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Train Meditation
Sometimes there are moments, stolen from time, found in the in-between places of travel -- a rooftop in India, a bathroom in Bangkok, a train in China... They happen when I'm alone, with a quiet mind, with nothing but the company of my own thoughts. These are the moments I yearn for. With them comes a peaceful state of reflection, introspection -- a sort of soul searching that I've experienced in the past, back at home, so I know that these moments are rare and should be savored when they happen. Like gauzy remnants of a happy dream, they fade as quickly as they come on, life is too busy to stay there forever... but the heady feeling they leave in their absence is too strong to be forgotten.
In between cars, on a train from Xian to Chengdu, the rhythmic sound of wheels against track and the sight of the verdant countryside passing by the window lulled me into one of these meditative states. Perhaps it was the beauty of the landscape, the ancient age of the mountains, and artifacts of man, marking his existance in nature, that led me to this state of mind on this particular train...
From the window, I saw China at my own pace, despite the speed of the train. The skies, full of cloud and hanging mist are dreamy, mystical; the landscape is green, so full of the color that it feels as if it might burst; the hills are thick with vegetation, the mountains studded with trees; shallow rivers wind and gurgle over rocks; terraced hillsides curl in gentle arcs; village homesteads dot the land with structures of wood, brick, and rammed earth; farmers work the fields in straw hats; tidy rows of crops pop out of the ground: tall, squat, leafy, stalky, bushy, delicate; narrow footpaths lead to simple piles of gray stone that serve as grave markers; clouds peak out from behind tall, dark mountains.
I'd come here, to the tiny space where the train cars connect, to escape the din of my neighbors, one cabin over. They were drinking whiskey and playing cards, with enough loud cheering, fist pounding, and laughing to almost make me forget I was on a train in the first place. One of the partyers was actually our roommate (4 bunks to a cabin); he returned to our little room and immediately began to ply Benjamin with Chinese whiskey and peanuts.
In my place of solitude, taking in the beauty outside the train, I was struck by the need to absorb every detail, to make my mind a porous sponge. I realized that I have a fear of missing something, losing out on the 'now' in thoughts of the future and the next place... or thoughts of the past, memories of places I've been. There is a fear of seeing too much to remember. There is a fear that I'll return from my travels to the place I left, mentally, emotionally, and in the day to day. I reflected on my purpose, the reason I am here, the journey I have been on and the one that is to come. There is something melancholy in sentiment and something joyful in an unknown future. As fast as the scenery streaks past the window, thoughts of goals, desires, hopes, and dreams -- met and unmet -- flood the mind.
The beauty of these stolen moments is that the contemplation of life and purpose comes without stress. It's like exercising in water... the results are the same as doing it the hard way, but the work to get there is pain free. These moments always lead me to the same place... in the end, I learn to just 'be'... just existing is enough.
In between cars, on a train from Xian to Chengdu, the rhythmic sound of wheels against track and the sight of the verdant countryside passing by the window lulled me into one of these meditative states. Perhaps it was the beauty of the landscape, the ancient age of the mountains, and artifacts of man, marking his existance in nature, that led me to this state of mind on this particular train...
From the window, I saw China at my own pace, despite the speed of the train. The skies, full of cloud and hanging mist are dreamy, mystical; the landscape is green, so full of the color that it feels as if it might burst; the hills are thick with vegetation, the mountains studded with trees; shallow rivers wind and gurgle over rocks; terraced hillsides curl in gentle arcs; village homesteads dot the land with structures of wood, brick, and rammed earth; farmers work the fields in straw hats; tidy rows of crops pop out of the ground: tall, squat, leafy, stalky, bushy, delicate; narrow footpaths lead to simple piles of gray stone that serve as grave markers; clouds peak out from behind tall, dark mountains.
I'd come here, to the tiny space where the train cars connect, to escape the din of my neighbors, one cabin over. They were drinking whiskey and playing cards, with enough loud cheering, fist pounding, and laughing to almost make me forget I was on a train in the first place. One of the partyers was actually our roommate (4 bunks to a cabin); he returned to our little room and immediately began to ply Benjamin with Chinese whiskey and peanuts.
In my place of solitude, taking in the beauty outside the train, I was struck by the need to absorb every detail, to make my mind a porous sponge. I realized that I have a fear of missing something, losing out on the 'now' in thoughts of the future and the next place... or thoughts of the past, memories of places I've been. There is a fear of seeing too much to remember. There is a fear that I'll return from my travels to the place I left, mentally, emotionally, and in the day to day. I reflected on my purpose, the reason I am here, the journey I have been on and the one that is to come. There is something melancholy in sentiment and something joyful in an unknown future. As fast as the scenery streaks past the window, thoughts of goals, desires, hopes, and dreams -- met and unmet -- flood the mind.
The beauty of these stolen moments is that the contemplation of life and purpose comes without stress. It's like exercising in water... the results are the same as doing it the hard way, but the work to get there is pain free. These moments always lead me to the same place... in the end, I learn to just 'be'... just existing is enough.
posted by Cheryn at 8:30 PM
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