Day 4: Road to India - Bronx, NY, USA to London, UK

November 16, 2009

I woke about 8:00 and putts around a bit before I got serious about closing my backpack. I was in consolidation mode with my toiletries and condiments. I really must wean myself off the sugar substitutes and the powered creamer. I was going to bring the small jar of Metamucil, but it held me up at security at the Long Beach Airport so better make it smooth sailing, which is what it for anyway. Ironic….

I was on yet another skype calls with mum and Yvonne as I zipped my bag closed with some strenuous effort. It’ll all flatten out soon and the teeth of the zipper will go from a tight smile to a casual frown.

I looked at the clock with un-made-up-eyes and panic set in. I putts alright! I had to be out of the flat in 20 minutes. Okay, here comes the all-natural Tracy out in the world. Man, I remember a day when the thought of going out in public without make-up would mortify me. Not these day. I love showing up just as God intended me to at this age. I mean after all wouldn’t a tube of mascara be there at the cutting of the umbilical cord if our creator didn’t do the job well enough? I spent over two decades coloring my hair only to choose a journey that doesn’t support carrying a bottle of Clairol around with me to discover that my Creator did a ‘bang up job’ (I’m in England as I write this ;-). Now, people stop me on streets, buses, trains and planes to ask me for the name of my hairdresser, my response, “GOD, she’s very talented isn’t she?”

I gifted my special hostess with “The Laws of Spirit”, an amazing book by Dan Millman and a starfish on a silver chain. These items were mine but I realize now that some of what I brought with me was always intended for others. I felt the vibration of that necklace and book shift to another frequency that was no longer the one I was vibrating on.

Carrie helped me to the train station to be sure I was going the right way. Good thing too, as I headed for the ‘Uptown’ platform. Carrie yelled from outside the black heavy gates of the subway “No, go Downtown!” I will get off at 125th Street station in Harlem where I need to catch the M60 to LaGuardia.

I came out of the subway and thought ‘Now what?” and saw other luggage-toting folks and turned to follow them. Sure enough, they led me to the M60, which was at the bus stop. I ‘dipped’ my pass in the slot and it popped up signaling that it was okay to board. I spied an open seat right at the front across from Camika. She is dressed in many bright colors, with 6 inch-round transparent plastic rainbow loop earrings I’ve ever seen. She conceals some of her colors with a black and white tweed coat and black suede slouch boots. She’s voluptuous with a friendly and welcoming smile. I begin to chat her up and learn that she’s off the Columbus, Ohio only until February, because as she says, “it’s hard to go from fast to slow” so she has every intention to return to New York City.

We exchange emails and promise to become friends on Facebook. We approached the airport, which I’m completely unfamiliar with, since I always used JFK. Yet, I remind myself that God is always guiding, directing and protecting me! I’m walking through this journey with a peaceful presence that speaks to me in the stillness. As Camika and I almost step off too early I hear that presence speak to me through another. I thought that there were wise people and they speak with wisdom and there are not so wise people who speak nonsense; and I’ve listened to both. I never realized until now that God speaks to me through everyone and not every message has to be ‘wise’ or ‘profound’. Now I realize I needed that wisdom of that lovely man that said, “This isn’t your stop! Wait and I’ll tell you when it’s time to get off.” I intuitively knew that was God. Gandhi says, if you don’t see God in the next person, do not take another step.” Me, I keep walking. Man, does God look and sound great!

I take a short flight in a very small plane to Dulles and get a bite to eat in the food court before proceeding to security. Matt and Jeff are at the next table taking about all things male and mid-20ish. Jeff is in the Air Force after examining his life purpose (so profound for his age), which had him in the Baltic’s helping people rebuild their communities and lives. He really ‘got himself’ while servicing others and now his friend, Matt, from Queens, is inspired to be an officer and not so much to follow his friend’s footsteps but to set his own.

They joined me at my four-top table and sat for about half an hour and we talked about the possibilities of leading an epic life. All though out communing Jeff called me “Ma’am” and each time I heard it I thought about how I probably look the age of their mothers and yet I just don’t feel like a ‘ma’am’, I’m not even sure I know how to ‘feel’ like a ‘ma’am’. They said their good-bye’s and I called Yvonne and mom to tell them I’d skype them in the Dulles Airport. As Jeff shook my hand he said, “Ma’am, you sure do inspire me!” Funny, because he really moved me and gave me the opportunity to look at what I’m doing in the big way as he sees it!

I read “Soul Identity” on my Kindle and before I knew we were down. I exited the small plane and walked around those who collected their carry-on luggage at the bottom of the stairs. Even the smallest carry-ons were to big to fit in the overhead compartments. I surveyed my surrounds from where I stood. Peeped out a monitor and noted my gate. I had to take an shuttle, which looked more like was a prop leftover from one of the Star Wars movies. It was a box-like train car without a protruding driver’s area you see on most people movers, and moved with robotic jerks. I mentioned it to the lady next to me and she laughed out loud as she thought about it, never being able to place what they truly resembled until now.

I knew that I was now in the larger part of the airport. Hundreds of people walking so fast you think someone yelled ‘fire’. “Really people, slow down for your heart’s sake.” I thought.

I used the facilities and looked for an outlet to top off the charge of my laptop. I wasn’t the only one. I was having difficulty getting online and asked the people around me if the airport had free Wifi. Mostly they chuckled and turned away, except for Mesha, (spelled phonetically) who said, “Here, use my laptop.” There was God again!! I asked if he had skpye, he did, brought it up, I signed on and was talking to mum and Yvonne again. We chatted until Mesha had to board his flight that left earlier than main. He was on his way home to Seattle ( I think). He was in some amazing warm place with his girlfriend, which he was able to go because he telecommutes from home, which he can do wherever ‘home’ might be as long as there’s Internet access. I really must keep my pen and pad handy at all times. I will ask him where he visited when we connect on Facebook sometime soon.

They called my flight and as I stood in line to hear the call my boarding group I got a ‘message’ to use the restroom one more time so that when I get settled in my seat and the Melatonin begins to take effect, I can go right to sleep. That wasn’t the ‘plan’ at all. I was in the middle of the center row of seat in the back of the plane and when I got to my row there was a lovely Buddha-round Indian woman in a ivory Sari with only a black fleece hoddie to keep her warm when she lands on the cool and windy side of the pond. She was on her cell, which I’m sure every passenger that had board thus far was aware of. She was speaking with such passion in a language that I’ll soon get accustomed to hearing on a regular basis. I didn’t learn any Hindi before leaving, yet I’m hoping the children that I help to know English will help me speak their language. I stood for some time motioning that I needed to get in, but she just continued her call. There was great fear in her voice an emotion that needs no translation. After a few minute a male flight attendant approached me with an impatient, “what’s the hold up” expression. Finally she ended ‘this’ call to allow me to climb in to my seat. She had put her two pillows and blanket in my seat, for safe-keeping I guess, so when I lost my footing and fell into my seat I had a lovely soft landing.

The plane began to fill up and I knew that we were about loaded and would take off soon. I missed the traditional last “I love you and will call when I land.” phone call to a loved one before the plane doors close. When the doors close it also indicates the “no more cell phone use” status that few heed. So I had my seatmate to the left, who will be to my right? Just then an Indian mother and her 20-something daughter climbed into the seats to my right. This young woman would become my next ‘best friend’ which his what my great niece, Ava, says whenever she meets a new friend. Ava has a world full of potential best friends. I’ve come to adopt that mindset. I love that I borrowed it from her.

Mooshi, is 25 and has been studying to be a doctor like her father that immigrated from India to Tennessee, but he no longer practices “due to his age when he immigrated”. Mooshi and her mother speak Hindi as well as the dialect from her region (or state) in India. Mooshi also speaks some Spanish. She’s lovely and so very vibrant. Her mother is obviously devoted to her and desires to protect her and reveres her as she listens carefully as Mooshi speaks fluent English with such ease. Mooshi was born and raised to about 13 years old in India and then they came to the states. Why Tennessee, I didn’t think to ask at the time because we were busy talking about pop culture, traveling (US and in India), boys and men (she’ll marry an Indian because she says, “she loves and is loyal to her culture”). She smiles and pushes her long black hair away from her face.

My seatmate on the left is solo and is terrified of flying. She’s on the phone with her daughter again and as soon as she sees another Indian she gives her a quick bio and hands her cell phone to Mooshi’s mother. She has a quite extensive conversation with sad Buddha-lady’s daughter and hands her back the phone, without terminating the call. These loud conversations go on for a few minutes as all the passengers get situated and buckled in. Each time this freighted woman dramatically adds to her story and in doing so she leans across my seat as if I’m not even in it. I say a quick prayer that God will calm her heart and mind for the journey and like the tiger who jumps through the ring of fire, will realize that she’ll come down safely on the other side. After the third-or-so talk with the woman’s daughter Mooshi’s mom is starting to get a bit impatient. Yet, I’m learning that Indian patience go way beyond the patience of the average Westerner, which since I’m one and will go easy on my fellow Americans, but truly they would have told the woman to “get over herself and chill so they could enjoy the flight.” So the line up is this, Buddha lady on my left, Mooshi’s mom on my right and Mooshi on the right of her mother. So we’ve got two sets of women caring on conversations over other women, and somehow we’re making it work. Finally, Mooshi and her mother change places “so that Mooshi and I can talk and her mom can sleep.” My frightened seatmate is now further away from her touchstone.

Mooshi and I begin planning our flying time entertainment schedule, which movies we’ve seen which ones we hope will be available, have dinner, a potty break and off to sleep. I love schedules these days, because I only make them to break them. I glance at my seatmate as I settle down to watch the first season’s episode of “Flashforward” on my iPod, because there were no movies on that I hadn’t seen or wish to see again. I look over and gently lean forward to confirm that I was seeing tears running down Buddha lady’s cheek. She fidgets and leans into the aisle as one would lean out into the road when waiting for a bus to come. I assume that she’s waiting for the dinner service, which might take her attention off her dilemma, but as the cart makes her way she tells Mooshi that she is fasting today. When the male flight attendant assigned to our area comes by with dinner cart filled with trays and the plastic and foil containers disguised as dishes half full with just enough to make you want to ask for more, I happy to be of service to her and tell him she’s not eating.

I’m thinking, “Great if she’s fasting I’ll take hers and mine, which might make a whole meal." I’m hungry but seconds later I think that eating too much would interrupt my sleep. Now I wished I had taken hers too, because I was wide awake the whole flight. “Pasta or chicken” the flight attendant asked. I took chicken and Mooshi choose pasta. Taking one look at her pasta I thought I choose wrong. Still guided and directed, the chicken was amazingly tasty. I polished of the salad, diced chicken in red peppers and stashed my packaged chocolate brownie into the seat pocket in front of me for later.

Buddha lady watched us all eat which a drooling expression. Her devotion to God is stronger than her desire to eat. They picked up the trays and begin to put the cabin to bed. I saw Buddha-lady peer into the screen of my iPod, and I turned it in her direction to help her see the screen. She looked away. I pointed to the TV screen in the seatback in front of her, pulled her headphones out of her seat pocket and hand-motioned that I would help her find something to watch. She waved me off with a half-nameste’ bow. “Okay” I thought, leave her alone and let her be with her fears. This is her journey just as yours is yours.