The Curb

The Curb coffee shop. Honolulu, Hawaii. Artisanal coffee. Iced Toddy on nitrous. Skateboarder, jittery, stumbled out, found his feet on board and cruised off. Cast of characters, caring about quality caffeine. Coming and going. For a tiny corner shop there’s quite a scene. Japanese. German. Haole’s and hapas. Speaking of languages and travel. Of a friends mother who speaks so quickly its amazing she is able to breathe.

It’s cool to be able to walk these streets I came to almost ten years ago. This coffee shop between 10^th Ave. and Sierra Dr.

Exploring makes people come alive. Makes me come alive. Tasting new arts, new cultures. And languages. Just now, a man, long sleeved shirt, and jeans with a tight belt ran past me on the sidewalk of Waialae Ave. Arms out stretched. Chest thrown forward. Head thrown back. And I, I catch a glimpse of a moment of his journey. My eyes and mind a witness left to wonder. To watch.

I feel my heart beat quickening and see a mans hand through the window next to me shaking back and forth. Pausing for a moment. And shaking again. Thoughts may be accompanying the movement. Maybe aware of his hand. Maybe not. And two people inside, maybe early twenties- are animated. Radiating excitement. And I do that too. Express the excitement of connecting. Putting forth and being acknowledged for our expansions in life. This girls experience of receiving a scholarship because a mentor/teacher applied for her. No effort needed. We share these parts of ourselves and our lives. The parts full of magic. Unexplainable.

So many comings and goings. In a coffee shop. In a city. In one mans life. It’s important for me to get out. To feel this. The expansiveness of life. Of so many people so involved in their own experiences mine doesn’t exist. I disappear.

I cried this morning on the steps outside the house. Steps made of concrete. I  feel judged. Not good enough. Looked at too much. Like the way my sensitivity falls on broken leaves breaking their seams all the more. Unable to control my weight.

But then, I have writing. A confidant. Lover. Muse. Making sense of the insensible. And life is what happens in between.

Enlivening the magic of symbols.

“I come seeking knowledge and you mock me!” A guy inside the coffee shop just shouted, laughing. Teasing. Calling out.