October 1st, City Hall, 260 Broadway Street, NY., NY. from 3:00 - 5:00 pm.
Photographs by Reuben Radding
The City Hall steps were precipitous. The sheer gradation forced me to look up hard and see a miniaturized door way between two Renaissance columns. It was a surreal image to behold and it made me think about the tiers of government. Those at the top can look out over the land, the nation, the earth, and not see those struggling for a footing. Laying down my cape at the entranceway would have been ludicrous for I would have been out of reach of pedestrians. Also, from past experiences, I knew that most passersby wouldn’t or couldn’t make the climb up the steep marbled steps. I went to the middle platform, pulled out my cape, and began my meditation.
That morning, I had pulled a muscle in my back, and I felt it spasm when I moved in ordinary fashion; walking, sitting, bending forward. Just the night before, I had had wonderful ease and facility in my body. Suddenly, it came to me that getting older can happen in jerks, a quick signal of failure was now unexpectedly upon me. It cut right through my belief that aging was mostly a relatively smooth downward movement. All the regular signs of losing one’s youth; greying hair, less energy, and irregular sleep were things that came by increments. Getting older wasn’t necessarily overt, instead it was underneath things. But this was a stab in my back. Anna Halprin once wrote “Aging is like enlightenment at gunpoint.” I knew that kneeling without being conscious of my lumbar spine could incapacitate me for the rest of the scheduled performances. I felt a great anxiety that all of this could be cancelled with so much preparation and money having already been invested. I knew enough about anatomy to know mostly what to do, but I was not at all confident that this would go well. In the back of my mind, I thought of Pema Chodron’s book, Start From Where You Are. Really? D a m n.
Sometime while I was kneeling, I looked over my right shoulder and saw my friend from childhood sitting on the bottom platform. He is kind and his being there helped me stay calm against my anxious voices. All the while, my mind began to compare this meditation with being at The Met, just the day before. Thus far, only one person had come up these steep steps, looked me in the eye, and wished me well. I started to feel my lonesome boredom, and lingering skepticism about wearing my cape. I was in New York city. Were people that afraid?
Notions of fear brought another story to my mind. Sometime ago, I was at my neighborhood laundry-mat, and a young black woman was there shoving her clothes into the dryer. She was singing, at times, in a whisper and then suddenly very boisterously, back and forth in this way. She also said shocking things out loud, real loud. I felt my fear of her jump up into my chest, and I wanted to get away. Inwardly, I suspected that if I made eye contact with her, she would want more from me. Like that old expression, “give one a hand, and they’ll take an arm.” That made me feel guilty and ashamed. I continued folding my clothes. Underneath all of her outward aggression, I sensed real pain. I looked at her for a moment, and made eye contact. She looked back at me, and then she expressed some chagrin about all of her dark feelings going out wide like little knives into the room. She went back to what she was doing, and so did I.
Later, she was outside and she opened up the door for me as I was leaving. She said, “I’ve got so much going on, if you can help me, please call this number.” I looked at her, this time for longer, and I said, “God Bless you. ( I am not religious, but it was said with kindness ) Take good care of yourself.” I saw her relax, and she said, “Thank you.” She wanted to be seen. Acknowledging her created a little opening; my fear lessened, and maybe, she too, felt some relief. That was all it took. I now realized why I felt a little lonely on the City Hall steps. Passersby may have thought I was a little out of this world and they were too frightened to approach me.
This wouldn’t be the first time I’d have these feelings and it wouldn’t be the last. In the meantime, the anxiety about my aching back would come and go. Thoughts and feelings were becoming a kaleidoscopic jet stream arising out of my mind, out of nothing. Time was irrelevant, but it moved slower than a turtle laying on a log. One time, someone yelled from below some encouraging words, but mostly, I had no idea of what was happening behind me.
In my view, I saw a number of employees skirt all the way to the very edge of the steps to descend them. They couldn’t get far enough away from me. Everything about the way they moved in their bodies emanated repulsion. Later, I turned my head towards the left and saw those employees chatting on the bottom steps. A big group of them were talking up a storm, inveighing their opinions, and having fun. Their lack of curiosity was like washes toward my obscurity. I felt annoyed by their unwillingness to see my cape, let alone, let the words sink into their consciousness. I made eye contact with one of them when I turned my head, but he quickly averted his eyes. Then I did the same. I sighed knowing I had to let go of any control. Any control.
To control, influence or steer is what emanates from places like City Hall. To steer means to make others lean toward, be cajoled into, manipulated, or handled. When I think of steering, I can’t help but have associations with that cliché image of moving cattle, a herd of animals that are pushed, pressured, surrounded and squeezed toward a particular future. Cattle are steered to get fat and then to be slaughtered. The old Manifest Destiny. This does not leave room for imagination, chaos, surprises, or openings. Openings is what I was after.
Time clicked on. I kept still. I had moments where it felt grueling to be there protecting my back, and yet, mostly I was alright. I watched a pigeon follow a trail of crumbs, steadily going after the line of nibbles. I was utterly relieved to be distracted by this mundane event. I almost started laughing at the absurdity of how much I enjoyed watching the bird. At 5:00, I stood up very slowly, and my whole body ached, but my back wasn’t worse. I began packing up my things with caution and I walked with trepidation. My friend walked with me, and eventually we got some food together. I felt a wave of relief to have the capacity to stand, stretch, walk, and eat. To do simple things was a miracle. My back was about the same, not worse. I went home that evening and slept like a lamb.