Rittenhouse Square — Is there anything like it where I’m from?
Of course there is. Only in that first moment seeing others walking, reading, I feel something wondrous, new. And of course it is.
In such places I find me
Why’s it matter? Rittenhouse in Philly vs. at home in afternoon sun? Here I’m surrounded by unknown or different experience, I‘m shown to me against this background. Walking around the neighborhood surrounding the Square I find me stalking myself…into cafes, along the shady side of a hot street, back towards the hotel, texting or calling the kids about meeting them…
Took a photo at home, behind an image edit. Looks like a passport? And is that towel behind me a headdress? Passport to where? I know these questions are just about wishing I was in that place the it could take me, the place I seek daily. Home, in the long truth of my spacious soul. In the Square, in the street, at my desk, on the cell phone. In an argument about how I should be. Lost, completely lost!
Sir (or Ma’am), here’s my passport. May I pass?