1.) Lately, bus rides feel eerily similar to the short, drifty trips I make each night between waking life and sleep. The lighting is the same flashy colors – the burnt-red-blood-purple of the back of my eyelids pierced, occasionally, by sun slants and shifting shapes. At a stop sign, a man outside the window is a man then a dog then a shadow.
2.) I’m improving my meditation practices, sure; five quiet minutes at the end of my waking day feels less like the life span of an elephant than it used to. Still, I find myself stuck between a strained, feigned holistic lifestyle, attempting to appeal to true practitioners of such mindful ways, and an urge to throw my shoes out the window.
3.) Some days, I can drift down the aisle of a crowded bus unnoticed; I can throw my shoes out the window without blame. I am invisible.
4.) Thích Nhất Hạnh said, “If you love someone, the greatest gift you can give them is your presence.”
5.) This makes being invisible no good.