So here’s the list I’ve been ruminating on for several weeks – the list of people I come across on the subway and am grateful for, and even share some love with:

• Musicians (good, bad, classical, opera, doowop, mariachi – doesn’t matter)
• People who give up their seats for the elderly, pregnant women, and children
• Riders who like to stay present (i.e., those who are not slaves to their iPods)
• Friendly folks
• Tourists (it’s wonderful to surprise them by being nice)
• Babies and small children
• Meditators (I’m not the only one who does metta meditation on the subway, it turns out!)

On the musicians – I’ve been moved many times in the subway by music of varying calibers.  One night a few months ago, dreading walking for another minute, I entered the 14th ACEL station after walking the High Line.  I was set on not moving an inch until the C came, but then I heard a plaintive, desperately sad version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, played on the harmonica.  I begrudged my legs to walk a little further – just to the source of the music, and then enough.  Lo, I found the gentleman pictured, looking like he came straight from the Dust Bowl in the Depression and then someone gave him a pair of fashionable new jeans.  I gave him a dollar and two apples I’d bought earlier at the farmer’s market, and as I boarded the train, he started in a new song – this time it was “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.”  I wondered if he didn’t mean to sound a note of irony, drawing a link between the Depression of the 20s and the recession of the 00s, or if he was just sincere – or rather, sinsir.

Amanda Lo is another musician I had the good fortune to see perform on more than one occasion, on the platform for the NRD&F heading to Brooklyn.  She’s a gifted classical violinist but more impressive is her demeanor – leaning there against the benches and carefree enough to laugh (not maliciously) when my sunglasses fell of my head and into her violin case as I stooped down to give her a dollar.

Speaking of classical musicians, I had seen a young boy – 11-years-old – playing a keyboard in the Union Station subway station for several weeks now, always accompanied by his father.  I suspected a bad situation and talking to the cops I sometimes see hanging out looking very useful*, but finally had the gall to investigate myself and talk to the boy’s father (always wearing an identical outfit with the boy, btw).  The father, from Ecuador but here for 20 years, talked about how his son played for money so that he could pay for more piano lessons, and buy music and more equipment.  While I took his persistent affirmations that playing in the subway made his son happy with a grain of salt, I felt I at least needed to identify with this man I see skulking in the subway everyday as a human being and not just some anonymous child abuser.  As a child, I had to be dragged to the piano everyday to practice, so I think I have an aggressively protective inclination when it comes to young pianists.  Even if what the father says is not true, I still feel better (maybe I shouldn’t?).

Part of writing this post is about sharing my commitment to connect with those who would otherwise be not only complete strangers in the city but possibly soul-less automatons for all I knew – by making eye contact, sharing a smile, and saying hello and thank you.  Oh yes, and by sending them metta (loving kindness) once in a while.  I’ve found that, although I cannot know what impact I have on anyone else’s life, I like it – it feels good.  And I invite you to try it – you may just find love on the subway, too.

Noel is the founder of Co-Working Brooklyn at The Change You Want To See gallery, along with Beka Economopoulos, among other things….

In exchange for this gift of new information, I shared a story with Noel that I first heard in a 10-day meditation retreat in Illinois:

One day, a very angry Brahmin came to the temple, intent on hurling insults and slander on Gautama the Buddha.  As a Brahmin who had built up a religious cult of his own, his livelihood was under threat from the teachings of the Buddha, which were becoming more and more widely accepted in the land.

When this Brahmin arrived, he spewed all manner of insults at the Buddha.  The Buddha just sat there.  When there was finally a quiet moment, the Buddha asked, calmly, “Tell me, sir.  There must be many people who come to your house to pay their respects.  Is that true?”

“Yes, of course it’s true.  I’m very highly regarded,” the vitriolic Brahmin replied.

“And often times they bring you gifts, isn’t that true?”

“Yes, supplicants almost always bring me gifts.”

“When a supplicant brings you a gift you have no desire for, do you accept it?”

“No,” the Brahmin replied.  “I don’t have to accept it.  Either I toss it in the rubbish heap or it stays with them.”

“Well,” the Buddha replied, “you have brought me this gift of your harsh and slanderous words, but I do not want them.  So there, all of your anger, your hatred, your ill will – I will not accept it.  And so it stays with you.”

I love this story because it comes in especially handy for those of us in fields that are remotely political, as we have to deal with vitriolic, irrational, or frustrated individuals relatively often.  And more often than not, the harsh words and vitriol are coming from the very people we call allies and colleagues.

I remember this story often and try to do the same – realize that reciprocating anger and frustration is a choice.  I can choose not to be angry – this also means, however, that I cannot blame someone else for making me angry.

And all that responsibility can feel like a significant burden.  But it can also be quite liberating.