big transit owes me my memories
Where does your mind go in transit? Where does the mind slip off to, when the body is suspended between here and there?
I am beginning to believe that all trains, buses, and planes are wired with a secret contraption, one which extracts our sense of the moment and replaces it with a feeling of the past. That perhaps, the owners of "Big Transit" are hoarding our in-the-now feelings to bask in our present bliss forever? Dramatic? Maybe…
(The only way that I have been able to identify this feeling (after so long), so clearly, is because of this totally natural and human fascination I have been experiencing with living in the moment that has taken hold over me the last several months).
Okay, back to the plot.
I imagine Big Transit works in conjunction with Big Sheep — you know, the ones we count before bed? The ones that guide us to that warm, soft place where thought dissolves and we are able to lull away for the night.
I’m always whisked away—not to a specific place, but to a feeling. Hot sunshine, thick greenery, the grass tickling your back. The smell of lilac, sunscreen, old perfume. There is always a gentle buzzing and breeze there. It's serene there.
Can transit be the space between waking and asleep?
I would tell you where I am going, or where I am coming from — but that isn't the point. What I am talking about is a universal experience of being out of body in motion, and in body, out of motion.
Transit carries us to our next destination while we are stuck in the in-between place. Is this why we long for where we are not? A comfort memory to lull us in moments of restlessness? Is this why I insist on not getting my drivers license and relying on public transit? Is this an impractical, untimely, and frustrating method in which I can guarantee a moment of remembering? Perhaps.
There must be a time limit on how much of the present Big Transit can steal. I’m six hours into this train ride, and the spell seems to be lifting. I suspect, this memory may stick around longer than the moment itself.
xoxo, anna