The Color of the City

“The city's full of people who you just see around.” 

(Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms) 

  

I am home now as I write this week's musing, however, if I close my eyes I can still hear the sounds, and smell the aromas of Toronto's inner city core. Anna and I spent four days walking Toronto's downtown - Yonge Street, the harbor waterfront, Kensington Market, Casa Loma Castle, Little Italy... it was absolutely delicious in all ways.

For someone who lives in a very white prairie culture, Toronto was a cosmopolitan explosion. Her streets are an urban experiment in multicultural accents and languages. Move one block in any direction and you've stepped from China town to the old Jewish neighborhood of Kensington, and then into Little Italy. Joyfully, I often noticed that as a Caucasian I was a visible minority - and yet I had a place there, was accepted as much as anybody else walking within the anonymity of city life.

I saw an endless flow of humanity in all of its colors - Bay Street suits with polished shoes; dread locks and Rastafarian attire; a man dressed in rags, sleeping on the sidewalk; shriveled up, bent-over Chinese elders with deep, wise eyes; young, fit peddle bikers ripping down the street; scooters, sports cars, luxury cars, motor cycles... by the end of each day I was exhausted processing all that I had experienced.

 “She loved the way her city

always sounded like it was celebrating.” 

(Sarah Pekkanen, These Girls)

Toronto thrums with life, a perpetual vibration of excitement, like a held breath waiting for something to happen. It is resplendent in color and sound, suffering and happiness. All around life blossoms in the most unexpected places - a seedling taking root between the cracks of the sidewalk; a flock of sparrows pecking at crumbs outside the bakery. Rural folk often write-off the city as cold and barren. Life though is everywhere if we have the eyes to see.

That is my learning from this foray into the concrete jungle - life finds expression no matter where we look. Everything in the city comes from the earth - the metals from the ores of the earth's skin; the concrete from mountain rock; the asphalt from the oil deep in her veins. In and around all of this are plants and animals that have adapted to metropolitan life. I appreciate that for some, city dwelling is bereft of that which nourishes their soul.

Be that as it may, I saw Love at work in Toronto - in the compassion of someone helping an intoxicated fellow who had fallen down; countless moments of random acts of kindness; throngs (literally) of Blue Jays fans pouring into the streets. Love celebrated with, cried with, hoped with, and ultimately surrounded and filled each person that I passed.

As you go through your day be aware of the people that you pass - chose to see Love at work, chose to see Spirit moving through the flow of humanity, and allow yourself the privilege of being open to life's unfolding, city or country.

I leave the last word to Australian author, Sheridan Hay:

“I loved the city. We were anonymous,

and even then I had the sense that cities were yielding;

that they moved over and made room.” 

(Sheridan Hay, The Secret of Lost Things)

The color of the city...

life between the cracks.

Just because

I

cannot see it

does not

mean

it is

not

there

Life

Love

Hope

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: ""You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden" (Matthew 5.14

- From Judaism: "Separate not yourself from the community." (Mishnah, Abot 2.4)

- From Janism: "Consider the family of humankind one." (Jinasena, Adipurana)