“We Can Just Watch the World”

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I’ve just arrived home from an evening with a friend, after a fairly productive get-things-done day. A mountain of little errands have been piling up this month that I just keep putting off, because they involve going out of my way, or remembering to drop of somewhere I hadn’t planned on going. Today I polished off the more important chores, and I feel much better for it. Now, my schedule is slightly less intimidating. The writing has been going well also. With a full-plan prepared and filed, I can steadily work through scenarios without too much trouble, but the pace is still slow. I spent a couple of hours in the library, but my concentration wavered and my mind stumbled upon thoughts of an old friend. And so I text him, and we agreed to meet up.

I’ve mentioned him before; Andreas, a precious friend, close to my heart, and close to my spirit. A career choice has led him on a lonely road of late, and he often spends his days inside an office managing unruly amounts of paperwork, but I am especially proud of him for doing so. Still, a time when we used to spend every other day in each others company has transformed into an era where months can pass with little contact at all; though I’m sorrowful about this, the hours we spend together have become invaluable.

Without realising it, he can be incredibly philosophical, but in a gentle, subtle manner. The evening expanded from a drink, to a meal, to a drive around the hoe. Despite the cold, we stopped for a while on the seafront, in a long underpass, and we watched the lights at see. Andreas spoke.

“We can just watch the world.”

Simple, beautiful words, so straightforward, and yet so meaningful.

On my shared blog, I’ve talked before about special places being indistinguishable from time (here), but I never really considered that sometimes people are also equally embedded in a moment and a space. We stood alone there for just five minutes, but it was a period we could just enjoy; there was no worry or masks between us. A view of a city from across the water, and the knowledge we were beside each other was all we needed. I miss that feeling; I miss him. I’m glad he’s happy, and so much is going well in his life.

Before we parted, Andreas shared some of his Greek music with me, a song, which when translated, talks about planes and about paradise. When I’m able to find the official translation, I’ll share it here.

Also, this musician is under appreciated. I found him when searching for the official name for a dog-ear, which doesn’t exist. He is here, and he is very good. Check him out: http://dogears.org/

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