The Clumsy Interloper

After a 7-mile Saturday afternoon hike at Ragged Mountain it appears that my car, without consulting my brain, has driven itself to the Downtown Mall and parked on a dimly lit side street. I have no plans, no dinner reservation, and no companion to meet. I spend a few moments in silence staring at my steering wheel paralyzed amidst cascading thoughts and possibilities. My uncharted path and truly my purpose for being there remain a mystery to me. My watch says 7:15pm but my hunger has yet to resurface after grazing on trail mix and apples throughout the afternoon. I slip on a clean UVa shirt, turn my Cubs hat backwards and ease out into the balmy evening air.

I amble along the brick laden path towards the familiar din of the DTM and arrive at the Paramount theater. I take a deep breath and collect the scene in a series of mental snapshots. I see a college couple dining alfresco. She is twirling pasta deliberately with a demure downcast gaze while he is emphasizing a story with large, sweeping gestures. He appears anxious for her approval and she appears anxious for the date to be over. I see a homeless man sitting in a vestibule with a ruddy complexion and expectant eyes, waiting for his next chance to say “God bless you”. His dog lays down dutifully next to him as he watches those who cannot bring themselves to see him. A beautifully appointed young woman in white exits a bar flanked by her friends, all wearing matching outfits, as lilting conversation bounces off the buildings. Her “Bride to Be” rhinestone tiara glints from the streetlights as her wide smile lightens the mood of passersby.  

My senses tingle as I navigate through the people. Spending the last few hours in the vast isolation of nature has made me hyper aware in this new context. I wonder, “Am I people watching or am I the one being watched?” I begin to ponder my relationship with the surroundings and whether I’m a separate object, like a pinball in a machine, or perhaps I’m a drop in the river of consciousness. If I can diminish the boundary between “self” and “other”, then the depth of this experience becomes much deeper.

The mall is teeming with vignettes and I, with intention, open my heart to them all. The teenager in goth clothing cupping a lit cigarette. The elderly couple studying a posted menu outside a restaurant. The policeman tugging his bulletproof vest towards his chest with both hands, legs locked and rocking back in his stance while he surveys. In this moment all parties perceive that their “center of consciousness” is in their own head and we are all looking out from tiny, separate control rooms. But if we consider this reality through a different lens, then something else begins to form. From a non-dualistic perspective, everything we perceive, right now, including that fabricated sense of a “center of consciousness”, is an output of our respective minds. Everything we understand as “other” – a person, an object, the ephemera of life – actually flows through us all, and we it. We are not scattered islands dotting the sea, we are the ocean and we breathe as one. I feel this oneness overtake me as I slip into the current of awareness and continue my stroll down the DTM.

Later that evening I merged with a burger from Jack Brown’s and the universe made even more sense.