After posting yesterday's blog, my husband arrived at our hotel room. He is attending a conference here in NYC, hence our visit to this place so far out of my comfort zone that I might as well be on Mars. Last night was a Hudson River Dinner Cruise with the conference attendees.
We boarded a bus that would take us from the hotel to the embarkation dock. As we drove down the street, I noticed for the first time that - lo and behold! - there are actually some trees at the NYC Public Library! I had been so intent on finding a "park" (i.e., an expanse of grass, with large trees and maybe a winding dirt path through the trees on which I could walk and escape from the concrete, steel and occasional glass walls that line the city streets) that I had missed them! Of course, these trees seem dwarfed by the buildings around them, and they are slender unlike the massive trees I am most fond of hugging or sitting with my back snuggled against their trunks. Still, how could I have missed the them? It is amazing - in a sad way - how anxiety (and fear) can blind us even to the very thing for which we are looking. I wonder what might we see/discover about the world, each other and ourselves if we could drop the fear and anxiety? For me, Nature has always been the pathway in - in to my Self, in to the space of no fear, in to the space of connection to all that is.
(As my readers will discover, I easily digress, so back to the story.)
As the bus traveled slowly (apparently, speed limit aside, there is no other speed by which to travel in NYC) down the street, I noticed more trees here and there. Noticing them, I felt myself finally begin to relax and now I am on the look out for more. Perhaps 20 blocks from the hotel, there was, at last, a "real" park - green grass and trees and benches.. As we move further away from the city center the buildings get shorter and, occasionally, through a gap in the buildings, I see the still almost-full moon rising. A little more tension leaves my body.
At last we come to the port and get off the bus. There to my right is the river, a wide expanse of water separating me from the closest buildings on the other side. Although not the cleanest water perhaps, as the slight breeze across the river comes my way, I feel myself breathing long and deeply. I hadn't realized how little and shallowly I had been breathing from when I landed in the city 26 hours earlier. ( It was, of course, self-preservation - the exhaust and smoke to which I am unaccustomed assail my nostrils, scratch my throat and sting my eyes.) Here, by the open water without the walls of the buildings crowding in on me, I could breathe.
After that, the night was fun. Seeing the city skyline at night from the safe distance of the boat, I could marvel at the sight - the Statue of Liberty at Ellis Island, where my paternal grandparents entered the U.S. a century or more ago; the Empire State Building; and the lights of the city. Only once of twice did the thought enter my head how much prettier than all the city lights are the stars of the Milky Way as seen from high in the mountains where there is little or no light pollution (and yes, it is considered pollution, because - among other things - it obscures the stars and disrupts bird migration and affects the growth of crops and other plants). Then I had to remind myself to stay present, stop comparing (and judging) and enjoy the moment for what it was.
Music came on and there was dancing for the rest of the evening. Once music starts there is no stopping me. I don't care if my husband sits down or how many (or few) other people are dancing, I just dance for the joy of it. And I breathe.
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