Everything is happening at the speed. Time has been completely disfigured, straying from preconceived notions about it. As the moments weigh heavier, the sound gets more sound. Our collection is exposed to a massive swirling of energies, with all of these just-so-happenings. It’s the same as its always been, yet different. We’re equal parts connected and distant. Where are the access points?

The pregnant ladies are having babies. Those who appreciate the onslaught of winter are in jovial spirits. I tend to appreciate the fall-winter combination, as I love being bundled up. I also feel super connected to Mother Earth in the fall and winter. It’s all-around more quiet, because less people are outside. There’s more of an opportunity to hear the distant owl amidst the stillness. The planes all twirl about odd angles.

There are so many eyes in this world. Some easier to look into than others. Maybe we all have the same eye at the root of all this vision. That one eye sees so much at all times. Sometimes it makes things difficult to truly see. Seeing is believing, or believing is seeing? Or both. There are also many questions.

It’s worth asking, if only to pass “time.”

I write this post in my Mom’s office-nook. A colorful, floral lamp and an awkward family photos calendar hang out in unison. There is also an Irish blessing that hangs about the computer. It has been hanging up around my different familial abodes since I can remember.

“May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rain fall soft upon your fields. And, until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand. Amen.”

 

It’s not the flesh of a pepper that’s hot. It’s the seeds. The lings’ potency penetrating every pore of our innards. Many of us only notice the effects that it’s having on our tastebuds. But, there is so much more going on inside of us when we decide to take it all in. Seeds and all.

William says that a pepper burns in three places. In the mouth, first. Secondly, in the stomach. And thirdly, in a blaze of glory on the way out. Heat is good, man. This conversation all started because I had some legitimately spicy chocolate. I shared a piece with William, and he sat spewing wisdom with a glimmer in his eyes.

Today, for my break, I initially sat down to eat alone but, to my surprise and delight, William came from around the corner and sat down with a smile. We’ve shared many a meal  during our synchronistic break periods. He was done being the porter for today, the most important job at our store. Taking out trash, cleaning up spills. Supplying utensils. All of the things that need to happen in order for anything to go down. Originally from Guyana, and having lived in New York for nine years prior to moving to North Carolina, William has had his fair share of spice in his life. A man who weaves about our spectrum with grace. Always thinking and feeling on this plane. Sharing with those whose ears are open and ready to listen.

I’ve lived in the USA throughout the entirety of my being, and I didn’t really eat many spicy foods growing up, but I have an extremely high tolerance to spice. It’s hard for me to find things, of which are labeled “spicy,” that are actually so. Which is why I was so excited about this chocolate.

Both of us savoring the initial dark chocolate taste, followed up by a steady heat of the pili pili chili.

It’s amazing to connect over chocolate and talk about peppers for 20 minutes. In this day and age, people seem to be moving too fast for things like that. But, not everybody.

What have a learned today?

Mice are allergic to peppermint oil. Chugging carrot juice, eating dark chocolate, and then brushing your teeth is a stable series of events. A delegate of the public prefers oranges already in a bag, as opposed to picking up oranges and placing them in a bag. Too much effort. There are a lot of New Yorkers in North Carolina. Everyone who I talked to tonight knew people that were safe from the storm, thus far. Power still out, ghost town abound. I didn’t get to talk to anyone from New Jersey. But, there was a beautiful Italian lady who appreciated my scarf. Bella!

There is so much happening right now! I commented about this to an older gentleman tonight. “What do you mean? There’s always something happening.” I know, but right now – especially! The election, storm, 2012, everything happening on a global, yet stationary, level. So many layers to sift through. Is it even worth sifting? Might be best to just throw it all in a jar and see how long it takes before you get weighed down. For the sake of saving time, and all. What is time, anyway? Everything gets pitched in the end.

I worked at the grocery store this evening. There is one gentleman who comes through. An exotic looking man, who seems well-traveled and versed in numerous languages. His eyes pierce a radiant blue while he examines, observing every situation. We’ve started “twinkling” at each other. One night, I intentionally sent light through my eyes, and he caught it with a “woah!” Since then, that’s how every transaction goes down. Words are so 3D.  It’s refreshing when people are confidently tuned in.

Patti, a yogi friend of mine came through this evening. I’ve taken a class with her before. Transforming into winter existence, she was wearing a beautiful red, knitted cap and a warm jacket. Looking at a yoga magazine, I hear her exclaim in shock that it was $10.00. “You should have your own yoga magazine, Patti!” I exclaim, emphatically. Her eyes open wide and her jaw drops a bit. She is such a stable woman; it took me by surprise to take her by surprise. “I can’t believe you just said that, Allison!” She had a reading from an intuitive of sorts earlier today. Apparently, they told her that she should write a book. I receive her weekly pieces of writing in my email. She sends out to people who signed up during a yoga class. She is so thoughtful and inspiring. Even if I can’t attend class, her emails are potent inspiration for my moment, day, or week. However long it needs to resonate. I totally see her having a book published some day. Goosebumps fall like a shade in the right chakras.

I am particularly fond of our store’s #1 security guard, Justin. This evening, as he was doing a lap, I asked if his security badge needed a shine. “Shine it up!” he said, with a signature smile. Resting contently over his heart, the natural sheen from his spirit intermingled with the faux-gold of the badge, causing my eyes to squint a bit. Seeing the light can be just as daunting as seeing the dark. This man is the eyes of our store. He used to wear a security hat. They told him he needed to look more “friendly.” So now, he doesn’t wear a hat. But, he does drink coffee out of a reusable cup. One point for the Earth. 

My clock says 12:04, but we’re supposed to fall back an hour. We’ll see how wordpress logs this entry. I may have missed November 3 by four minutes. I’m of the philosophy that it’s still the same day if you’re still awake. Staying awake for three days is like being awake for one day with an insane outcome. Literally insane.

 

 

 

 

Gazelles dance frequently against the painted sky of twilight. Just because it isn’t said, doesn’t mean it’s not happening. Potential sexual conquest stays fantasy under a shrouded oblivion. And the colors, they’re so bright and bold for the absorption. Spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down.

 

Last year, I remember receiving wordpress emails about National Blog Post Month, and thinking about how cool it would be to participate. My then, and now, defunct blog, radiating at such a meager frequency on the interweb, has  only been a pendulum-piece for the mind-game I was playing with myself. Looking outside the inside window. Waiting for nothing at all. Wondering if I would ever be willing to come back. Well, the obvious answer is no. I decided to recreate and start anew.

Fast forward.

Last week, I sat down for sushi with my friend, Neil. He sports a signature leather jacket, worn with life. Black compliments his ensemble, peaking out from underneath the cherished creature at rest. A NY baseball hat shadows his intimate face, accentuating lines and dulling age all at the same time. A living, breathing, modern-day playwright, Neil has successfully spent his life writing, producing, publishing and, now, teaching. A professor at our local, prestigious institution, he is a regular at the high-end grocery store that I work at. Which, is how we met. Seemingly-randomly, of course.

As a writer, Neil is focused on connecting with all different types of people. I asked him about his consideration of service-members, because many of my other coworkers are also very fond of this man. He comes in at least once a day, for a New York Times, etc, always taking the time to connect. I thought he may have worked the service industry as well, knowing what it’s like, thus the root of the empathy.  Apparently, he only worked one job that could be classified as being so. At a bookshop, in Boston, when he was attending Yale back in the day. He said it was one of the most fun jobs he’s ever had. But, his genuine willingness to get to know people, even if they are the ones serving him, comes from his desire to feel people. To create. In order to write from the perspective of a particular character, one must become them. Must empathize, see, feel, and be. He interacts so as to react to the interaction.

Neil is in his mid-fifties, I believe. He’s only been teaching for about the last 15 years, as most of his time prior was consumed with writing plays and then putting them on. One of the most interesting fragments of our conversation, between Sweet Potato and Eel Cucumber sushi rolls, is the idea that people are becoming a lot less empathetic. That we, as a society, are losing the ability to interact with one-another on a very human level. “How are you” has turned into a “hello.” The mechanics are taking over and technology has begun to intermingle with our veins. How do we stay properly oxygenated amidst impending, ultimate dependance upon the man-made?

He teaches one class a week. It’s 2 1/2 hours long. Students get a break in the middle. Neil showed me a picture on his phone, which apparently freaked out his class. It shows a whole row of students on their computers, not speaking to one another. Silence, side-by-side. He said this is what happens over their break!  No one gets up from their seats. Everyone stays sedentary and silent. Confined to their own bubbles. Unwilling to suds up and chat  with the person next to them.

Where is the willingness to connect?

The next day, at break, he showed them the picture…when he “freaked them out.” He told them that they weren’t allowed to be on their computers, phones, ipods, or any other technological bit. They had to talk to each other. Get to know the person sitting next to them. Apparently, talking about non-school related subjects, thus bonding, over the break, led to a more lively discussion during the second portion of class. It amazes me that professors, and teachers on all levels of the educational spectrum, I imagine, are having to literally tell their students to talk to each other! I guess it only makes sense. Back in the day, in the era of prehistoric apples, the only quiet time was when everyone was in “computer class,” in awe of the faux-interaction. “Regular” class was loud, and if it wasn’t people were actually engaged with the learning. Teachers needed to tell the students to stop talking. Things have changed.

I imagine…thoughts for food and foods for thought.