Where do I start today?

15454948586_ba1d0ea487_z

Image: Lorenzo Blangiardi at Flickr 

A wise suggestion from Andy Charrington when I explained that I didn’t know where to start with my writing right now:

“Start right where you really want to.”

Okay, I thought, well that’s a scary spot. A pretty strange and scary (though not entirely dark) spot…

It’s the place where I wonder how it would feel to run my fingers over her heavily-inked collar and breast bone.

It’s the chair in the corner of the tropical party that I showed up late to (wearing too much black), then left alone as each couple curled up together.

It’s the way a tendon in my left shoulder twitches sometimes, my body’s signal that I’m overwhelmed with anxiety and overdue for regular yoga and massage.

It’s the thing where I push myself out of the house regularly, mostly alone, often too late. Just yesterday pushing myself to a favourite cafe via slow bus, frozen toes..only to have it be too full.

It’s the way my being became seized with doubt after opening that piece of mail, after reading that particular message.

It’s the way I go out and come home alone, go out and come home alone, go out and come home alone…because I want to.

(But do I?)

*

I could start in these kinds of dark places—or I could start with the bright spots, of which there are many:

The band last week that made me feel like I was 16 again—sweaty bodies dancing joyously, strange and sometimes heavy music. Real music, real people, bodies dancing heavily in a drunken room.

The Time Traveller’s Wife, a sweet secret santa gift from an internet friend.

The way he concocted a super-special fresh mai tai cocktail the other day, icy cold and a bit bitter, complete with chunks of coconut, just for me. I was wearing a rainbow lei which was borrowed from Regretta the unicorn pinata.

It’s the way she bought me a coffee from the little outdoor sidewalk window, even though I barely knew her and had also kept her waiting for too long.

It’s the way we do Dollar Cinema, sitting up front and spiking our Pepsi (Nightcrawler, Boyhood).

It’s the way we served Sunday dinner messily last night, then laughed hard about how imperfect it was. Then we played guess the animal.

It’s being invited to work out with a friend and discovering that you actually like the gym that you’re in.

It’s listening to a best friend’s adventure stories on the other end of the phone.

It’s having a Sunday feel like a Sunday is supposed to feel.

Advertisements

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.