New York City can be a lonely place to be, even as you stride the crowded sidewalks and cram yourself into a subway. Anonymity is a shield that people hold up to protect themselves. You may be close enough to smell their perfume or sweat but don't make eye contact.
Boston too can be crazy. One time my sister, who has been driving
the Boston streets for forty years, was with me in a small group. We were invited to tell a miracle that had happened to us.
"If you don't live in Boston you won't understand but the other day, another driver paused to give me a parking spot." She started to cry.
Yet both of those cities broke open in an instant... New York on 9/11 and Boston two years ago during the bombing of the marathon.
Faster
than a heartbeat, people helped one another, even at great risk. The heroic stories could and do fill volumes, where strangers forget themselves in the act of helping someone whose name does not matter.
Why do they do it?
My town meanders to a slower pace than most cities but it is still possible to feel isolated. Recently we suffered our own brand of tragedies, and the outpouring has been tremendous. My small portion is to coordinate
quilts for the families. Women have shown up every day for ten days, picking up patterns and dropping off blocks. Some of them do not even know the names of the children but they have an irresistible urge to help.
The illusion that we all play along with is that we are separate. You are you and I am me. There is no overlap and no shared blood. But when blood spills we find out that the illusion betrays us all.
Our Source of life is and
ever will be one.
