...experiencing..
Wandering the city last night on my own, walking slower, it seemed, than i ever had before. People, buildings, the city sidewalk moved around me like a dream. Colors highlighted dramatically in the artificial street lights and house lights luminated like ghosts of a reality that was metaphoric rather than tangible.
Eventually to south street, an old homeless woman pushing her shopping cart of things, she clings to like a memory of the world she tries to remain a part of. Grey hair raggedly draped, wisping by her shoulders and she walks past me. My eyes notice familiar shapes in the cloth she has around her, red and white stripes in a lateral manner, the american flag. She now wears the symbol of that which excludes her from itself.
To the waterfront, the familiar breeze across the river, the ever-changing non-patterns of the flickering water alight from the various clubs. Brown stumps protrude just enough from the water to make a dotted square extending from the shore, the remains of a building where and when all buildings are temporary. The water weaves in and around the once living columns and a bird, then another descends onto stumps midway from where they give way to flowing river. Birds i havent seen here in all my journeys to this usually undisturbed spot, large white creatures with sky gray wings, a dark streak from the place where their beak meets their head down their backs and a sharp black beak for catching fish. The words 'king fisher' come to mind as i watch one make its way confidently towards the shore, approaching me without even noticing my presence. It stands not ten feet from me, still upon the beams that stand in the water. I move my head slightly and brush the water out of my eyes from the constant breeze off the water and it notices me. Its head gains a seemingly awkward angle and its body goes defensive. By this time the other has followed its companion, but does not notice me. Watching intently for a bit I start up and follow them with my eyes and their quick flurry of motion takes them out over the water.
Away from the water music draws me down a dimly lit street, a violin plays like the tears of seraphim. A man wearing a beret stands alone on the steps of a dark building on an empty street, his violin resonates from every direction as i approach. A basket sits upon the sidewalk lined with american flags, i suppose he has to make his money somehow. The music he plays, slow and deep, seems to vibrate me to the essence of my soul and move my spirit to its graceful sad tune. Holding back the tears as i fish through my pockets, wanting to give to his music, wanting to hear it flowing in my mind forever. I had forgotten what it was like to experience beauty, to feel something so deeply that you cannot resist but open up and let it into your depths to mingle with yourself emotionately and physically, to be swept along by its current. I had nothing, but he stops and says 'Its the thought that counts', perhaps seeing the tears i was holding back. Past a stone building on uneven cobblestones i cannot hold back and my eyes flow with a true feeling, something real that had buried itself within me in an attempt to survive. A sigh opens me up as i feel lighter than i have in days that seem like years. My body relaxes and for once there is no tension in me, the breeze flows through me and beauty, the beauty of everything seems to present itself to me in a ballet as i walk. Leaves bright green from the street lights, peeling paint on the side of an abandoned building giving way to a dampened woodgrain underneath, the patterns of life surround me and i immerse myself in the dance that goes on between all things. Sleep comes easy this night as my anxiety has melted as snow falling over a campfire.
Wandering the city last night on my own, walking slower, it seemed, than i ever had before. People, buildings, the city sidewalk moved around me like a dream. Colors highlighted dramatically in the artificial street lights and house lights luminated like ghosts of a reality that was metaphoric rather than tangible.
Eventually to south street, an old homeless woman pushing her shopping cart of things, she clings to like a memory of the world she tries to remain a part of. Grey hair raggedly draped, wisping by her shoulders and she walks past me. My eyes notice familiar shapes in the cloth she has around her, red and white stripes in a lateral manner, the american flag. She now wears the symbol of that which excludes her from itself.
To the waterfront, the familiar breeze across the river, the ever-changing non-patterns of the flickering water alight from the various clubs. Brown stumps protrude just enough from the water to make a dotted square extending from the shore, the remains of a building where and when all buildings are temporary. The water weaves in and around the once living columns and a bird, then another descends onto stumps midway from where they give way to flowing river. Birds i havent seen here in all my journeys to this usually undisturbed spot, large white creatures with sky gray wings, a dark streak from the place where their beak meets their head down their backs and a sharp black beak for catching fish. The words 'king fisher' come to mind as i watch one make its way confidently towards the shore, approaching me without even noticing my presence. It stands not ten feet from me, still upon the beams that stand in the water. I move my head slightly and brush the water out of my eyes from the constant breeze off the water and it notices me. Its head gains a seemingly awkward angle and its body goes defensive. By this time the other has followed its companion, but does not notice me. Watching intently for a bit I start up and follow them with my eyes and their quick flurry of motion takes them out over the water.
Away from the water music draws me down a dimly lit street, a violin plays like the tears of seraphim. A man wearing a beret stands alone on the steps of a dark building on an empty street, his violin resonates from every direction as i approach. A basket sits upon the sidewalk lined with american flags, i suppose he has to make his money somehow. The music he plays, slow and deep, seems to vibrate me to the essence of my soul and move my spirit to its graceful sad tune. Holding back the tears as i fish through my pockets, wanting to give to his music, wanting to hear it flowing in my mind forever. I had forgotten what it was like to experience beauty, to feel something so deeply that you cannot resist but open up and let it into your depths to mingle with yourself emotionately and physically, to be swept along by its current. I had nothing, but he stops and says 'Its the thought that counts', perhaps seeing the tears i was holding back. Past a stone building on uneven cobblestones i cannot hold back and my eyes flow with a true feeling, something real that had buried itself within me in an attempt to survive. A sigh opens me up as i feel lighter than i have in days that seem like years. My body relaxes and for once there is no tension in me, the breeze flows through me and beauty, the beauty of everything seems to present itself to me in a ballet as i walk. Leaves bright green from the street lights, peeling paint on the side of an abandoned building giving way to a dampened woodgrain underneath, the patterns of life surround me and i immerse myself in the dance that goes on between all things. Sleep comes easy this night as my anxiety has melted as snow falling over a campfire.