The Dividing Line

If you ride the Los Angeles Gold Line, you notice something peculiar as the train leaves the station. The left side of the train gives an incredible view of the city; tall monoliths of glass and iron scraping against heaven's belly and glinting in the glory of the sun. They stand as a breathtaking view of achievement, high above the din and roar of the city streets below; a truly incredible sight to behold. Then, if you turn your head 180 degrees, you'll see quite a different sight. The right side of the train gives another picture of LA...wreckage and industrial waste piled high beneath sickly yellow skies that wreak of smog and the by-product of modernization. The contrast between these two pictures is stark and there you are; a passenger traveling between the two in a transport you have no control over.

I'm fighting a war against bitterness. I'm not winning, but at least I realize there's a fight on. Now more than ever I feel born towards a destination I have no control over on a track caught in between anger and acceptance. My weapons are few, my foes are many, and the odds are overwhelming. Some times it feels like happiness is not my choice to make. It feels like the deck has been stacked against me and the dealer, the driver and engineer of this train, has some vendetta against me. I sincerely feel like God earnestly desires for me to hurt; that part of his plan for me is to make me go through as much pain as possible so that whatever art is drawn from a dark place of anger, resentment, and sorrow can turn into something genuine...something beautiful. That's all fine and good, but I still have to swallow that bitter cup. I have to live with these demons on my back. And what choice for happiness do I have in the matter?

You know, friend of mine,
we used to ride the Gold Line...
down to Chinatown or Old Pasadena.
I don't suppose we'll ever get there now.
We left everything we ever made,
everything we ever gambled on,
everything we won and lost
on the right side of that train.
And was it the right side?

I keep asking myself that and I think I know the answer.
The first time we said goodbye, it was over a girl.
Some triffling matter who's name escapes me.
After our second date, she said
"sorry, but I just don't feel anything for you."
After a few weeks of rain, we started speaking again as friends do.
Then another suitor came to see me and you
said goodbye again.
This time we went on two
and a half dates before she said
"sorry, but I just don't feel anything for you either."

I think I'm sensing a pattern here.
Maybe these dolled-up trollops
are just His way of saying stay away.
If we were ever to speak again,
I just might make it to date three
before defaulting to disappointment.

Good things don't happen to me very often. I'm sure it's the same for most people in this messed up world we live in, so full of desire and so short on realization. I can't even count on one hand the number of significant victories I've had this year (because there aren't any to count). But I need all my fingers and toes to count my significant failures. Why is that? Is some external force persecuting me? Or is there some cleaning up to do within my own soul? My conscience tells me it's the latter...and that's a far harder thing.

So I'll begin by saying I'm sorry to you, friend of mine. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I wasted your time. I'm sorry to learn that you can break a heart by enjoying it. An apology doesn't fix me and it certainly doesn't fix you. You can hate me if you need to. I know this is the end of what we had and the innoculation against a sickness of the heart that may yet be. After all, who needs a third mistress?

This line cuts through the heart of the city (and I too am cut; another scar for my collection), seperating that which is well from that which is sick...that which is right from that which is easy...greatness from its consequence. It seperates you and I on our mutual paths to redemption, you on your side of the seat and me on mine. I may have no control over the track itself, but I chose the train. It's our Gold Line...our dividing line.