metanoia's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Terminals I love terminals. I always have. They speak to the dreamer inside of me. Airports, train stations, bus terminals; these are places full of energy. I feel it there. People coming home, or leaving it; arrivals and departures and all the potential emotions, pregnant pauses, joys and sorrows; peoples lives at a crossroads, all these are what makes me ripe with ideas and emotions in a terminal. When I was 16 I used to drive to LAX, L.A. International Airport, just to watch the planes take off and land. Back then, in the 60�s, you could walk out on the tarmac or go up on the open air second story balcony and watch the planes. I really preferred to people watch inside the terminal � happy, crying, rushing, or waiting. I used to wonder what their �stories� were, why were they there? Were they leaving home for the first time? Were they leaving home for good? Or were they coming home for a visit or forever? I saw Jerry Lewis there once. He was sitting alone on those uncomfortable seats all welded together in a long row. His hands were clasped together and his elbows were resting on his knees as he hunched over and hung his head. I could tell he was sad and introspective. He sat like that, still and silent. No one approached him. I still wonder why he was there and who had left that day to cause him to be so bereft. These places, these terminals, retain the �energy� of the people who are there, in transit to and fro. I feel it. I�m not a nut case, either. This is the energy I love. It is ripe with potential � possibilities � hopes � dashed hopes. It is the same in an airlines first class lounge as it is in the bathroom of the bus terminal. The energy is the same, even if the smell isn�t. 3:49 p.m. - 2006-10-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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