Ghetto Meditation: Or the time I found clarity on a city bus

I am a bus rider. I did not learn to drive until I was in my 30’s and then only because my father died and left a car. My older sister, sick of shuttling me about when I needed to go further than down the street, shoved the keys at me and said- “here-you need to learn to drive.” So I did. But I missed the hum of collective chatter that a crowded bus creates.

The first time I realized the meditational powers of this HUM, was in the 70’s I was living in Chicago then and the Dan Ryan El train, which is the same thing as four or five city busses all connected together, was brand new.

I was on my way to work one morning, I got on at 95th street, when at about 63th street, a fairly rough gang side of town, a little boy of about 10 years old, and that should have been in school got on and sat down next to me. He was pretty dirty. Did not look as though he had a dime. And I did not mean to stare, (and probably judge) but something was moving under his dingy t-shirt. Soon enough a little puppy stuck his head out. Shortly after the puppy blew his cover the little boy got off. Looking around like a secret agent for the beginning of trouble, that was sure to find him before the day was over.

The train door closed behind him, and a poem rose up in me. But I was not prepared. I struggled through my purse for a pen, and was grateful to also find a little notepad — I tried to write, but the conversations were everywhere. I started writing anyway, trying to find the words to express, this child’s life, out in the mean streets of Chicago, this early in the morning, by himself with nothing to love , or love him back, but this puppy. And then a strange thing happened. The conversations seem to reach a kind of blurry feverish pitch. No cell phones back then. These were people actually talking to each other. And by the time you get downtown Chicago, it could be standing room only. I seemed to be thinking ABOVE the blur of voices. It was almost visible. Like a layer of ice in a skating rink. I felt like I could have slid across it , and it would not break. It was then and still is an amazing in control kind of feeling.

I was not into meditation then. But I know now that is what it is. The hum produces the same effect that one gets when one lets their mind ride a gong all the way until the sound disappears and you come back into FOCUS.

To this day, I still get on the bus and ride and write. I have gotten so good at it that I can pick out one conversation, if something. (or someone) peaks my attention.

If I had to tell you what this ability is scientifically I could not. I just know that when the walls in the house move in to close, I can escape to the bus for my #outsidework. But I have found that I can also run water in a sink and rise above the sound onto another vibration and find a clarity that is unbelievable.

Noise is so much more than just noise. Silence is anything but silent.

I live in a little suburb now. City noise and suburban noise are vastly different. There is very little talk on some suburban buses. And the effort to find a consistent sound to vibe on is harder. But you can drop down below the silence and find a great reading space.

City or suburban, it is not a practice for the terrified.

In the winter, when enough snows on the ground, I have sat half out the car door and waited for the mini rush of cars to pass for the pure silence that follows. You can’t rise above this kind of silence, it surrounds you. I don’t try to write in this kind of space, I just explore the peacefulness of it. Unfortunately, it does not last long, in city or suburb.