Was it ever real?

A hermit who was anxious went to Theodore of Pherme and told him all about it. He said to him, 'Humble yourself, put yourself in subjection, go and live with others.' So he went to a mountain and there lived with a community. Later he returned to Theodore and said, 'Not even when I lived with other men did I find rest.' He said to him, 'If you're not at rest as a hermit, nor when you're in a community, why did you want to be a monk? Wasn't it in order to suffer? Tell me, how many years have you been a monk?' He said, 'Eight.' Theodore said, 'Believe me, I've been a monk for seventy years, and I've not been able to get a single day's peace. Do you except to have peace after only eight years?'

--The Desert Fathers

The true character of the student is one of great mental and spiritual activity.

--The Art Spirit

How I feel about being where I am changes on a minute-to-minute basis. It's quite exhausting, actually. I keep wanting to come to some definite conclusion and must remind myself to be patient with myself. Much to write about, including the triumphant return to PHTS, the strange return to New York, and the delightful West African experience that is Fela! (the Broadway musical that basically is the past 4 months of my life), but I'm currently in New York soaking up everything I can. I will leave you, however, with an anecdote:

I was on the subway going to Fela last night. Wearing a dress that is far too light for this weather, but I was determined to go to Fela! and be obnoxiously "I JUST GOT BACK FROM WEST AFRICA" (Fela! is set in Nigeria, which is almost next door to Ghana and shares a LOT of musical/visual history with Ghana... highlife, a Ghanaian form of music, was referenced several times in the musical... they're the two British colonies in the area so there's a lot they have in common). So I was wearing a dress obviously made in Ghana, loaded up with jewelry, the works. (bundled up and with tights, of course.) And I had my bag with me... which is actually the bag for my drum, a kente-print bag.

So I got on the subway, and did that vague scan-of-who's-on-the-subway that all New Yorkers do and pretend not to be doing. Sitting across from me was a Muslim man (could tell by the hat) who looked African. Not African-American... African. Didn't think much of him, but then a couple minutes later, I noticed him smiling at me. Not creepily at all, just smiling, so I looked at him, he looked at my bag, then at me, and grinned. And I grinned back. We didn't say anything to each other, but he got off at Times Square and nodded to me as he passed.

It was a nice, "Yes, that place is real, that place is relevant, everything that happened, happened" moment.