I was riding the subway back to Brooklyn early this evening, immersed in my book, when a guy got on the train and immediately started ranting. He smelled bad, a mixture of stale alcohol and rancid clothes. He walked with difficulty, partly due to the alcohol, and he also seemed slightly disabled. As he commenced his rant, I assumed that a plea for money was coming, as is usually the case in these situations, but he never asked for it, nor did he have a cup in which compassionate subway riders could place their change. No, this guy was all about the rant. And here it is, to the best of my recollection:
(Imagine, if you will, an angry, thick Brooklyn accent, an improbable lisp, and some alcohol-induced slurring of consonants).
G'ahead! G'ahead! (screaming)
Call me whaddever you want.
I know what you think of me.
I'm a BUM!
That's right, I'm a bum!
So shoot me!
Throw your garbage at me!
Okay, he's got my attention.
Laugh at me if you want, I don't care.
Call me whaddever you want, I don't care.
I know what I am.
People throw garbage at me all the time.
G'ahead! Do it!
I put down my book. I look at him.
Everyone calls me a bum.
I don't care.
You know why I don't care?
I'll tell you why.
It's cause I know what I am.
Do you know who I am?
I didn't.
I'll tell you who I am.
I'm God.
Leaking of eyes. Quivering of chin.
Yup, that's right, everybody.
I...AM...GOD. (still screaming)
Tear duct overflow....damn.
You don't believe me?
Well, that's your problem.
That's your biggest fucking problem.
All of you.
You don't know that I'm God.
And you know what?
You're God too, and you don't even know it.
What a bunch of assholes.
Severe eye leakage. Mascara impaired. Incoming Kleenex.
If you knew who you really are, your head would fucking explode!
You'd be so full of love you wouldn't know what to do with it!
Well let me tell you something, assholes.
You are God, and you are love.
You're no better or worse than I am.
So g'ahead! G'ahead!
Shoot your garbage at me!
Shoot your garbage at God!
There was more, but I was too busy tending to my southbound snot and mascara to remember the rest. Wow - talk about a Power Point Presentation! This guy was good. You just never know where those dang Advaitans are gonna turn up. Thanks, man.
Above: Not my subway car, but it coulda been. This was the kind of reception this guy got, except from me, of course. If he'd been selling books on motivational speaking, I'd have bought one.
Wow - the Full Monty: Bare Naked Truth under the streets of New York! OM ~~~~~~~~ :)
ReplyDeleteGreat post Meg and an amazing subway experience. This is why I'm going to miss NYC. One would never have this encounter in LA.
ReplyDeleteI had to look up "Advatian" of course, here's the most useful definition I found:
How many Advaitans does it take to change a light bulb?
71.
Ten Advaitans to say that it is the GRASPING of the lightbulb that has burnt it out, and if it only stops clinging, it will be shining again.
Ten Advaitans to say No, it is the attachment to the LIGHT of the old bulb that has burnt out the old bulb.
Ten Advaitans to say No, it is HOLDING ON to the possibility of a NEW bulb that breaks the old.
Ten Advaitans to say, No, it is the CLINGING to the WRAPPER that the NEW light-bulb comes in that causes the darkness.
Ten Advaitans to say, No, just let go, just BE STILL. Never mind the lightbulb, there is neither light nor darkness.
Ten Advaitans to say, No, No, No, No, that the burnt-out lightbulb is ALREADY supremely AWAKE and SHINES AS IT IS.
Ten Advaitans to say why the guy who is changing the lightbulb right now won't be a success in his approach, and to each prescribe the ULTIMATE final non-doing or the not-even-thinking-of-not-doing of the wrist... the final RELEASE which...
One Advaitan to change the lightbulb.
When he had it done, the other 70 Advaitans were all glad that there was light in the room again. It had been months since the bulb had gone out, and it was getting dark and crowded. Some of the more junior ones cheered, but they were soon sitting in embarrassed silence, realizing their faux pas; their cheering was an admission that something had actually happened, and of course nothing had. But still they could all now see better in the light of the bulb, and better read Sailor Bob, Nisagardatta Maharaj, Krishnamurti ...
'Hold, on', one of them said. 'There's something wrong with this story.' He addressed the man who had changed the lightbulb. 'You aren't an Advaitan at all. We saw you, you changed that bulb on purpose. An Advaitan would never do that, because it is an admission that there is something to be done, something to Realize. Tell the truth, you're a yogi, aren't you?'
'There is no mistake here,' the yogi said. 'I am a yogi but I am also an Advaitan. When you change enough light-bulbs, the true Advaita Vedanta comes to you as part of the enlightenment process. Everything you do eventually has a quality of not-doing and non-effort, as if nothing and everything is happening in one eternally churning spiritual sea, beyond time, form, and self and other, one sea to which nothing can be added, and nothing taken away. When you live here, you truly experience Advaita Vedanta.'
'Mind you', he said, raising a finger to emphasize his point, 'truly experiencing Advaita Vedanta is not the same thing as the Great Advaita Yada Yada Yada, the mere talking or preaching Advaita Vedanta, or the mere grasping of its concepts.'
'Oh, by the way, it could be a good year before I pass by this house again and the bulb could be out again for months. You really should consider changing the lightbulb yourselves. Also, I think a lot of you could benefit from getting some exercise, and maybe getting out in general.'
He threw the old bulb and the wrapper of the new bulb into the trash, then went home to fix dinner for his kids.
Reading Meg is like taking that involuntary breath driven by your diaphragm, the one that really fully fills your lungs suddenly once in a while.
ReplyDeleteDid you know that if you Google "Advaitan," this blog post shows up 5th on the first page? That's so... right.
Thanks, Meg.
your westcoast pal
Suzanna
Thanks, Suzanna. Good to hear from the west coast...
ReplyDeleteThanks, Sparkster.
ReplyDelete