An old Chinese woman in zebra-striped tights and pink Crocs was chatting with her friends in the second-loudest voice I heard today. They were having an absolute blast yakking and laughing. I wished I could join in. But I had no idea what they were talking about. I was feeling connected to them, to everyone, because I had just had a direct line to the Universe.
At the station, before we all got on the train, a guy with a small guitar that looked tiny against his enormous body was singing “It’s been a long time coming.” He wailed.
There was a time I would go to my brother, oh my
I asked my brother, "Will you help me please?" Oh my, oh my
He turned me down and then I ask my dear mother, oh
I said, "Mother"
I said, "Mother, I'm down on my knees"
His voice pierced me. Everyone stood on the platform like nothing was happening, like we weren’t literally in direct contact with the divine. His voice, my friends! His voice was like the sharp pick at the dentist scraping layers of tartar off my soul.
When he sang about being on his knees, begging for help from his brother and his mother, his mournful voice and notes hit a place in me I haven’t felt since the day my son was born and I heard his first cry. The tenor and tone of those first cries felt like they were punching holes in my soul.
The word awesome is used a lot, but the original definition included aspects of profound reverence and even hints of dread. It was confronting the naked face of creation and being spiritually obliterated by its sheer magnificence.
That sound and all it carried with it has echoed and resonated through my life like a scream in a haunted canyon. It was a transmission from the other side: Terrific and humbling. To hear a hint of it again in the Delancey Street station froze me in time and cracked my heart wide open to the connectivity of humanity.
When our souls call out to each other in a cry or a song, there’s something that supersedes meaning. Significance beyond words.
There’s a bible story in the book of Genesis about the creation of the world’s languages. People tried to build a tower tall enough to reach the heavens. God created the languages of the world to confound them and cripple the hubris of a humanity that was working together to challenge God. God struck the people with languages so they could no longer work together. (I may have the whole thing wrong, I’m no theologian.)
I propose that this reading of the story has it all wrong. I believe that when we share words with each other, we open a channel to more than what words convey. But in our daily struggle, we close ourselves off to this deeper expression as a practical matter. We can’t just stand frozen, as I was on the subway, contemplating the awesome nature of creation when there are dishes to be washed, diapers to change, food to cook, or work to be done. But what if we could? What if we should?
What if the Bible story about the Tower of Babel had it exactly wrong? What if all of our different voices add up to the divine?
If you like to tinker with ideas like this, I recommend “The Tower of Babylon” by Ted Chiang. The story is a fun and weird look at what it life might be like inside the tower, as if it had been built. Chiang is the greatest living sci-fi writer, in my opinion, and the words in his stories often add up to more than you expect.
When I stood in awe, watching the singer, I wanted to give him all my money. But I never carry cash anymore. My tiny wallet won’t even hold it. All I could offer was praise and thanks.
The F train rolled in and he stopped playing due to the racket. I told him his music was so beautiful it had me choked up.
“I’m crying too, my brother.”
His face was shining with a sheen of tears. The pain in his smile, a shot of joy on the rocks.
Fist bump. Board the train. Chinese ladies delighting in conversation whose words I’ll never understand, but whose meaning I felt. I stood, frozen, until I got to work.
Free Life Coach tip: Carry some cash. You can’t Venmo an angel.
Until next time, my friends, may you hear the divine in the voices around you.
I remain,
Your Free Life Coach,
Sean Sakamoto
Now you've got me all choked up. Great writing, Sean
Almost like being in church - be aware of the divine all around us.