...in the plaza de major of astoria the syrian dancers meld into the greek dabke as chris and i watch with anthropology... a walk through the town square lands us in conversation with the woman from richmond, on her bike, swaying her hips to the rhythm of ancient as she connects with ancestry... she tells me this when we share a laugh over the guy with the illuminated balloons that are tethered by the strings bunched in each hand so that it looks like he has the wings of an astronauts and its delightful when he is behind the stature of sacrotes, along side the band in intermission, but as he grows close, we shield our eyes, and when he passes we laugh and the laughter like alcohol provides excuse to speak, to shed the inhibition that requires reason to speak, to disintegrate walls...
...the cyclist tried, when he sped down the wrong side of the street and ran into the van crashing the bumper and flipping over... a circus of a tuesday evening walk that led to audience and spectacle... each of us participating in the awe... chris and i found ourselves next to a woman from boston, who like us were seeking to put together the pieces of the puzzle that led us there...
...for chris and i, it was the smash of vehicle on vehicle that we heard from a block away... for the woman, it was her walk from the subway on her way back from a friend's in greenpoint... we shared curiosity that merged into a curiosity of each other...
...these moments abound... the intersection of lives and possibility... the fairies are all around us... in this moment... seen and unseen... drop backs into wheel and the standing forth... one hand handstand and straight legged jump throughs... they are there... like vipassana... and the novel... and the spouse... and lovers... and kids... you just have to lean into what isn't seen...
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