Drawn to something you know

April 15, 2002

Drawn to something you know will hurt. Today I visited “ground zero” with friends. I walked alone a lot yesterday and got close...couldn’t close the deal on my own. What is there to say that is new? I don’t know how to type out a few minutes of silence but if I could I would. How do I describe the effect of such a big empty space? It's not just a physical space. The human brain is not built to comprehend things of such magnitude. I guess it is meant to struggle. When I first stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon I felt the same. It was so vast and strange that my brain could not make it big enough. You know that you’re staring across a 50 mile gap to the other side but you bring it all in closer to compensate for the fact that you can’t take it all in. I kept looking up into the space where the towers had been in the same way I’d done when they were still standing. One of the first things any New York visitor does is stand at the base of the towers and look up in awe (you would then go to the top and look down in awe). You would feel dizzy as the clouds passed behind them against the blue sky. I looked up at the same space and felt dizzy for different reasons. We all watched so many images of that day but the physical reality of 3 dimensions completed the sad human experience. When you meet someone who you’ve only ever seen on television or in pictures you always say to yourself things like, “I didn’t realize he was so tall”, or “his head is way bigger in real life”. Sometimes it can be unsettling but it humanizes gods and turns fiction into nonfiction. Today was like that on a grand scale. I chose to read one story written on a laminated piece of paper, pinned up with all the banners, flags, hats, flowers etc on the fence surrounding St. Paul's chapel (where the firemen went to rest). That was enough. That was the clincher. A very young person’s note to her lost dad. Too heavy. Way too heavy.
Since I got here I was wondering if it was just me or if New York seemed quieter. It wasn’t just me. People aren’t yelling and honking as much. As I walked away I prayed for someone to start a good old fashioned argument with someone else and get all worked up. I wished for two cabs to kiss bumpers and the drivers to leap out in full flail. My friends and I were universally amazed by how life around the financial district was seemingly “back to normal”. People with their eyes front walked to get bagels at lunchtime in the spring sunshine. When I was 18 I visited Hiroshima. Where there was once nothing 37 years before, there was now a bustling, sunny city like all others in Japan. I walked out of the museum dedicated to the atomic bombing back into that reality. The “museum is now closing” music was a childlike xylophone piece playing over some tiny speakers. I remember feeling like I had as much made contact with the power of the human spirit as I had with history. We must appear like ants who have had their nest flooded with a garden hose only to pop up in the same place a few days later. I guess it just depends how high up in the sky you’re looking from.

Oh yeah. A small note. We had a tremendous show at the Beacon last night and it should repeat itself this evening. I’m trying to relish my first song as I sing for the full house with all the lights up. Trying to take it all in and slow time down a bit. I can see all the faces and can scope out these legendary halls from a pretty unique vantage point . Its an A.Huxley moment for me each night. “Be here now” said the parrot.