pulse
It's good to lay down, prone, eyes closed, outside, to hear the pulse of a city. For a Pilgrim any city can be home for a season. For this Pilgrim, certain regions have a unique heart-throb that occasionally tune in at my own frequency, like we're kin. I love the unique silence of the north, for instance, distant, like a call, beckoning, ancient, sharp, challenging, cold and stirring with aurora borealis. Lilting loons and trilling vireos - these are some of the primal echoes of heaven. Lay your ear on the ground here and every insect's wee voice seems to have a perceptible whisper equal to the force of gravity on a pine needle. Coupled with the rich moss, fresh bracken, and happy loam, those needles fill the air with a sublime aroma. But today I'm in a city. Pulsed with a deep, tangible rhythm comprised of the movement of all these people, each with their own agenda, the throb is constant. Punctuated with individual voices that are close by, the solitary note, heard but one moment in the great symphony at hand. Sparrows play in the sunshine, a street vendor hawks fresh-baked goods, someone is playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons, a fog horn goes off, followed by a seagull's cackle. Below my balcony someone is digging hopefully in the garden, eager for an early spring, police cars roar passed on a nearby street hurrying to a political rally, somewhere. The child downstairs shouts defiance; the old man upstairs practices a folksong. Across the alley someone is frying pastrami and eggs, a woman shakes rugs off her balcony, a man puffs his cigarette. Warm sun pretends we're not scheduled to have snow again by Wednesday. The plum trees below are in blossom.
Comfortable and at rest, the simple pleasures of being at home on pilgrimage captivate me. Yet memories of this week nudge me as well. I've spent time with a young lady from Kenya, trafficked here on pretense of work. She managed to escape her trafficker, but has faced constant threats as she seeks to adjust to life in this new land. Catching a bus the other night, a man came up to her and flashed hundreds of dollars under her nose to try to get her to follow him back into captivity. Another lady, Ethiopian, said that she can take me to a street where there are many African women who were used and abused, and they now have babies, but no future, and no hope for these children. My heart aches for them. The same day an Uzbeki woman told me of a neighborhood where there are many women from the former Soviet Republic who have been reduced to slavery; sex slavery to be exact. Through lies, debts and threats they are entangled in a slavery that is complicated and ancient... and justified here. Men here are taught that they need to meet any urge they feel, so even boys are taken to the local prostitutes.
There are whole historic cities that were totally destroyed for this crime of enslaving others for such base slavery. If only Sodom and Gomorrah's example were something mankind could learn from! But Tyre became famous during the time of Joel for selling Jewish children as slaves to the Greeks. The Lord promised retribution in the book of Ezekiel, which came about in the time of Nebuchadnezzar, and later was finished off with Alexander the Great. Ephesus was destroyed by earthquake, Pompei by volcano. All prided themselves on sexual sin. None have been repopulated.
Quaintly, we relegate these details to history books, and sin abounds. The heart beat of this city is off whack. Domestic violence is expected, and some of the cities highest tax payers have been brothel owners. Whereas some cities are destroyed, this one has changed hands, but always the disgusting resurfaces. One consistency: the higher the rank of citizen, the more they go out of their way to avail themselves of sin. At one time local rulers taxed minority families who didn't share the same religion. The tax was one in five sons born in their community. The boys were taken to the castle and there they had to serve as either male prostitutes or war fodder. Remnants of this tradition remain as transvestites have their own brothels and communities here, while this curse has descended on the land showing extremely high statistical incidents of childhood sexual abuse of boys from within their own extended families. Meanwhile, historically, warriors dutifully gave ten percent of their war booty to the king in the form of the most beautiful women taken in slavery. These sex slaves were given out as rewards. The resulting curse makes this city a place where women are measured by their color, and paid for accordingly. Thus my Kenyan friend was being lied to. She would only have gotten about $20 if she had fallen for the lure, while her Russian counterpart got $400.
In Revelations 18 it speaks of the demise of a city. It could be any city like this one, large and powerful, crushing people, especially weak people and dealing in the commerce of mankind, soul and body. As I listen to the pulse of the city I am troubled. Evening is falling. The bars two streets away are warming up for the night. Someone's practicing the electric guitar. The bar girls are coming to work. A turtle-dove moans on the balcony. I hear grievious thunder in the distance.