Off Topic: Accidental Tourist at Ground Zero

[Mimi Gauthier LeBien mgnola@xxxxxxxx]

Hi,


I sent this to the Xy list soon after 9-11, so you may have in fact
already seen this.  I now include one of my photos from that period
with some journaling.  I'll send it to you now, and apologize in
advance if you have already seen this.


**********

Mimi Gauthier LeBien

mgnola@xxxxxxxx

September11-12-13-14-15-16, 2001

 

 

Accidental Tourist at Ground Zero


 

 

September 11th:       I am in New York. I
flew in Monday night and was scheduled to be on the new
"Iyanla" talk show on Tuesday (produced by Barbara Walters) to
talk about RLS, the neurological disorder I have. I was scheduled to fly
back on Tuesday afternoon after the taping, definitely a quick trip. The
producers only called me on Thursday afternoon, so this was very last
minute. "Iyanla" is syndicated CBS, NBC, and ABC. I was at the
CBS studio when the attacks happened. The show taping was canceled, of
course. I don't know when I'll get back home.

 

I feel like I am in another country at times. I'm here by myself. It's
about 5:00 a.m. and I've been up since 2:00 a.m. It's hard to sleep when
you know that just a few blocks away there are thousands of people buried
under rubble.

 

The day of the terrorists attack, there were not enough hotel rooms to
hold all of us. In fact, all hotels were bloated with stranded
people.  I thought I could come to my in-laws "room"; near
Washington Square on 5th Avenue. The limousine (which in itself was
Fellini-esque driving around in Beirut...) drove me as far as he could
down 5th Avenue (in the direction of the studio). He had no other choice
but leave me curbside on 56th Street and 5th Avenue. I had luggage, was
in high heels, and yes, a girdle.  I was dressed for the
taping.   So began the hike towards hell, carrying luggage for
over fifty blocks.   By 30th, I had booted the shoes and was
barefoot, by 25th; I had purchased $6.99 slippers at Duane Reade
pharmacy.

 

My biggest concern was that upon arrival, 1-5th Avenue would be evacuated
or worse, incinerated.  Walking towards the blooming orange and
black smoke, it looked like everything below 10th Street would be
gone.  Finally, I was blessed; the apartment was untouched by
terrorism.

 

September 12:       
   The city is quiet save the ambulance, army tanks and
occasional helicopters overhead Missing is the familiar thunk-poom pa
poom poom-thug- of the street -wise thug.  An eerie patience hangs
near downtown Manhattan.   And there is no beat at all except
perhaps in the back of our throats.  Missing is the vogue, the
petty, the macabre.  Today we are stone cold sober.  People
wander up and down the middle of the empty streets - 5th Avenue, Park
Avenue, Broadway, what a joke, holding pictures of their loves like
amputees with a phantom limb.    What, are we all just
fragments of the other?  Each others missing parts?  I'm a
thigh, you're a stomach.

 

A man in the lobby of 1/5th is covered with a fine white-gray powder He
looks holy, like the monks who spend their lives worshipping Death. 
After mixing the silver ash of the cremated with water from the Ganges
River, he would paste it all over his body and face.   Ghostly
and skeletal he chants and fasts.    He only eats what
comes to him; he eats the bowels of the dying and drinks from their
skulls.   So, this mans, this Wall Street, what? Shimmering in
silver ash, told me he returned to his building and picked through Ground
Zero - told me he waded through a section of the building still partially
up because he heard some small voices that were waning. He said that in
that part of the building he knew there was a day care center.  He
had to leave quickly because the building was starting to crumble
again.  Everything and anything that comes out of my mouth at this
point in the conversation sounds absurdly inappropriate.

 

Along the streets, church doors open like Mother's arms, and we stumble
in and out of them. They welcome any of us with the warmth of candles,
cold water to drink, and the chance to get on our knees.  I've ended
up at about three different services so far and I really can't say nor
does it matter what denomination All I know is that on my knees is the
only position that feels appropriate at this time.

 

The only way to describe the look in all of our eyes is the white collar
on Wall Street, the boom boxers, the chic and the streetwise - like the
twin towers - we have all been leveled.  We look at each other with
the same eyes, that of fear and loss. We forgot to be proud. We are all
looking for Home.

 

Walking home from a chapel on Wednesday, I notice an etching in coal on
the sidewalk near where I am staying: "VIGIL IN PARK @ DUSK"


 

I just returned from the vigil.   The light from candles
spreads light to others and a fire blooms in the blurred water of the
fountain.  Children light candles gleeful to play in fire and water,
yet soft in their voices, sensing the solemnity gathering like a
storm.  I smell musk, frankincense, ylang ylang, and bergamot Is it
2001?  Hibiscus, calla lilies, and bleeding roses tucked in the
gate; behind which our first president's stone form seems to even
breathe   Tears, awkward mourning, prayer, some song here and
there..."all we are saaaaying...is give peace a chance"....(one
voice), "....;

 

....and the orange-black smoke still hurls, blooms, and spews like a bad
"B"; movie, behind Washington Square.   It takes a
while to crank up the juice, before the blood runs in our veins again,
but it happens. 

 

That's the miracle. 

 

Hundreds maybe a thousand of us, cranking up the juice, cranking against
the thick current of apathy, invoking the spirit of the crushed, the
stunned, the incinerated ?

 

Dante's hell at Ground Zero.  I am convinced 5,000 lay shattered and
scattered.  I call them "The Waiting" I wonder if someone
might be there show them to their seats an usher of sorts holding a
light, guides you so far before letting go of your arm in the
dark.   Mass hysteria of the spirit kind. 

 

Sitting on the concrete, can't remember the last time I sat around fire
singing "kum ba ya, my lord,"; no joking.  A real
campfire.  "He's got the whole world in his hands.......he's
got you and me brothers in his hands.....he's got the fire fighters in
his hand...he's got New York City in his hand...he's got U.S.A. in his
hand...." and even as far as "he's got the Iranian people
in his hands, he's got the Iranian people in his hands......he's got
Israelis nation in his hands...."

 

.....another helicopter.....whak,whak,whak,whak,whak,whak.....who's
coming, who's going?

 

"If I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the mo?.or....ning....I?d hammer
in the evening?all over this land?I?d hammer out danger...";

 

"My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, for thee I
sing..."

 

And when the juice is really, really, boiling and the flags are held the
highest, and we're drawing the blood up from the center of the earth this
time, we find ourselves really singing, "start spreading the news.
..... I'm leaving today...(nervous giggles)...king of the hill, top of the
heap (what are the words, again??)...(Oh yea....)
"MY....LITTLE.........
..............TOWN................BLUUUUUUES......are.....LONGIN'to.....STRAY!!!!!!!!! 
I WANT to be a PART OF IT........NEW YORK, NEW
YORK..........(and!)............if   -  I  
-  can   -    MAKE  
-    it    -THERE!......."

 

September 13th:        I'm about 13
blocks from what used to be the World Trade Center.  On the streets
today I am breathing in little particles in the air.  We wear
bandanas, painters' masks, or cut out stockings around our mouth and
nose.   Flies in the air startle me.   I imagine what
I may be breathing in and I think of the man in The Green Mile sucking
the pain out, and the little bugs of evil hurling out of his wide
mouth. 

 

And yes, I believe, we are One.... one for all, all for one.

 

September 14th:        I mostly
want to be home and hold my family in my arms. Everything here is very
unreal.  "...And on the third day He rose again, according to
the scriptures..."

 

September 15th:        Panic
sets in and I am on the phone for hours at a time.  I am able to
snatch a last minute cancellation on the #19 Crescent train to New
Orleans leaving Saturday and arriving Sunday evening.

 

September 16th:        So, I'm
home.  I did get a plane reservation to leave out of Hartford on
Saturday evening also, but I opted for the long way, the rhythmic
way.   The train gently rocks, sings like a mamma, turns and
leans close to the ground.

 

O watch our land unfold before me.

 

 

Peace and Love,

Mimi

 

 

 

 









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