Time for Play at Park Street

Every once in a while God has to intervene to insure I take a break. A break from my thinking, number crunching, reading, reading, and reading to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

This break was at Park Street earlier this week. I was taking a connecting train at Park Street station reading one of my non-fiction tomes as a source of motivation and inspiration. A sparse collection of commuters waited on the outbound platforms as we had all just missed the last train by a hair.

I lifted my head to notice a well-dressed, bespectacled man in his sixties with a guitar. He seemed out of place. Like he should have been the head of a hacienda in peru or something. Other commuters began to notice as well. This wasn't the typical "artiste."

His warm smile and small stature made him look (behind his microphone) like he was about to begin a spelling bee championship. He carefully brought his fingers to his guitar and paused right before his large fingers touched them, as if to warn the strings of what was about to come.

As the first cords echoed against the subway walls like a nostalgic love story he had more of my attention and more than a few commuters'. When his seasoned alto voice accompanied his playing, more heads turned to watch and I found I just couldn't get back into my book. I was hooked. Soon, as the platform began to fill, more heads turned toward this grandfather-figure as he delved into his ballad ..mi entrega....

Soon a burly white guy in his early forties put a few coins in the guitarista's case. Then a young man puts in some bills. Then a woman and her young daughter. And
another, and another. I wish I could have put in some money. However, he was on
the middle platform and I was not. Funny enough, my wallet was empty anyway.
I wanted a CD. Arrgh. I couldn't help but smile as the old man played, and soon about sixty commuters were smiling or/and staring in awe as he belted out his song. It was like falling in love for the first time.

Finally, at the end of the cresendo of his song, he received a resounding applause.

Twenty years taking the Red Line, and I've never seen or heard an ovation like that.

Back to Basics

The week has been quite interesting. I find myself going back to basics in a few important ways. I have re-dedicated myself to my writing in a way I haven't been able to in a couple of years. I'll be starting a new novel shortly, the pre-thinking just about done as well as the outlining.

Also I have decide to re-immerse myself in the world of motorcycling, one of my passions, after loss of my last motorcyle in the Fall of 2004.

Next, I decided to listen to some of the first and favorite samba songs I heard, and they took my back to some beautiful memories.

Most important though is that I'm pretening to be married to my wife for the first time. Doing some of the things that I haven't done is a while like let her win and working on patience. It has all made me feel younger and fully of a playfullness I have not felt in a while. I'm by no means old, but sometime with the day-to-day of work and family we can fall into a rut of routine. Things can feel stale and stagnant.

Thank the Lord for feeling like 13 again!

Rediscovering The Passion

Yes, I know Easter has past. However, passion is still relevant. In fact, I believe a life with out passion can't be much of a life. Granted there are many passions that manifest themselves in different ways. However, the core of any passion is to help you discover (or rediscover) who you are.

This is what keeps you young in spirit. Jesus would not have fully discovered himself had it not been for the Passion. In the same sense, until we experience our passion, life may seem rote or without direction. Most often we either lose our passion or are forced (or feel forced) to put it away or ignore its existence. However, that is usually to our determent and robs us of life.

People of the Book

On a recent trip to the library I picked up What Everyone Needs To Know About Islam, by John L. Esposito. It was one of the featured books in the lobby of the main branch of Boston Public Library. A year ago I would have passed by it. However, since returning back to Boston a year ago from Florida, and with recent boil of affairs in the Middle East, I felt it was important to re-educate myself in Islam.

Re-educated, because unlike most Americans I've lived in a country (Nigeria) that has a significant Muslim population (ie. everyone got Muslim holidays off). I have relatives and friends I grew up with that are Muslim. I remember vividly being awoken to the sound of Allahu Akbar! (God is the most great!) at daybreak, right before my mother would come to my room to wake me up for school.

I have a respect for Islam and Muslim for the simplest of reasons. I was exposed to them day-in-day-out at such a young age in a way that I took for granted, therefore I accepted it as normal. Although my immediate family was Christian it was understood that Islam and Christianity co-existed 99% of the time, amicably.

As I read this book, I realize I have been in the United States so long, I have forgotten some of the customs and holidays. However, I find I have a deeper appreciation, even as a Christian, for Islam as I am learning that there are more similarities with Christianity than I knew. Unfortunately, the combination of Sept. 11 and the behavior of extremists have tarnished Islam in the American public view for the worse.

The most important thing I've learned from reading this book so far is that Muslims per the Quran regard Jews and Christians as "people of The Book," that is they regards them as children of Abraham like themselves.

This helps to explains why from the time of Muhammed through my childhood in Nigeria and beyond why Muslims have been able to live together with Christians or Jews. While this is an oversimplification, it's clear that problem of course is what happens at the exteremes of any religion and who those extremists can sway.