other

Out last night with a couple of people, in a rather crazy setting, I left at the end of the gig with a distinct sense of being “other”. Distinctly, crystal clealry, profoundly other. Other than them. Other than you.

There’s been some shimmering rememberance of this all along, say since five or six years old. Just never to the utter, stand-still awareness about 7:50 last night. It is not something I cultivate – I don’t water it, I don’t feed it, I don’t weed it. It’s just there it is. For all I know, perhaps every single being on the planet feels this way. I don’t get to speak for them. Or know that. Just me, in a setting-sun parking lot, this electric bang of knowing who I am.

I am absolutely other, traveling through this life.