He smiles wordlessly, nods his head, and continues on. I say nothing, merely quietly observe.

Weeks later, I think of the blond stranger and mention him to a friend living in New York. Oh, him! she says. I know that kid. I've seen him at SVA. That's the School of Visual Arts ... in Manhattan. Yeah, he travels all over. I dunno his name. He ran away from home, I think, and crashed on peoples' couches for a year or two. He still walks around offering people healing services.

Even strangers?

Honestly, dude, I don't think he differentiates between friends and strangers. They're all the same to him.

Amazing how you can feel a kinship with someone you've never formally met. And for no reason at all, while lying in bed last night, I stare at the ceiling, past the Led Zeppelin poster, and remember all these things I've just told you. And I wonder how the hell I can find this guy again - this kindred spirit.

If it's meant to be, I suppose. The Universe moves in mysterious ways.



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I am Nicholas D. Wolfwood, travelling priest.

I take my trade on the road to raise money for the orphanage I

support. I also happen to be an excellent shot.

Which Trigun character are you?
Find out!
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Monday, June 21, 2004

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theOtaku.com: The Anime Friendship Quiz
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Am I cool or uncool? [CLICK] You are Super-Cool! Woah! Step back - the future's so bright for you it's blinding me! You are the coolest of the cool. Everyone looks up to you as the benchmark for being coooool. The fonze was your grandfather. Any cooler and you'd freeze! WOO it's chilly in here. Cool quizzes at Go-Quiz.com

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"ACHTUNG!

? may actually be a spider-human hybrid

Username:

From Go-Quiz.com

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Name / Username:

Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com

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It"s the oppesed

You in Saiyuki by Maris-chan
Your name
Your date of birth
Way of transportation	Jeep
Weapon	Explosives
Best friend
Lover
Created with the ORIGINAL MemeGen!

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