Each Thursday, join me for my once a week practice, Through the Glass Backwards. As I commute into work, I take the light rail downtown. Even though I tend to get motion sick easily, I usually end up facing backwards, watching as the city slips by. These vignettes will be a 200 word glimpse of things I see as the world outside me lives its life, and I am fortunate enough to see.
Every morning, I watch the clay Buddha statue as we whisk by, heading into downtown Baltimore. The Buddha wakes me up; I often feel groggy and cranky. I want my morning coffee; I want to have a seat to myself. It’s all I want. That does not make for a pleasant morning. Of all the graffiti I see along the overpass walls, the barriers which keep the sound from surrounding homes and businesses, I don’t think that I have ever seen Buddha covered with markings.
Nearby, there is what I believe is a kiln; there is a garden and a single beehive box. In the morning, usually between 0700 and 0830, I don’t seen anyone, though I’ve watched the weeds grow higher and the seasons change around the Buddha, who sits still, upright, dignified. He wakes me up, reminding me that the things around me change, that I may not always get a seat to myself, but that there are still moments when I can be grateful for the mornings. That as we swoosh by, I catch a glimpse through the light rail window, seeing through the glass backwards, and I try to remember all for which I am grateful.
Note: I found this wonderful picture on Flickr, of just the statue I’m describing.