The Invisible Mind

Every day I watch thousands of people pass me on the street thinking me a fool and paying me no mind. For all they see is an old Indian woman, planted on the cold, stone sidewalk. Long, gray hair down to the breasts, wearing a faded coral dress and a pale lavender shawl with little gold spots on the borders around the shoulders. But if they stopped to look closer they would see the rough, scarred hands of a cook. The silver wedding band, no larger than a piece of thread, from a deceased husband. The wrinkles on my face that have each a story. And if they looked really close they may just see life in my eyes and the knowledge that lies within.

I have lived on my own for quite some time now. Despite my age and my faltering ability to accomplish the mundane tasks of daily life, I continue to live on my own. I am different. Someone seen, not heard. I had very little power in my life, but with the little I had I chose to remain silent, to observe my world. Many do not realize how much can be learned using this technique. I can speak, but I chose only to speak in quote. To hear me speak is very rare. My words will only make sense if you ponder them for some time before acting upon them. But if you do this they may just change your life. I put lots of thought into my words, thinking about what will truly impact the person. 

For each person it is different. Each human is unique. Each mind is distinct and separate. Each mind has individual goals. As humans we are never satisfied with what we have. We always want more. It is just how we are. It is simply human nature. And this is no way to live your life, yet, this is how many do. Constantly wanting more. Nothing is ever enough. I have watched so many compare themselves to others, always noting what others have, what others do. I have seen this throughout all my life, yet, no one seems to want to change it. They never challenge society, they just do as they are told. Never asking why. And now with the new fancy apps all hope is fleeing for the new generation. For no one understands the true meaning of life anymore. They understand not that joy doesn't have to be recorded for proof, that the joyous things in life happen outside of the telephone. That what you have is enough and once you realize this, you will be eternally happy.

Crack! Something hits the ground next to me, interrupting my thoughts. I turn to look at this fallen object. A young man, no more than twenty, looks me straight in the eye. His dark blue jeans fit him perfectly. He is wearing a black t-shirt, with some marks of brown, probably from playing a game in the muddy grass. He has a bright denim jacket, with a red J sown on, worth at least £40. His hair is a black, curly mess on his head and he seems hispanic. He has a chiseled face, a very strong jawline and brown eyes, like dark chocolate, almost identical to mine. 

I remember him. He comes to the Starbucks next to where I “live” every other day. He always waits at the window seat staring at his telephone and sipping a latte and always spills a little on his shirt. Then at exactly 5:15pm he jolts his head up to look out the window. A young lady walks by. She wears a long gray coat so I can never see much of her. She walks with purpose, very confident and almost always in high heels. Her long, silky black hair flows behind her as if it’s a cape. She wears a beret that is the color of orange. The color is so similar to a sunset that it seems like she pulled it out of the sky. She has a silk, light pink scarf with little white dots at the ends. She is very kind. Each time she passes by me she hands me £10, saying,” May the day bring you peace and joy.” Then she flashes a smile that is so bright most would melt at the sight of it. Her face is gentle, in an imperfect way. She never wears make-up. She is graceful as she gets up to keep sauntering down the street. As soon as she is gone he comes out of his hiding place in a sort of daze and dawdles along the sidewalk.

But today it was different, today he was going to make his move. Today he couldn’t keep still. His leg kept bouncing and he could barely drink his latte. His eyes were darting around, as if the woman might appear at any moment. In his right hand he held onto an old, white rosary as if his life depended on it. He never even glanced at his phone, his eyes were glued to the window. He was also wearing the black t-shirt. In all my days I had never seen him wear anything black. As it neared 5:15 he slowly got up from his seat. He dropped his cup in the trash near the door on his way out without looking down. The bells jingle as he opens the door. He is not going to dawdle today. Just as he is about to take his first step out, his foot slips. He plunges down to the Earth and hits the sidewalk with a groan. When he looks up again, the woman has already passed me and is well on her way down the road. He is on his feet again at the speed of light and when he is only a meter away, that’s when he sees him.

A young man, about his age, walks out of the next building over. He runs to catch up with her. He is very muscular, wearing a tank top and brown Khaki pants with a darker brown belt. He has dirty blond hair that blows in the wind. He jogs up, swings his arm across her shoulders and gives her a sweet kiss on the cheek. 

By the time I recollected everything that had happened earlier that day, he was already reaching for his telephone. When he grasped it, and turned it so the front side was facing him I could see a large crack on the screen. It was 5:20pm. He leaned against the brick wall in defeat. He slowly sank down to a sitting position next to me and fiddled with his pocket. He took out his wallet and gave me £10. I peeked into his eyes as he did this. I saw his pain, and sadness. I took his hand in mine, looked him square in the eye and in a definitive voice I told him,

”You live life in comparison but life itself is enough.

Only once you come to realize this, will you be truly happy.”