Being available to fate is a celebrated thing. Imagine the setting; it is one we all pay lip service to - being in the right place at the right time. But we are so small and self-absorbed! How can we manage this! We might be distracted by a beautiful scarf or a latte or a street musician, and miss our window for fate's meeting! We might simply scroll through our twitter feeds for a few moments more, and if that act is a guilty one, then good luck fate.
We toss around the concept and acknowledge it when cool things happen. And though I believe it is swirling around us waiting to make connections all the time, I also believe we are strong-willed and independent creatures and not often easily led in the most auspicious directions to connect with The Whimsy of Fate.
Hi, I'm here to talk about fate today.
Have you had your fate today?
Eat it up, yum yum good!
I know this much for sure. When fate orchestrates an event in your life, call it. Shout it. It gives us all the hope that sweet fate will swirl around us and lend an inside tip. A hand. A shoulder. A love. Fate has many names, but no-show ain't one of them.
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Monday, September 14, 2015
City Snapshot
I saw a photo this morning in a collection. A girl stood looking out a window, with a 30th floor view of a city.
I knew that view. I stood there once, in a midtown hotel in New York. Stood there with my face against the floor-to-ceiling window, taking it all in. Feeling like one face among millions, all of us falling in love with the city. My eyes shifting from landmark to avenue, admiring the flow of it all. The lights in different colors; the architecture of the Chrysler Building; the streets dwindling to a maze along the south side. The warm certainty of anonymity, like a craving.
A different slice of the city from my usual, that of a second story alley-view.
But still, that echo sits in me, that love of being unknown. Being swallowed up whole by a place and welcoming it.
Maybe I've always been fighting myself. Armored against being known, by the sheer willingness to be unknown. I've been in the market for an invisibility cloak all along. I've run away from the small places and hurried to the large places, desperate to be a stranger.
On weekends I want to leave my city and go to a city that is completely new, an area I have never walked and cannot be known. It is my version of wanderlust. The nothingness.
Maybe that's why I anchored myself with family.
One for each point of the compass.
In case I wander into the wind and sand and the pure comfort of a new experience each and every day.
I knew that view. I stood there once, in a midtown hotel in New York. Stood there with my face against the floor-to-ceiling window, taking it all in. Feeling like one face among millions, all of us falling in love with the city. My eyes shifting from landmark to avenue, admiring the flow of it all. The lights in different colors; the architecture of the Chrysler Building; the streets dwindling to a maze along the south side. The warm certainty of anonymity, like a craving.
A different slice of the city from my usual, that of a second story alley-view.
But still, that echo sits in me, that love of being unknown. Being swallowed up whole by a place and welcoming it.
Maybe I've always been fighting myself. Armored against being known, by the sheer willingness to be unknown. I've been in the market for an invisibility cloak all along. I've run away from the small places and hurried to the large places, desperate to be a stranger.
On weekends I want to leave my city and go to a city that is completely new, an area I have never walked and cannot be known. It is my version of wanderlust. The nothingness.
Maybe that's why I anchored myself with family.
One for each point of the compass.
In case I wander into the wind and sand and the pure comfort of a new experience each and every day.
Sunday, September 13, 2015
Truncating
I've started dozens of posts in the past few months. But I'm losing my words.
After a decade of this
Worlds to words to ?
The code of stories is cut off from me
and I communicate in dashes and dots
expressions
a semi-colon, or on a sad day, a comma punctuates my parenthesis
The lines that ran through my head
beautiful words and expressions
have become emoticons
How do I feel
How did I feel
How will I feel
I am less I am more
I am
I am becoming
Truncated.
`\_0_/`
After a decade of this
Worlds to words to ?
The code of stories is cut off from me
and I communicate in dashes and dots
expressions
a semi-colon, or on a sad day, a comma punctuates my parenthesis
The lines that ran through my head
beautiful words and expressions
have become emoticons
How do I feel
How did I feel
How will I feel
I am less I am more
I am
I am becoming
Truncated.
`\_0_/`
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