Playatollah’s blog

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Happy Independence Day, from the cradle of it all, yo.

Think freely.

Be indepenent.

The dream was different today. The helix spun me back into the dream, but when I reached the spot in Weehawken where Hamilton was shot, there was no sign of the Lenapes or of Hamilton or of Burr, except for the stain of Hamilton's blood in the grass. I reached down and touched it with my finger. It was wet still, and painted my finger red. I was alone, though I thought I heard laughter faintly in the distance. Today I dreamed my life was turned upside down. Nothing seemed as it had the day before, all of my confidence had deserted me. The city looked so peaceful as the sun started to cast long shadows. I knew it was cold in the caverns of the city. But the peace of the city stood in stark contrast to the turbulence within me. I felt a sense of dread, but could not understand why. Yes, I do hear laughter, I thought. But where was it coming from? Behind me? Below me? Both? I couldn't be sure. The madness of the city was within me today. I had taken it through the tunnel and left the city in peace. The sunset was breathtakingly beautiful tonight. I couldn't reconcile the peace around me and the madness within me. It began to get colder. I heard more laughter, carried on the wind that now swept all around me. I became very cold and felt scared. I climbed back in my car and slowly eased my way onto the turnpike. I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep anymore and felt worried. I called my friend Warren in Berkeley. We had been playing phone tag for over a week. He answered and I immediately felt better. He told me that he had resigned from his job and would be leaving California for New Zealand with his wife and two daughters. I could not have been happier for him. He sounded at peace and excited for what was to come. After he hung up, my sense of unease returned. Was this still part of a dream? Or was I awake again? I thought about calling Warren back to see if we had really spoken. I thought better of it, and drove on home. I was happy for my friend, but worried for myself. I wanted to wake up.

After several days of fitful wakefulness and a day of work, I raced out of the city, eager to get home. And yet, as the helix spun me around, I looked again to my right at the city and saw the sun glinting off of a tower to the south of the Empire State Building and realized I was asleep. Was I dreaming again? Was this the same dream? I couldn't tell for sure, but once again I felt compelled to get off the first exit that comes as the helix unfurls, and drove myself into Weehawken. Up and to the right I went. I recognized that I had been here before this time and managed to steer clear of dead ends. Soon, I was once again standing where Burr shot Hamilton, watching the dying sunlight paint the river and clouds and tickle the windows of this building and that across the river. I dreamed a family of Lenapes was with me. Together we silently watched the mad city across the river and thought of the island of trees it once was. I took pictures, but they seemed not to notice or care. They smiled at me knowingly, but didn't speak. Hamilton lay in the grass bleeding, the shot from Burr's pistol still echoing through the evening above the distant hum of the traffic from the New Jersey Turnpike. Burr could be seen running off down the hill. The dream seemed stranger this time, darker. out of my control. I went back to my car, climbed in, and exchanged a last glance with the Lenapes. Hamilton's blood stained the grass red. I turned the key, started the engine, and sped off. I slotted myself into the mad "I just want to get the FUCK out of HERE traffic," turned on some music and wondered, was this still the same dream? Was it a dream at all?

I was coming around the helix once I emerged from the Lincoln Tunnel and I looked to my right, as I always do, even though it can be dangerous when the city looks beautiful because I have a hard time turning my eyes back to the curving road and the mad end-of-the-workday "I just want to get the FUCK out of HERE" traffic, and the sunset clouds were swirling and the city and the river and the clouds were all shimmering with light and colors. So I got off the first exit that comes just as the helix begins to unfurl, which is Weehawken. With that Native American name, and the city's beginnings it evokes, bouncing around my brain, I went looking for a place to watch the sunset paint the city and the river and the clouds. I promptly got lost in Weehawken, steering my car into one dead end and then another, but pointing it up and east each time, looking for the spot. I finally came around a curve and saw Hamilton park, with its majestic view over the Hudson of the city I love. I parked and got out of my car with my camera and watched the sunset wrap and unwrap the city in blues and silvers and golds. As I watched the sunset I wondered about the Lenapes of Weehawken, if they sat on this spot a mere five hundred years ago and watched the sun go down over the trees of the island across the river. I also wondered about Alexander Hamilton, and realized that this spot where I was standing, now named Hamilton Park, is so named because this was where Aaron Burr, in a duel, shot him with a pistol from ten paces early on the morning of July 11, 1804. Hamilton, mortally wounded that morning, was brought back across the river below by boat and died the next day back in Greenwich Village. As the sunset unwrapped the city and the river the clouds yet one more time, revealing yet other shades of blue and silver and gold, I realized how windy it was, how Spring, which had burst forth just the day before had decided to retreat, not yet ready to stake its claim, how cold my fingers were. I got back in my car and sped off, slotted myself back into the the mad end-of-the-workday "I just want to get the FUCK out of HERE" traffic put on some music and wondered some more about the Lenapes and Hamilton and Burr and the sun and river and clouds and the island of trees that is now a city of glass and steel and concrete and beauty and madness. And soon, as I drove myself down the New Jersey Turnpike, I wondered: had it all been a dream? I think it was a dream.

Yesterday I had a terrible day.

I had awoken at 4AM in Halifax, Nova Scotia (which was 3AM, New York time) and taken an early flight from Halifax to Newark and gone directly to the office from the airport. I was operating on just a few hours of fitful sleep and I had a cold that had been getting progressively worse as the week had worn on. I was just finishing my fifth week in my new job and, for a variety of reasons, things could be better. I did not have a good day at work and a lot of things that have been frustrating me seemed to be getting worse, not better, despite my efforts to turn things in the other direction. As the day wore on, my cold worsened, the lack of sleep began to take its toll, and I began to feel overwhelmed and became irritable and upset.

I felt like death, needed to sleep, and decided that there was no way I could lug my bags home on the train; so  I arranged for a car service to pick me up at the office and take me home. I was finally able to leave by 5:30PM and once I got in the car I laid down in the back seat and immediately fell asleep for a while, but my thoughts were dominated by work. I was feeling used up and down on myself.

I woke up about 30 minutes from my house and began talking with Thomas, my driver.

Thomas is from Georgia (the country) and lives in an apartment in Brooklyn with a view of the Verrazzano Bridge. I live near Princeton, and as we neared the Princeton area, Thomas told me he had once driven a man home to Princeton who lived in a mansion. We began talking about money and what a person needs to be happy. Thomas told me that he is a happy man. He is certainly a wise man. We talked of just needing bread and shelter and love to be happy. He talked of the importance of God to him. He told me about his son, who lives with him in Brooklyn, but who cannot find meaningful work because he lacks the proper papers to get a job here despite having the skills. He told me he feels badly for his son, whose situation has made him bitter and depressed.

As I reflect back on our conversation now, a day later, the words he spoke to me remind me of the lyrics to what is surely one of my favorite songs, "Within You. Without You." In particular, I thought of these lines:

We were talking about the love that's gone so cold
And the people who gain the world and lose their soul
They don't know, they can't see, are you one of them?

By the time we pulled into my driveway, I felt that Thomas had reminded me of what is truly important; he had reminded me of how lucky I am. I realized that I was feeling down and troubled about things that are unimportant in the scheme of things. By the time I got out of his car, I felt lucky and happy and couldn't wait to walk though my door and kiss the woman I love and pet my cats and lay in my bed in my wonderful house. Thomas had grounded me and helped me regain my soul.  I felt at peace again.

You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need. Thomas reminded me that I am at peace with myself and that I get way more than I need every single day. Yesterday I needed Thomas, and I got him, and I am grateful for that.

Thank you, Thomas.

_______________________

Here are the full lyrics to 'Within You, Without You," by the great George Harrison, which never get old:

So we had Chinese food the other night.  Nothing great, just a few dishes from a local place I picked up on the way home from the train station.

One of the fortune cookies had this to say: 

"You love Chinese food."

Hmmmm.