Last Ride on BART

Even though I am still in my home country, everything suddenly seems fresh and new. Every moment here is a moment to appreciate, every breath is a breath to take care of , to cherish. My seat on BART is well-worn, with a subtle and thick fragrance. I don't know anybody aboard--I haven't met them--but I smile at their prescence, and pause to wonder what their worries are.

I don't try to listen with my ears; the heart knows better. The heart knows my mistakes and their mistakes, and it forgives. The heart does not say much, so I listen to its listening. When I pay attention to the heart, the thoughts of the mind don't matter so much. I laugh at myself for the silly things I worry about.

I enjoy feeling my two feet on the floor--to touch the Earth, even on a moving train, fills me with peace. And I ask myself, "Am listening? Am I listening? Am I listening?" And I ask myself again, "Who's listening?"

Who, indeed, is listening? Who is it that is sitting on this train? I have no idea who I am, how I got here or where I'm going or who this "I" is. And that's okay, for the most part. To not know such things confuses me, amazes me and fills me with wonder. To not know turns me inside-out, but it also opens me, frees me. And in a moment of stillness, where sound and listener and listening merge as one, it's okay. It's really quite okay not to know who I am or where I came from. It's really quite okay just to sit here on this BART train and let wonder open into wonder.