The Pounding of the Drum

It's my last morning in Manhattan. I'm ready to go.

For me, New York City has one thing in common with Las Vegas. When it's good, it's great. When it's time to leave, I can't get out of town fast enough. 

Guess I'm more country than I realized. 

I'm writing this on my iPad in the Tick Tock restaurant on 8th Ave and 34th St. I need the chatter of a hundred voices to help me write. Everyone is talking, but there are no words. It's a soft blanket of sound.  It's heaven.

In my room on the 20th floor, all I can hear is endless drumming and chanting. Word is the Dali Lama is coming. I like the Dalai Lama. In fact, I think he's incredible. But it's difficult to collect my thoughts against a chorus of which I am not a participant. 

Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom. 

It's the city. You have to be tolerant. You need to creatively solve the problem. 

There's no tapping the culprit on the shoulder and politely asking, "Can you keep it down? I'm trying to write."  It doesn't work that way. The noise is too big.

Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom.

For many seekers, the Dalai Lama is their guiding light. 

For me, these 100 souls in the Tick Tock, 

are my saviors.