a low hum. do you hear that?

I'm sitting here, drinking amazing Tulsi tea and listening to some of the most beautiful oboe music I have ever heard, and thinking about the evening.

Tonight, Aberdeen's beloved band Junebug came back for a CD release party. Fed by Doris and Blue Orange also made appearances, and everyone was there. As I was listening to these great bands and seeing people hang out with each other just like they have for so many years, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the beauty and "right-ness" of the night. These people have been friends, supported each other and shared coffee together for countless hours, and though there were new and old faces, it was like each one of us had always been there.

Later, I went for a walk. For some reason I just wanted to walk by myself. I found some visual treasures along the way but ended up finding a bench to sit on for a little while. At first, I was somewhat self-conscious as I didn't know what people would think of me just sitting on the bench by myself at night doing absolutely nothing. Everytime a car went by I would try to look normal--whatever that looks like. After awhile of this, I started to relize that no one noticed that I was there. It was only my mind creating this awkwardness, not looks of bewilderment from passersby. Then it became slightly funny to me. There I was sitting on a bench late in the evening by myself doing nothing...and I loved that no one knew that I was there!

As I sat there, I tried to pick out the noises that I heard and dissect them. Eventually it came down to a hum, and if you've ever done anything like that before, you know that a hum layered underneath everyday noises can be impressively loud once noticed. Usually if I think about it for awhile, I can figure out where it's coming from. However, tonight, the hum seemed to come from the city itself--not a building, not a machine, not a light post...just from the collective community.

I sat there listening and thinking about what was going on a few blocks away from me at the coffeehouse. I thought about the people meeting up there to listen to their friends play interesting music. I thought about what that place and those people represent to me and to each other and to Aberdeen. Perhaps most of us who go there often and who are affected by and thankful for the coffeehouse don't think of it everyday or appreciate it blatantly. Perhaps it is because what has been created there is like the low-layered hum of the community--in our everyday lives we don't realize how impressive and impacting it is until we stop to to peel away the layers and pay attention to it. It's there, sitting on the bench in the dark, even if we don't always pause to look for it.

In-betweener

What's a word for the idea of being on the verge?

I'm reading the book Eat, Pray, Love right now. It's really a great book, and I can identify so much with the author on many levels. In her book, she travels to Italy --to learn how to enjoy life, India--to learn how to be devoted and to seek God, and to Indonesia--to learn how to balance those two aspects of life.

At one point, she is searching for what is her word-- one word that represents her. As I was reading it, I was thinking about how in many ways her word fits me. It might not be MY word, per se, but it's interesting for me to think about The word is antevasin which means, "one who lives at the border" in sanskrit:

"The antevasin was an in-betweener. He was a border-dweller. He lived in sight of both worlds, but he looked toward the unknown. And he was a scholar."

Later the author says... "You can still live on that shimmering line between your old thinking and your new understanding, always in a state of learning. In the figurative sense, this is a border that is always moving--as you advance forward in your studies and realizations, that mysterious forest of the unknown always stays a few feet ahead of you."

And again later, she talks about all the roles she's pursued and wondered if she fit into: traveler, wife, artist, student, etc. She concludes: "I'm not any of these things, at least not completely. ...I'm just a slippery antevasin--betwixt and between--a student on the ever-shifting border near the wonderful, scary forest of the new."

So much of my mental energy has been spent on trying to figure out my roles and routines and how I fit into categories. But I'm loving the realization that I am all of those things and I'm not. The author puts this idea well later too: "Imagine cramming yourself into such a puny box of identity when you could experience your infinitude instead."

Identity is important. And I suppose we do need labels from time to time because that is often how our minds work. We like to classify in order to better understand. But it is great to think that we are infinite souls, and what we experience in this life is only a portion of who we are and what we experience as a whole.

For me, that's a comforting thought when I don't understand myself or can't put into words how I feel.

So, in other words, I often feel that I am "on the verge." I'm not sure what verge--I don't know what lies ahead or even exactly what lies behind. It's mysterious forest. It's a cliff in the midst of fog. And even though I can't pinpoint exactly where I am or where I'm going, I know that this specific moment is not all there is to my life and experience at this very moment.

And somehow that is comforting and unnerving at the same time.