In Transit
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(a poem dedicated to Marc from WUSC)
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October 10, 1998.
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The Buddhists say
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that each flame is from the same
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Fire.
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And so here we are again
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inbetween the oceans and the earth
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and the endless sky
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moving from Oblivion to Oblivion
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our lives only agitations in space
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born from thought to actualization
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solids change, nations struggle
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and people are born and born again
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and as the sea moves the land
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so our soul moves our body and
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billions of atoms stir for an instant
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believing they are people
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on a plane beween Paris and Saigon
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and nobody knows us
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except the inscrutable stars.
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And in our journey between birth and
death
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we dare not stop
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because the real world might crowd
in on us
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as real as a boy in the Saigon street
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pulling himself on a cart
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his legs bent behind his back
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a child twisted beyond human recognition.
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And I remember the lepers in Calcutta
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their fingers gone
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sometimes laughing with uncontrollable
joy
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which brings tears to my eyes today
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because we are they as we say "Namaste"
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and we, like them, only want to be
seen.
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In Calcutta there were old eyes then
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watching over the souls and beating
hearts
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and the sweet cranky voice
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of Mother Teresa
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bringing hope to the street
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huddled under tents
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as tourists washed
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the leper's feet.
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We only kill and fear and hurt and
take
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because we don't know who we are.
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But just as the Calcutta leper said
"Namaste"
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the Saigon cycle driver shrugged and
laughed and said,
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"No problem."
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And so we are the same
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and bow to the other
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and having shared our souls
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smile and walk away.
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Friendship comes
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as we ride on the back of the motorcycle
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of a man we have never met
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and know for an instant that our lives
are entwined
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by the fear of mutual destruction
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and then we are friends.
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And here, on this airplane,
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inbetween the Universes of the unborn
and the dead
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our transit only an instant of separation
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between those two points
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I nod and smile at an ancient man.
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And he understands my meaning
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and smiling, nods back.
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a poem
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by
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Paul Bourgeois
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