My LA Story

I cannot get away from eager high school football recruits practicing in the field adjacent to my new open-plan rental. I hear the short coach scream and the players scream back but their fear renders their collective voice small, smaller than the roar of one leader. I hear the sound of souls stirring in my new house. I hear finance and computer networking at my new job. I hear the sounds of the future and of minds working. In downtown LA, I see a valet manning a convertible as comfortable in the driver’s seat as if his own, soaking in the early morning Southern California warmth, perhaps perpetually royal with or without the light hitting him just so. I hear the petite cries of my new niece. I witness my brother develop into a man because of her and her brother. I see my mother develop into a friend to my brother because she is a grandmother now. I hear my mother on the phone telling me that everything will be all right. She says it is hotter than hell where she is. I see my mother in the workingwomen in the street downtown with their swollen purses and slight, proud grins. I know the future they are building for their sons and daughters. I see yoga students I teach douse themselves in the spirit our classes manifest. I see beautiful bodies move through space. I see peaceful bodies at rest, individually and as a student body. I see people on the train with work outfits fit for summer. I see grown men with overgrown headphones. I see a Hispanic man stand in the street and watch the commuter train I am in swivel past him. I imagine him imagining the train as a snake he once held in his small, rough hands in a dusty field. I hear Spanish, French, English and Urdu all around me and all at once. I see LA from just a story up – and it looks the same as if feels: divided. I hear loved ones answer the calls of theirs beckoning them. I see the sky through the windows. I feel the sky in my heart.

Now, I ride the bus on the way home. I stare at the sun and it sun stares back. I watch the sunset explode into the evening and ignite the night. The night brings love. The night brings a happy meal. The night brings relaxation. I lean back in my seat. I unwind. I relapse into relaxation on my ride in the traffic-dodging commuter bus. There was a span of warm silence recently on the 105 as we headed west. No one coughed. No one talked. No one was reached on his or her cell, mp3 players were silent and there were no hiccups of sleep. One breeze touched us all. One afternoon wound us together succinct. One stretch of freeway was summer camp. We guided in white, unmixed soft silence. The new quiet aligned us.

The sky in LA is dimensional this year, it is complex with storms and I am grateful, I am rattled. I stare at the sun and it stares back. I am disappointed that many of my fellow riders never look out the window. It is a time to look at the sky and yearn for the beach, whatever that means for each of us. As the bus rolls on, my goal is to sit, rolling with it.