Shaboo Tales: Mundane Miracles

Marcos just made it. The elevator doors slid shut behind him so close that they almost gripped the back of his coat. With a big exhale he removed his mobile phone from his left coat pocket. He noticed a call from his girlfriend had been missed then he scrolled through several mundane texts from friends. He dropped the phone back into the same pocket and looked up at the elevator’s ceiling lights for a reprieve.

He was a darn good pharmaceuticals sales representative. He felt relief that he was able to strengthen the account with this clinic but his thoughts quickly turned. “If I finished that meeting fifteen minutes sooner I would have avoided the late afternoon traffic.” He moved his gaze down to the elevator floor in dejection as he casually fished his pockets for his car keys. Not much kept his enthusiasm up anymore and he didn’t explore why. He had a good income, a nice car, lots of friends and health benefits. Whatever it was that dampened his interest would surely pass.

Soon he was behind the wheel and just as he predicted, the downtown street traffic was thick and slow. His eyes darted to the phone he tossed in his car passenger seat. It pleaded for his attention with a muffled buzz but he disregarded it and opted for listening to the stereo. Eyelids heavy with boredom, he surrendered to the northbound stop-and-go flow. As predicted, the traffic light turned red as he approached the next cross street and he obligingly stopped.

A heavy, ageless moment of stillness hung in the air before he felt a stirring within.

His eyes involuntarily drifted towards a figure standing at the curb to his right, waiting to cross the street before him. In the midst of this drab gray city was a striking Buddhist monk, head shaven and swathed in large folds of prominent orange fabric. Marcos sat up and felt alert.

Instinctively, his eye moved to the left side of the cross walk where there stood another remarkable figure. Standing on the west side of the street was a self-assured western cowboy. He was tall and lean and wore yards of blue denim. On his head was a large tan hat shaped like a cattleman’s. His pointed-toe lizard boots hung over the curb in expectation.

“I can’t believe this!” thought Marcos. The contrast between the figures standing on either side of him was so extreme, their differences so distinct, that he wondered if he was witnessing a staged event. “East meets West right in front of me!”

Their crosswalk signal turned green, creating a void within space and time that permitted East to approach West.

The monk gently stepped onto the street with his socked feet and thong sandals. At that exact moment the cowboy lowered himself into the crosswalk. Marcos could swear he heard the chinking of spurs that weren’t really there. Marcos’ attention was so acutely focused on these individuals that they appeared illuminated and vibrant, like earthly angels moving before a blurred backdrop. He unabashedly gawked at them through his windshield as they approached each other:

The Buddhist monk openly looked upon the cowboy with simple peace. Wafting centuries of Eastern culture, he pressed his palms together and offered the cowboy a gentle bow. In response, the cowboy met the monk’s eyes with a knowing smile and a respectful tip of his hat. Each embodied cultural and historical viewpoints so significant and yet the reverence they shared for one another was unmistakable. Like intersecting light beams of power, two vastly distinct forces peaceably crossed paths. The intensity ebbed as each continued to move in opposite directions, and the fog of the ordinary closed back down upon the city.

Marcos felt keenly alert. His eyes darted about. He questioned if anyone else saw the multi-dimensionality of that moment the way he did. If it was truly random why didn’t it feel ordinary? It felt potent. It was miraculous!

The din of the city returned and his traffic light turned green. Marcos dutifully drove forward but he felt undeniably different. He looked up and saw a bright blue sky between the tops of the leaden skyscrapers. White cotton clouds drifted above the airplanes and morphed into on-looking faces. Oodles of white pigeons soared about the street while others perched on wires and appeared to watch him drive by. Everywhere blades of delicate new grass defeated slabs of cruel concrete. He wondered if this awareness would stop and if the numbness would return. He looked at the driver in the car next to him wearing a familiar look of sedation and smiled with compassion.

Forever yours,

Shaboo

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