No such thing as East Philadelphia
On the east side of Broad Street, in North Philadelphia, a spirit glides through the neighborhoods leaving handcrafted directions to the home of the Dalai Lama. I discovered the street sign shown here, near the corner of 5th and Spring Garden. Another smaller sign, hand-written in white paint on a rusty piece of iron, was tied to a bush in a small, shady, abandoned lot used as a summer respite by locals.
Half art. Half reminder. Half hopeful introduction.
The neighborhood is poor, but changing quickly. Gentrified blocks. Splatter-simple inspiration to neighbors faced with the need to move because their homes are no longer affordable. The large sign faces east. The rusted iron, west. The ghost reminding passersby that it really doesn’t matter which direction they choose, so long as they choose to embrace compassion and mindfulness. Maybe.
My inner cynic, the one that struggles with compassion and mindfulness, wonders if I’m seeing ingenious guerrilla marketing for a hip-hop music label or a hipster bar. I am side-eyed.
The cynic, however, can’t hinder the romantic, the searcher, the voyeur — the imperfect Buddhist. I’m curious if the word “Tibet” has been scrawled inside that pair of old sneakers hanging from the telephone wire. Scribbled in wet cement on a block I never walk down? Graffiti sidewalks? Carved in a tree? Written on sheet music, crumpled in trash cans all over the city?
—