Today I listened to stories I heard about unity and creation and strength. I heard about displacement and the question of home. I listened to someone try to figure out how to describe dreaming, and to someone else talk about the difficulty of finding who they are.
Today I watched someone strip herself down and be. I wrote on her back – three words down her strong spine – and hoped that as she felt the marker press against her skin she would let the words sink in until she believed them. I watched her step up to the camera and let herself be seen and heard. She was beautiful.
I, too, told a story. I stepped up to the camera and felt my heart pounding under my right hand and the heat of my body on my left. The real black words on the backs of my hands reminded me of a made up one that became a calming mantra for me to call upon when I need it.
If a picture is worth a thousand words, then a Dear World picture highlights the most important ones – the simple few that fit on a face or chest or arm; the ones which lie beneath our skin, but which – when in front of the camera – become totally exposed.
For more information on Dear World’s mission and projects, visit: http://dearworld.me/
You are the most beautiful thing I have ever felt.
Somewhere out there, a star laughs for you – it sings praises to your soul and illuminates the sky so you know you aren’t alone.
Somewhere in the Universe someone is thinking of you, wishing for you. Even if they don’t know your name yet, they want you.
Somewhere champagne pops and pink-gold sweetness crosses someone’s lips. Bubbles rise, and then tickle a throat as they descend. They are happy.
A book closes, chapter after chapter complete. There is a pause. A quiet thump of completion. A brush of the cover.
A voice rises from quiet, releasing nervous words. There is a pause. An excited inhale of air charged with possibility. A smile that sounds louder than the pounding of your heart.
Things change, but you don’t always see it right away. That little happy star can still be seen long after it has faded. Words stay, the shape of them caught up in your ears. Light becomes yellow pink blue grey. Light becomes light.
Where you are now, can you feel your breath entering and leaving your body?
a sudden strong feeling of excitement or fear; a thrill.
“a frisson of excitement”
The coffee shop is tiny, making the smell of espresso seem even more concentrated as the door swings open and warm air overpowers the outside chill. A few small tables, a crowded counter, and a compact window seating area keep everyone close within the brick walls.
Scurry to the counter. Sit. Sip at your warm, strong drink. Scurry, sit, sip. It happens over and over – sometimes with the variation of dropping the sit. People file in and out, most stay at least for a bit. It isn’t too crowded or too busy even though it is small. Perhaps a large mirror hung on one wall makes it seem like more than it really is. But probably not. Size should not be taken for granted here.
The strong espresso smell is an indicator of the richness of the drinks. The name does not oversell the place. With the first smooth and balanced taste the cappuccino does thrill – sending a warm buzz through me beneath my layers of clothes. It is just outside of the trap of Times Square, relevant for the area, but not loaded down with clamoring tourists.
Much like their drinks, Frisson is tasty (or rather, tasteful), uncomplicated, and completely satisfying. Breathe in the espresso-stained air, scurry, sit, and sip.
Frisson Espresso is located at 326 W 47th St, New York, NY 10036