March 07, 2006
California Train of Thought (or: Curtain Call)
motion and solitude are amphetamines for the mind. like empty window sills, pills or needles. the tessellating tweed patterns on the seat reminded me of infinity and once again i began questioning ideas that i can't answer and the subtle yet infinite difference between a straight line and a circle. I was reminded that energy never dies, only changes form. and sadness turns to joy, and sometimes back again. and the ocean tides and train rides and prokaryotic cell division and amtrak upholstery patterns and all things in this world that have no beginning or end.
like vascular systems and dry cleaner conveyors, trains go in both directions on their tracks like a pendulum swing that never stops. sometimes i don't notice that i am sitting in a seat facing backwards to the current direction of travel. sometimes i don't notice i am growing older and time is moving and neither of which are doing so in a direction i am always comfortable with.
trains have carried me across their lines like sutures stitched across the continent. like a pill sliding down a throat. like blood in veins. from harrisburg to elizabethtown, from toledo to rochester, from penn station to baltimore i have sat at empty window sills. i have sat alone and discovered infinity, both in my head and out the window where the sunshine turns to chlorophyll. where rain falls down from the sky on the dirt and runs downhill to the ocean. where a boy and girl hold hands and walk on the beach between san clemente and oceanside at low tide.
i leaned back and closed my eyes and saw chandeliers made from wagon wheels. carousels, train tracks and looking back but moving forward. always moving. but feeling the same. i reclined my seat and felt the sun set on my face. i felt light turn to heat, the western hemisphere fall dark. i felt the earth spinning, my heart contracting. i felt confusion. i felt alone. and then infinity.
i began to say good bye.
and i knew i would continue to do so for weeks to come. i felt bittersweet, like a kiss on the cheek on the corner of the street, when a simple goodbye would do. i felt myself falling back inside my skin. gathering myself and my thoughts like a goose gathering her goslings, like gathering and grasping an arm full of dirty laundry, like sweeping up dust in a dustpan, like packing up camp and moving on again.
then i realized i will be saying goodbye for months. and then i realized i will be saying goodbye for years. and then i realized i will always be saying goodbye. i have always been saying good bye. i felt the train tracks and remembered looking back but moving forward. always moving. but feeling the same. i thought about the friends i let down and family i am not around. i thought about girls i may never get to meet. and the ones i have but will never see again. and the ones i have met but will never be close to. there were dogs lying in the pantry their chests slowly expanding and collapsing. snow was falling. chimney smoke was rising. cells were dividing. yeast was rising. wine was fermenting. sandstorms were blowing. the sun was setting. and again, i was moving.
i felt myself growing older. i saw time move. neither were doing so in a direction i was completely comfortable with while sitting on the amtrak surfliner from san diego to ventura.
the air outside went dark and all i could see was my reflection in the florescent light bouncing back on the window . I pulled the curtains across the window. i didn't want see myself. my face seemed to be the only thing coming back to me. san diego was moving farther away. california was moving farther away. the sun was moving farther away. nothing seemed to be coming closer, or close enough, or fast enough. i was alone. and, as always, i was moving.
Also see: Past Trains of thought