Median Man, Median Man, Size of the Entire Universe Man...

That's a reference to "Particle Man," the brilliant song by They Might Be Giants, in which Particle Man dukes it out with Triangle Man, Universe Man and Person Man (Triangle wins, of course).

In this recent state I have been in - of feeling a lot of love and connection with the world (I'm currently living in a coincidence-free, synchronicity-friendly universe), I've been noticing that the specific experiences I have been having are microcosmic in nature, or mythic.  Everyone and everything is both the thing it actually is as well as the thing it represents.  My most recent encounter last week has left me still exploring the event to see what it was all about.

It was Friday afternoon and I was stuck in the unfathomably gridlocked traffic on Van Ness near Market that was some of the worst intra-city traffic I've ever been in.  There was a man with a sign on the median (maybe a little Hispanic, or Italian, early 30's?) and he saw me reading - we went many light cycles with almost no movement, so I had turned off the engine and was reading. I was parked in traffic. "What are you reading?" he asked me, conversationally  It was hot and my window was all the way down.

"The New Yorker" I said. 

"What?" he said, surprised with a sort of "damn, look at you!" tinge of admiration.  "You read that?  You understand it?"

"The New Yorker?" I shrugged.  "Sure, I understand it."  Damn, he said, really?  And so we began this conversation, about reading, and literature.  He talked about his attempts to read The New Yorker, but he couldn't get what they were saying.  "What about that *other* East Coast magazine?  Do you read that?  "The Atlantic?"  "Yeah, that's it."  "I have - not much." 

Had I read that book from the 70's? The World According to Garp? Yes, I had.  Really? He couldn't believe it.  Had I understood it?  I thought so.  "What are they talking about?" he asked me, earnestly, but I'm not a big fan and didn't want to suddenly be defending Irving, so instead I asked him what HE likes to read.  He said mostly the Bible and stuff.  But he likes Erich Segal - who it seemed I'd heard of but had no idea who he was (note: I just looked him up, and he's the bestselling author from the 70's who wrote "Love Story."  NOW I remember!).

He tried to tell me the plot of this one book, "Acts of Faith" that had not made just an impression on him but on an Irish schoolmistress he once had - or, maybe it was a co-worker (he was more poetic in his phrases than I can demonstrate - he was actually well-spoken, although obviously not formally educated).  This woman had taken great offense to not just the Segal book, but the whole idea that he, Frank (his name was Frank - I know this because he said to me, at one point, "And then I said, Frank, you better shape up!" and it was clear he was giving himself a-talkin' to), he had liked the book - or had the *gall* to read it.

The plot seemed like a sort of star-crossed lovers, from different religious backgrounds (Jewish and Catholic) and his co-worker was against that, I suppose.  "She couldn't handle it, you know, some people cannot handle that kind of satire - people are sensitive," he said.  He would come out with zinger sentences like that.

He followed me as a I crept along, a couple car's lengths at a time.  We were having a good discussion.  I thought about giving him money - he was a guy with a cardboard sign on a median in San Francisco, I can only assume he was asking for money, although it never came up between us.  It seemed wrong for me to offer him cash, after we'd had this discussion, as equals.  We crept forward, together, both of us suffering through the heat and traffic. 

Finally, it was clear I was going to start moving on faster than a walking pace, and he abruptly gave me a sharp wave, a brusque nod, and mumbled, "Ok, goodbye, sorry if I was bothering you...." This last bit was barely audible as he trailed off.  I wanted to shout back, no, no, it was GREAT meeting you!  It was wonderful!  Bother me?  You were teaching me!

But the traffic - and it was really brutal, relentless; it was the type of stuff that, in LA, might presage a freeway shooting - would brook no delay, and I had to move on, my half-shout of "It was GREAT to meet you" probably barely audible or even getting lost as his own last words to me were.

So, it was wonderful, but it was also sad.  Median Man was Universal Man - the person you see and don't think you have any kinship with, but when you open your heart and let your spirit eyes take a look, you see the universe man in the median man - but you don't get quite close enough.  You connect, but it ends - ends, not badly, but awkwardly, and everyone involved feels like there could have been a little bit - or a lot - more love involved.

I apologize if I'm talking about love too much - it seems to be on my mind, as well as everywhere I look.  I can't say Frank had the same experience; I think he didn't get as much love out of our meeting as I did. I wish I'd been able to connect with him.  It seemed like it had all been so good until he remembered who we were supposed to be, until our hierarchy (he on the median, me in the car) reared up.  Well, Frank....thank you for the conversation and the connection.  I'd put you in the New Yorker any day.