Sometimes I am puzzled how the world works. How we move in time and space, and how our paths seem to cross one another in both abstract and simple patterns.
Before I tell you about the most random and wonderful meeting I just had yesterday, let us talk about David Bowie. He has become my companion on this trip. I have his album Space Oddity on my iPhone, and where would be a better place to listen to that than in the limbo between heaven and earth around 32,000 feet over South Dakota? This is where he started singing in his light and untamed voice, that goes exactly where it wants to go. He sang about Major Tom, who had been send out to the space, and Major Tom said:
“And I’m floating in the most peculiar way. And the stars look very different today.”
I listened to this while traveling between different states of consciousness – all on the road between awake and asleep – and dreaming.
I walked through Greenwich Village in New York listening to David Bowie, I got to the board walk at the waters edge. The sun was about to set over New Jersey, and the runners where like silhouettes. Bowie remembered a free festival, singing “Oh, to capture just one drop of all the ecstasy that swept that afternoon.” And then, as the sun traveled over America soon letting the artificial lights of New York take over, “The Sun Machine is Coming Down, and We’re Gonna Have a Party”.
We will meet David Bowie again. But let us travel to the next day. I have been to Central Park. I have seen a turtle in the water reservoir and a whole group of young mothers chilling on the grass. I have seen a man in very tight boxers stretching in the most peculiar ways while listening to music. I get to the Guggenheim Museum. Thursday closed. I did not know that – just like the other tourists who sit in front of the museum looking at their maps. On my way here I walked by the Metropolitan Museum. I decide to go back there instead. I walk slowly, pass a man on a saxophone, another man on a saxophone, wonder if they like playing it, give my bag to a security woman, she looks, approves it, walk slowly in to the hallway, huge and shiny and beautiful, stop close to a bench, look to the right and … keep looking. I keep looking for maybe two seconds while my brain tries to accept that different paths have crossed each other in the most peculiar ways.
Melissa notices that somebody is standing there like a surprised and frozen statue. She turns her head towards me. We look each other directly in the eyes and say something like “whaaaat” and smile and laugh by the happy surprise. Melissa is with Charlotte, Charlotte sits on the bench. We hug. I dump down beside Charlotte. We have smoked water pipe together in the Haight in San Francisco, we have studied together, we have danced, taken wrong busses, eaten burritos, talked. They are my friends. I didn’t even know they where here. Actually they shouldn’t have been here. They where just about to leave two minutes before, but Melissa had to get something. That was why she stood there, and why Charlotte sat their waiting for her.
We meet up later for dinner in East Village. One of their friends from France is there as well. We talked about coincidences. About how unlikely it was that we would meet.
“It is strange and a bit scary. Don’t think to much about it. Just go with it,” Melissa says and smoothly pushes her hands in front of her as if they were surfing on a wave.
I say that maybe it is not that strange because we like the same things and thereby move in the same circles. But I’m am not really convinced myself. I listen to the music in the cafe, and I hear David Bowie. The very same tunes that floated in to my mind a couple of days earlier high above South Dakota. Just go with it.