Tuesday, June 14th, 2016
Down A Mulberry Trail
When I see a ripened mulberry tree, which is frequent enough, I do what my siblings and I did throught our orchard summer days. I pluck at the fruit. Some of the sweetened morsels stain my kurta (shirt). Add that to the swirling formations of body-salt coming through from the sweat, and you come up with the copy of a cheap tie-dye job. Despite all, I manage to, or try to, look neat and fresh on the job. It’s always the reputation of your guru that’s at stake. Never act or dress like a slob.
Incidentally, when I left the mulberry tree and beach, residential territory behind, I came closer to Gary, Indiana’s neighbourhoods. I found it easy to befriend people. One area, which was particularly socially-challenged, expressed its disposition like this:
I stepped over to a man, who was sitting in front of a barber shop. We shook hands and I told him I’m walking to San Francisco. Jim was his name. I told Jim that this “hood” has a lot of people who walk.
“Hey, man,” says Jim, “when you’re on an overdose you won’t be driving a car.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” It hearkened a sad laughter.
I also came upon a police officer, a woman, who was parked at a boarded-up, old gas station, which was adjacent to an abandoned shop, at the intersection where a stop light is no longer functional. I wanted to let her know what I’m doing and why I’m here. I stood right by her squad car with her in it, forever. She ignored me and kept at her computer. I left. I asked myself, “Is everything dysfunctional?”
May the Source be with you!