They didn’t know I was watching

I sat silently on my second floor perch, peering at bits and pieces of city life.

From here I’ve watched: staggering drunks weave their path along the sidewalk; the solo rapper; a man brushing his teeth; raucous groups of teenagers; dedicated walkers carrying plastic bags and plugged into their ipods; the wheelchair couple racing each other; a man fall asleep at the bus stop; the older, native, chihuahua-bearing fellow with the walker.

You know, regular East Van pedestrian stuff.

Last night, it was two sets of neighbours, gorgeous couples crossing paths with a friendly hello at the door.  I sensed a lightness in their steps.

One set into the cool crisp night, the other up the stairs to the cozy abode above.

I meant to say hello.  I saw that they were safe and good, and that made me happy.

I’m surprised at how few people notice me: they don’t often look up. They don’t hear much above the steady stream of busses, cars, accidents, ambulances.  And that’s okay.

For a street fairly pedestrian-free, I have seen a lot from here.

Sometimes, instead, I might be nestled in the darkness of the audience, watching mouths move, settling into the words and music and song and other bodily sounds bursting out and bouncing off walls.  Revelling in that moment of creation.

Creepy?  I don’t mean to be.  I am still and quiet and observing.  Not judging, or criticizing.  Not about to swoop in, or down.  Just sensing, absorbing, listening, letting your essence float over to me, gently.

I’m looking out at you, for you, into you.  Silently, unintentionally intuiting your energy.

And when I catch your eye (if only for a moment) we might just engage, partially or fully.

I hope you don’t mind that this exchange matters to me… even if it sounds like fluttery- flattery (that’s not really what it’s meant to be).
owl plus moon

Mostly, I’m glad to just sit, reflect and digest, reconstitute those thoughts into a new set of metaphors.

This is inspiration, evolution.

I’m not in any rush to hop on that stage: my truth (mostly) comes forth in subtler ways, from silent, sacred dream-spaces and shadowy places, where conversation flows and looks linger longer.

If you want to know this, please stop, listen, see.

Sit. Be. Talk with me.    

Daily Prompt: Morton’s Fork

The Daily Prompt questionIf you had to choose between being able to write a blog (but not read others’) and being able to read others’ blogs (but not write your own), which would you pick? Why? 

First thought: what the heck is meant by Morton’s Fork? 

what_the_fork

Oh, thanks Wikipedia.

Next thought: OK, to answer this I (we) have to figure out what truly drives me (us) to write.  I blog now that I’ve discovered that it is relatively easy to find readers: I write, you read, you write, I read.  A beautiful blog dialogue evolves.

After all these years of scribbling in journals, I finally have an audience.  Not only do people appear to genuinely enjoy reading my thoughts, we can easily converse about all things – wow!  Pretty spectacular. I love blogging

But as an introvert, I’ve always preferred to be the audience, and then reflect on the experience from my own perspective.  Most recently, my personal musings  have been  written with a specific kind of black fine line pen in my hardcover bird diary.  Something about pen-to-paper is the most intimate and visceral form of expression for me.

If a pen writes in a diary without an audience…of course it still makes a sound!  It still matters.  (*The question posed did not indicate that I could not write, only that I could not have a blog…so I assume that I could still write for myself, and/or in other mediums).

It is so amazing to get into the heads of all you (mostly) anonymous people around the world, just regular folks trying to make sense about every day lives, sharing stories, poems, ideas.  I love digging into your imaginations, emotions, thoughts. I like to learn about you.  I’m a curious person.  I’m a snoop.

And also, I spend a lot of time in front of the computer.

So, if I had to choose (and could still have a personal diary), I’d rather read You now, then write for myself later.

After all, posts like these make my day better (See a list of my favorite blogs at the bottom of my WordPress site).

Even if I couldn’t have a blog, there still would be ways of finding an audience, if I tried hard enough.