Soft Train

everything is art all the time

I’ve been riding the Soft Train throughout Amsterdam, gently gliding along the streets, floating in the air, and hovering over cobblestones. The Train never touches the ground. Passersby gawk and whisper or point and exclaim, “My God, what is that?!” I lean out to answer, “It’s a wave of beauty and wisdom.” The pedestrians, seduced, admire longingly. Motorists, meanwhile, blare their horns and scream hostilities, “Get the fuck out of the way, asshole!” Their anger swells as they spiral into tornadoes of hatred. Motorcycles and scooters buzz past, zipping in and out of the way. The Soft Train is just another obstacle for them to dart past to the next challenge on their way. Cyclists, though, pull up alongside to smile or wave before turning off to go their own way.

Whether the best or the worst, I smile at everyone I encounter. As I travel along, I appreciate the architecture of the old buildings, the churches, museums, and gabled mansions. I dip my toe through the curvature of canals and jump over the humps of eighteenth-century bridges. The lights and colors of the night feel just right, from the garish neon signs along the Dam to the softly glowing street lamps of the Jordaan. Every apartment and shop window is lit up, each containing a different scene displaying a dazzling variety of people and objects on view.

In the mornings I observe walkers and cyclists coming and going, each person gorgeous, independent, balanced, considerate, and kind. Their collective presence is strong and confident but tempered by relaxed smiles, lively whistling, and melodic signing. My curiosity is exceeded by theirs, their wonder profound but muted to avoid drawing too much attention to themselves. Those sitting outdoors at cafes or on park benches are quiet and contemplative, fun-loving and welcoming, or collaboratively conversational.

The Soft Train passes all of them, drinking in some while enjoying their flavor, spitting out others when considering their character. Most are savored then swallowed. No matter the outcome, though, the Soft Train abides all comers, welcomes strangers, cherishes friends, enjoys the good times, and finds itself sexy in a train-like way. The Train changes shapes and colors as it travels from neighborhood to neighborhood, reflecting the evidence of the past, the temper of the present, and visions of the future as ideas give way to the shifting structure of reality.

In its wake, the Soft Train leaves an enlightened freedom and an engorged liberty, each mixing with a communitarian spirit resulting in generous hugs. Every sunny morning the Train bathes in the shimmering light reflected from the canals. As it winds around the Prinsengracht the Train gobbles bitterballen from Cafe Molenpad before continuing on its way. The Soft Train stops wherever it wants, whenever it will, whyever it wishes.

The Train follows its mood from effervescent pink rose petals to delicately marching daffodils to a tye-dyed steam engine blowing a rainbow of confetti from its shiny yellow smiley face. On particularly risque nights, it gives off an odor of hot coastal sex from the Mediterranean. Underlying every mood, though, is an orangeness of spirit.

I take the Soft Train every day, riding it wherever it goes, to Albert Heijn, the Cuyp Market, to Bloem cafe or Eik en Linde, seeing friends, taking in sights and sounds, marveling whenever the Train skims over canals. Occasionally, we become a bridge to nowhere or descend on public sculptures to bring them to life. When we become one everyone who joins becomes us! I never know where we’re going, but I’m always grateful for the ride.

The Soft Train is life’s pleasure and it travels every way. It sometimes beats me when I’m sassy then comes back sober the next day promising never to do it again. Sure, it brings me flowers and candy for a few days but then the Train comes back drunk a week later ready to smack the hell out of me. What the fuck, Soft Train?!

No, no, I kid, I kid. The Soft Train is a softy all the way and so I send the Soft Train to all of you. The Train enjoys having you aboard. You are one of its own. Come hither, wander, whither you will. Smile devilishly or at least try to grin. Cancel your plans, hop on the flow, it’s here you must go. Don’t hesitate, no need to wonder, just climb aboard and you’ll know. A wonderful world awaits as long as you choose anything but straight.

The Soft Train is with you, use it as you will. Such an exciting companion, a length or two of thrill. When I look outside the window a little past 3 AM there is darkness all around except for the wind. Maybe a thunderstorm passed by, angry at each of us for not being grim. As I peer down the street I see an Old Grump pissing all over the place. Bitching and screaming, he’s a furious drunken lout. Still ... here comes the Soft Train taking him in.

I wonder sometimes where the Train will go, if it has a destination. Maybe I’ll never know. I have heard whispers of a ride past no return. The Soft Train may take you to the edge of your mind, show you the darkness of uncertainty, or transport you to a place where nothing is understood. Your choice. Mine, too, of course. Always is.

When you feel the hard wind howling or a siren drawing you near, the Train can send you spinning, untethered yet again. If you awake from your stupor and come back in control, you may find yourself itching for whatever came before. No matter, though, because what comes is only ever what comes next. Will it be a song of silence? A mood you can touch? A moment to the more?

I’m jumping back on board now, on the Soft Train Express. I’m passing signs I’ve seen in lifetimes past. There’s a special kind of strangeness on this ride. It’s clearing cobwebs from my mind. I’m filling up with feelings I could never ignore. You know, it’s a fine how-do-you-do when the knock you hear is you. I wonder how it could be, me meeting me?