Teachings on the Train

by Elisa Koizumi

Voices from the Space2Meditate Community

I am finding that as my practice sustains itself, I am able to witness the moments in life that give evidence to the teachings as they are practiced in meditation.  One teaching that sits deeply with me is loving-kindness. In a quiet murmur, on and off the cushion, I hear gentle acknowledgments of the connections between beings and between beings and matter.

Earlier this week I was on the subway at a fairly busy time of the day.  I saw three empty seats on the four-seater at the end of the car.  I took one, and at the other end was a homeless man.  As I settled into my seat, maneuvering a bag and winter clothes, I turned to this man to make sure I wasn’t knocking over the meal he had beside him.  We looked at each other and I said, “Hi, how are you?” and nodded.  I’m not sure if he replied, but we both smiled and the moment passed.  At some point during the ride downtown, we acknowledged each other again, and he asked me for 50¢.  I told him I didn’t think I had any cash. I checked my wallet, which was indeed cashless.  Again, we retreated back to silence.  As I collected myself, my things, and stood to exit the train he said “Have a blessed day.” I turned and said, “Thank you,” somewhat absent-mindedly, compared to his sincere turn of phrase.

By the time I got to Brooklyn, after another train ride, I realized my phone was not with me.  In a moment of un-mindfulness it had slipped away from my care.  I went through each pocket, patted myself down over and over, and conceded that it was for sure somewhere else.  I asked a deli owner if I could use his phone and called my number a few times. No one picked up.

Another part of my practice kicked in—going through the stages of letting go and acceptance.  Not only of the loss of a phone, but the expense, time, logistics, and possibly cancelling or missing plans for the rest of the day to sort out this loss. I was consciously trying to not be too emotionally thrown by the impact of these things. With each wave of upset, I would return to acceptance. Simultaneously, I was confronting our culture of  “things,” of technological dependence, convenience, automation, and all the needed tools of modern living.

I felt surprisingly calm and mentally organized when I got to where I needed to be, which I attribute to the practice.  I asked someone if I could use their phone, and tried to call my phone one more time.  A human voice answered.  “Hello, I believe you found my phone.”  As it turns out, the man who answered was the man I had sat beside on the train. He had found it.  He asked if he could meet me somewhere, I told him it would be easier for me to come to him, if he could tell me where he was.  He explained he would be riding the trains all day to stay out of the cold.  I was of course very excited that my phone appeared to be within reach of recovery, but I was also completely dazed by our communication.  We agreed on a meeting place: the 125th Street platform. He was careful to make sure I knew it was the 2-3 train, not the 4-5, and he’d be on the uptown side. I asked if he would wait for me. He responded: “I’ll wait.”  Then he said, “I know what you look like.”  I could only reply with, “I know what you look like, too.”  And asked him his name, “Diego,” he said.*

The travel back into Manhattan took a good 45 minutes. I got to the designated station and I did not see him.  I was able to use a kind person’s phone to try mine—nothing.  Again, rounds of radical acceptance were at the ready.  Surrendering to reality, I crossed over to the downtown side to make my way home.  I peered down the platform and far at the other end, when suddenly I saw him.  Indeed, I did know what he looked like.  I leapt toward him and said, “Diego!”  He turned and smiled big. I could see my phone in his hands.  “You waited for me, Oh my God!”  He apologized: he got kicked out of the other station and had to move here.  I gave him a hug. We completed the phone hand-off. I was compelled to give him a reward, and we talked for a bit.  Then the train arrived, and we had a big, heartfelt, shouting goodbye from the inside of the car to the bench he was sitting on.  It was a solemn kind of joy as we waved goodbye.

The next part of this story is more difficult to describe.  It is what occurred inside of me.  A heart expansion that is often described by meditation teachers.  An incredible sense of expansiveness, and a peacefulness.  As I write this almost a week later, the feeling of universal love has almost compounded.  It is a love that has a source, but no direction.  In retelling this story to a friend, the response was, “But you got your phone back!”  Yes, I did.  That is the easy “good ending” of the story.  But what I really got was this incredible sense of boundless connection.  I experienced the beauty of humanity.  This is for me the greater gift.  The phone seemed so incredibly insignificant once it was back in my possession, though I praised it for being an incredible conduit for this beautiful human connection.

I found the word I was looking for, which describes the feeling so singularly: oneness. I experienced oneness, and there is no other way to sum that up, but in the word itself.

In these moments where practice finds us, peace finds us too, I am noticing.  The circumstances I encounter that I wish to be different, life’s inevitable discomforts, are eased by the teachings of kindness.  It reminds me of releasing an elastic band from its encasement. As soon as the elastic is snipped, the fabric that surrounds it relaxes; the quick, taught zig-zag pattern undoes itself and the fabric returns to a natural state of ease and flow.  I can find that “snip,” and release, even if that which was causing the tension is still there. It is simply less attached. 

When it was time to part with Diego, I wished very much that I could do more for him, to find him clothes, food, and a home. It was an internal struggle to understand that I would leave him there with the few things he barely owned. Then I had to let it go, and embrace only what was in front of me, in this moment and to admit to myself that I am thoroughly unequipped to revise his life, for it is not mine. While I am oversimplifying the circumstances, I want to share that I was able to keep my heart open in a shared moment of radiance, while accepting the ache of seeing what I perceived as suffering before me.

*the name has been changed to respect privacy.