Yesterday, as I was walking down Spadina Street here in Toronto to meet someone, something within me started noticing my thoughts. It was strange becoming aware of all these thoughts just a-thinking in me. It was like watching a series of short films–one after another. But suddenly I found myself–on the street, in the snow, surrounded by people and the whole cacophony of China Town with merchants yelling and cars everywhere. I was present to it–an opening to my life as it was happening now.
This body that usually just carries me around came into view, I was embodied. It lasted a few moments, before I was taken back up into the head and back into the swirling films that were so irresistibly engaging. But a moment later, I would remember and return to this body beneath me, here and now, along with the impressions of the street, the sounds, and the people and cars.
It occurred to me that “I” am not often the one who goes out for a walk. The stories that continually run around in my mind take me for a walk. How many days of my life, I wonder, have I been living in these stories without actually living my real life. I’m not interested in labeling the stories as good or bad–it’s part of being human, but I am interested in the part of us that can watch, without judgment on what is actually taking place–moment to moment.