may 4, 2012

tonight, my mending was to go for a walk and listen and write down what i heard. sometimes, if i'm feeling a lot all at once and don't know what to do with it, i'll go out and wander amongst other people and keep my ears open. you'd be surprised what it can do.

it's not like i purposely decided to do that tonight, but as i walked it started happening. maybe it was because i left my phone at home and didn't feel rushed? in any case, there i was: tuning in and taking note.

as i passed twosomes and groups and solo walkers, i realized that this, the mundane, is the greatest beauty we have. it's the sound of life continuing despite everything: the regular rush of passing buses, the pattern of footfall, the warp and weave of conversation, the relentless repetition of routine, the worries and the victories and the changes that either make a pass at us or pass us by.

it's all moving so much and so quickly, and it's made up of these small moments.

when a man squeezes his girlfriend's hand and asks her so tenderly, "do you want a slice of carrot cake?"

when a woman takes a drag of her cigarette and, on the exhale, she says, "he supports me in everything i do. ev-er-y-thing."

when a girl in heels clicks a crescendoed approach from behind me, and she warns her friend, "be careful."

it's this love and joy and worry. it's eating and getting hungry. it's having too much inside and aiming your tongue at the words you need. it's shyness and missed moments. it's the pride and pathos of risk. how things ache less in movement than in stillness. that beating heart of yours. how it likes to move.

we're living this world; it's not living us.
maybe it would help to remember that?
we're not alone. not really.
listen.
beauty is a collision.
it sets off the chill of the night.