it's 12:35 pm, on September 14, 2001 - carolyn's train ride.

~

Carolyn does not see her Egyptian the next day, or the day after that. But on Friday, the ending of the week, he is there, looking across the table at her. The air is cold; the table top is too narrow for writing comfortably.

As the wheels turn, he says, "How are you this morning?"

Carolyn replies, fine. He begins to read a book which Carolyn sees is in English. He says, "A poet from the thirteenth century. He has many wonderful things to say."

Carolyn thinks wildly, but I just want to be left alone! She smiles uncertainly, and he looks at her face, knowing. Something in his eyes calls of morning fog; we are all mist, he is saying. We float away so easily.

She concentrates on the grey of her pencil and the sound of the wheels.

~*~

On the tavern, Rumi says many interesting things. Carolyn does not know them; she has not drunk of even the tiniest mouthful of understanding.

~*~

It is far too crowded in the train this morning; Carolyn is forced to smile at other people as they perch uncomfortably on thinly padded seats. Her stop is one of the first; early on this morning Carolyn secured a seat by the window, and is grateful for the chance to stare out at something aside from the perceived sea of people.

Her Egyptian is not so lucky. He is on the aisle, forced to look at his soes or down at his clasped hands. The pain briefcase he carried is clasped tightly to him to ward off other commuters and to protect it from stray drops of coffee.

Once and a while someone engages in menial talk about the news. Carolyn ignores it.

Out the window itself passes trees, and car dealerships, and numerous factory-type businesses who's purpose in life is ot produce goods for shipping along the same lines that now house people. The suburbs produce people for shipping; when the city is done with them, it sends them back with the evening post.

Carolyn takes in trees, and car dealerships, and factories. Once and a while she is aware of the backs of houses. If her Egyptian wanted to share the view, he would have to peer past her, always keeping her face in profile, sillhouetted against the green.

~*~

At one point in their shared journey, they pass a lake. Rumi speaks of water, of the diving in everything, of drinking beacause life is joyous.

Many people do not know the way in which water molecules are held together; the chemical bonds between them. Hydrogen is bonded to water, tighter than any other chemical bond; and then they are as one. Lose the hydrogen, and the oxygen molecules pair up in defence, having no other alternative.

A double oxygen molecule is the oxygen we breathe to survive. Too much of it is poison, and the body is unable to cope. Too much water flushes out the system in readiness for something new, perhaps, new abuse. It is one of the only nutrients for which there is no 'too much'.

~*~

She is trying to sleep; her eyes are closed. The swaying jerking motions are making her restless. The whole experience of movement is not conducive to relaxation.

At one point, she opens her eyes to see her Egyptian still reading. He smiles at her; she smiles back, out of habit, and closes them again.

~*~

The infrequent stop-start ofd the train alarms Carolyn from time to time. The sound of the train starting up again reminds her in some primal way of the fear of monsters hiding under her bed. The train is a great hulking mass of technology, creaking slowly forward.

It makes the sound of giants waking, lumbering slowly to mass extinction.

Everywhere, people read newspapers as if they are poetry, as if they will show them things. They miss that magnificent brilliance out the window, that tremendous thought, this is the world. Even the dirtiest parts of it have more to show than text on any page. Sometimes, it takes a poet to point this out.

People on the train all carry newspapers; her Egyptian carries a book of poetry. Carolyn cannot get to sleep; she stares out the window with longing. The backs of houses stare back.

~

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