hide You are viewing an archived web page, collected at the request of New York University using Archive-It. This page was captured on 23:19:00 May 30, 2017, and is part of the Fales Library: Linda Montano collection. The information on this web page may be out of date. See All versions of this archived page. Loading media information

Wednesday, February 4, 2015



On the day that I went to NYC to meet people at the MET for an art "performance," things had already gotten off to a very bad start with traffic pile ups, Black Ice and a hellish 290 minute (usually 150 ) incarceration on a Trailways Bus, gingerly coming from upstate NY on slick, 3 mile an hour roads. So by the time I got to the Port Of Authority, I was fried big time and tempted to get back on a returning bus and go immediately to the war zone again like a vet thirsting for more!  A new life-persona, Crazy Lady was born right then and there, that is, I found myself walking in circles and talking to anyone who would listen. Not talk, but blabber into the air, but in NYC this is permissible and accepted but reportable to family in the small village that I come from. My need  found a responder and there she was, an African American woman-shamaness wearing  a Trailways badge and magnetizing so much warmth and understanding that I was able to crazy-lady spill my story to her and jabbered that ," I just got off a bus and it was a dangerous ride from upstate and there were cars all over the road and many accidents and pile ups and I don't know what to do and the bus driver said there would be so many kids in the terminal going back to school and that we should get on early buses to get back upstate and I don't know if I should do what I planned to do in the city  and, and and..." And somehow, my one sentence cry for help  stopped when her originally from the islands soft, kind  voice re-directed my distress and counseled, "Go do what you have to do today in the City and when you come back, I will be here."  Oh Ma, Ma, Ma.....I looked for you 3 hours later.
The rain was spring-like, certainly an anomaly for January. It poured buckets and event though I had Googled weather in NYC, and saw that it was raining, I had forgotten to pack an umbrella. No problema! I  had just met Miracle Ma  in the terminal who had comforted/mentored me out of cares, worries and near-death mental scenarios, and  I was on a winning streak.  My good inner voice said, "You will find an umbrella soon. Look in a garbage can." And within seconds of the positive affirmation/belief,  there it was;  red, discarded, thrown out, trashed, right on top of the pile of NYC detritus and probably not far away from dog doo or sputum but there it was, my red miracle umbrella! Obviously (she) was there because she was hard to open, hard to close, hard to maneuver with inside the bus since she really didn't want to be inside. If it is possible to anthropomorphize an umbrella and call it a friend then friend she became. I read once that in Tibet that objects were often viewed as reincarnated lamas.

No comments:

Post a Comment