Enter the Fire
Enter the Fire: An Ancient Ritual in the Bronx
Ride the green line long enough and you’ll see life unfold before your eyes. Not the everyday expectable sort of life either – all forms and colors emerge along the east side of Manhattan. When the Brooklyn to Bronx connection slides through you never know what to expect.
Take yesterday, for example. Far down the corridor we heard the usual rumblings of someone asking for something – a teen selling candy not for his basketball team but to “have some money in my pocket,” the Texan who lost his life and soul warning that the same could happen to you as he prostrates the ground, or the blind woman that brings tears to your heart singing Louis Armstrong songs. As the voice grew closer, it turned out to be a rather humorous beggar letting us know that his “stomach is international, like the United Nations. It accepts Indian, Russian, Jewish, American food, whatever you have.”
As he passed by our crew, stopping to open his bag, his speech was broken by the sudden punctuation of an accordion. From the other side passed another east side subway fixture: an old blind man wearing a wheel attached to a pole that drags behind him while he walks. The two passed right in front of us – the UN rep sidestepping to make room – and continued on their journeys. So did we.
Our ride ended at the Brook Ave stop at the southern tip of the Bronx. Eleven of us climbed the stairs to emerge in the midst of bodegas, churches and homegrown record shops. This hardly seems the setting for a Native American purification ritual, yet that’s the paradox of urban dwellings. The day would prove to offer one of the most unique experiences I’ve experienced in New York City.
To read complete story click here.
Ride the green line long enough and you’ll see life unfold before your eyes. Not the everyday expectable sort of life either – all forms and colors emerge along the east side of Manhattan. When the Brooklyn to Bronx connection slides through you never know what to expect.
Take yesterday, for example. Far down the corridor we heard the usual rumblings of someone asking for something – a teen selling candy not for his basketball team but to “have some money in my pocket,” the Texan who lost his life and soul warning that the same could happen to you as he prostrates the ground, or the blind woman that brings tears to your heart singing Louis Armstrong songs. As the voice grew closer, it turned out to be a rather humorous beggar letting us know that his “stomach is international, like the United Nations. It accepts Indian, Russian, Jewish, American food, whatever you have.”
As he passed by our crew, stopping to open his bag, his speech was broken by the sudden punctuation of an accordion. From the other side passed another east side subway fixture: an old blind man wearing a wheel attached to a pole that drags behind him while he walks. The two passed right in front of us – the UN rep sidestepping to make room – and continued on their journeys. So did we.
Our ride ended at the Brook Ave stop at the southern tip of the Bronx. Eleven of us climbed the stairs to emerge in the midst of bodegas, churches and homegrown record shops. This hardly seems the setting for a Native American purification ritual, yet that’s the paradox of urban dwellings. The day would prove to offer one of the most unique experiences I’ve experienced in New York City.
To read complete story click here.
posted by Derek Beres @ 20:17
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