Apparently I have been too busy to surf, blog or post because I've felt the pull but haven't got to it. So today's post is a brain download. I haven't anywhere to send you other than into the reaches of my own experience.



Last week I was walking back to the apartment and noticed a man with a cane stumbling, or more accurately poking his way into the street on 28th between Lexington and Park.

I walked up and asked if I could help. I noticed he was wearing the bright ikats of Africa both on his head and in his dress. His eyes were thick and white. When he said yes, he was going to the downtown train, I took his arm and started walking him there.

I asked his name and he said Richard, I told him mine and he laughed a bit, "Richard and Riva", he said. The time passed so quickly, too quickly for me. Richard was walking fast, his cane moving rapidly right and left, and he was leading me more than I him. He drifted right and I brushed along side the buildings. I let him know outloud when we came to the corner and he had to step down. I struggled with the word for "island" to describe the step up and down in the middle of the street we needed to take. My mind was totally engaged in trying to negotiate what I saw and translate for him in a language he might understand. I knew from the class I'd taken with blind students for my black belt test that the best way to communiate to the blind is simply to speak. They can't see if you show. My instinct is to show in touch, but words are good guideposts and I reached for them in ways that one isn't accustomed to on a daily basis. By the time I'd gotten him down the stairs and into the turnstile of the Downtown 6 I was exhausted with effort, and even as I turned to go, asking "are you alright now?" and hearing him shout a jubilant "yes, thank you!" I wished there were a way to prolong the meeting.

While we were walking he told me he was a musician, and played the flute. I had just recently started learning to play a Native American flute I'd purchased almost 15 years ago. A flute that has begun to teach me my soul songs and connect me with an inner self that has always been with me, though not always so close to the surface, not always so accessible. Walking home I wondered if Richard might have been a teacher sent me and I'd missed the opportunity to ask that vital question.

He'd asked me if I knew a good Indian place to eat, there in little India, but I admitted we didn't really eat Indian food that much. Funny I wondered since Larry is a vegetarian, and these inexpensive Indian restaurants surround us.

Richard said he lived on the upper west side and someone had told him he could get good spices at Curry in a Hurry. Which is really a restaurant not a spice shop, but I imagined someone must have guided him next door to the appropriate place. I worried how he would arrive at his next stop at the train, but knew in my heart that either someone else would offer their hand, or Richard would find his way, quickly exploring with his cane, unafraid to bump into walls or trees, or step down into the gutter of life.

In ancient journey folklore, born of the act of pilgrimage, it is customary to travel with gifts. The first person one meets when setting out is a sacred touchstone with an important message. I wondered what Richard might have shown me had we had a few moments more.