Slow Train Coming...

It's been a pretty rough trek back down on the train.

It's slow and slothful, not all that comfortable, humans packed in like sardines...

sneezing...

coughing and puking and what have you...

evidence of the strange stains of humanoid contact (every touch, every act & impulse leaves a trace...

not always subtle) 

...screaming babies,

(I don't blame them for screaming- really I don't. 

This economy mode of travel makes a lot of adults cry as well.) 

There was leaking colostomy bags, wheelchairs that wouldn't reverse...

a dining car menu seemingly tailored for the discerning rodent,

the alluring bouquet of sweaty socks (mainly my own)

not to mention a variety of other petty human bullshit.

Not one, but TWO passengers had to be let off the train, both showering people with a very special variety of Canadian insanity. 

It was like 'Fantasia' for assholes.  


& if you are not careful...you can be tempted to be drawn into thinking of it as a punishment, rather than a gift.


But on the plus side...

I was able to while away the long rocky night by enjoying a sing-along in the troubadour carriage. 

Beers flowed, tongues loosened, other fellow Aussies began showing up (& for the betterment of humanity, too!)

& one begins to remember why we travel like this. 

It's the pulling together.

This was no train to Auschwitz...but we were aware of the various challenges (as were the staff, who faced their own challenges.)

& we found old-fashioned ways to make the most of things. 

We turned it into a game. 

Music Hall. 

Good old fashioned home grown entertainment like in wartime.

Rousing songs, knees up,

bonding.

& when it came time...

for unconsciousness...

I put hot wax in my ears to block out the noises of the night- traumatised toddlers testing their tonsils-

& somehow passed out. 

The babies screams still intruded into my dreams like jealous storm-troopers...

stage crashers at a concert, no one wants...

& I could see the poor little buggers wailing...

because they were skewered on pitchforks in mediaevil England- exposed as demon babies...

& I awoke in a cold sweat. 


I got up to ask the conductor if the herd had thinned any so I could find an unoccupied seat, to get away from the din. 

The conductor smiled. 

(it would seem...while I had been attempting my strange dance with M/Orpheus...

the bush telegraph had spread from one end of the train to the other that I was an 'animal rescuer'. 

(I merely showed some of the local folk what a koala looked like- & it happened to be the one I moved off the highway which I keep on my camera in case I get homesick.)

The conductor 'demanded' to see my koala rescue footage;

I thought she was going to split open a tear duct on me.

She took me to a first class cabin to gather myself with a cup of coffee after having my nerves jangled by the duelling babies. 

It was quiet.

Still. 

Peaceful. 

A rare moment of true beauty.

She didn't have to do that- I certainly wouldn't ask for it- but the point is...

sometimes good things stop by to pump your tyres up at just the right time.

That bit at the end when you have had enough...

but have the good grace to keep on going a little further...

just in case things accidentally get better.

& they did.


It's a state of mind.

That's all it is.

I have no money at the moment, as my credit card doesn't work,

and the bank doesn't open back in Australia for another 5 hours.  

I'm hungry...& I get to figure out how/what to eat with nothing. 


I get to be a homeless guy for the night.


But at least eventually, I will get to go home.


I might not like it...

But it's there for me anyway, regardless.


I'm not sure what I'm going to do...

but I'll work something out.


You see...somehow?

I always do!


The songs on the bus, the free coffee, the kind conductor...

Gratitude for the small things.

It's alchemy. 


I live in the shadow of that vague recollection of the organic process of magic that used to be between people.

now it's technology...and vague sketches of souls. 

but we keep a little of the original good stuff alive here...

Just enough to keep us going,,,

give us hope. 

& those moments when we connect well...

make it all worthwhile.


Life is a walking poem. 

So are the people. 

Some good, some bad...


It's all still poetry. 


The miracle??

Those rare moments we can actually hear the poetry. 


Gratitude. 

As I said to someone the other night...

'I'm an unheard verse in a fucking motel room right now without other people to tell these stories to.

without YOU.'


I said further...'YOU made yourself ready to listen.

a gift for me. 

this is really the only miracle I'm aware of. 

we heard each other...tonight...for ten minutes. in a cold dark universe?

it might as well be an eternity. 


I don't really know what the hell else I could ask for.

truthfully.

to ask for anything more...

to fail to show gratitude for the little miracles...makes us all assholes and cunts. 

many of us forget to be thankful for the little moments of beauty.

Me especially.

we can remember it...if we want. 


wholesale even...if we want that.



This is the train...

The slow train to


HAPPINESS!!!