A Cup of Coffee pt. 2

  "Good morning! Can I help you with anything?  Our coffee is freshly ground and brewed every morning.", she said in an unrehearsed tone.
  He replied with a hint of hesitation in his voice.
  "Yea, that sounds like a good way to start my day."
  His attention was else where, she could tell.  He was still finishing his fleeting visions of the robust crowd engulfed in smoke, song, and dance.
  "Is it a daydream?" as she look directly into his overted eyes.
  "Uh... sorry, it's just the counter here just made me think of another time and place."
  "I get that a lot.  Before I bought this place it was a local watering hole.  The bar was something I just couldn't part with.  I've researched the company that made it and it seems this was shipped all the way from London around the early 1920s."
  "That's really interesting. If I owned this place I would've probably had to find out where it came from to."
  "Here's your coffee.  Why not have a seat.  No sense in just standing next to the bar."
  "Good idea."
  "You know you look kinda familiar.  But I don't think I've seen you here before."
  "No, you probably haven't.  Actually I know you haven't.  This is the first time I've ever been to Torry Lake."
  He took his first sip of his black coffee and looked at her with tired eyes.  He tried to hide his weariness, but his unkept hair and wrinkled collared dress shirt reeked of a red-eye flight and a two hour drive from the airport.
  "Hmmmm... I'll think of it before you finish that cup of coffee."
She stared intently for a moment studying his face.  An uncomfortable silence fell across their little corner of the shop as he glanced up from his cup. There she stood a foot away while the corners of her mouth began to rise in heart felt recognition.  She knew why he was here.  He felt she knew.  He felt somewhat foolish but knew he couldn't leave.  He needed to see this through no matter the end result.
 

Inward

The downtrodden man rises from the ashes of despair.
The chains of social acceptance no longer restrain his imagination.
They no longer control his movements. 
The black-rimmed glasses of third party perceptions are calmly, yet forcibly smashed in the presence of ordinaries.

He does not claim to be extraordinary.
He is just a man.
But he refuses to fall in rank and file.
He will no longer model himself in the eyes of others.
His vision of himself will shine through.
It will blind some with enlightenment and leave him unrecognizable to others.

Today and forever more he lives with purpose.
Those who can not except his metamorphosis matter less and less.
The focus becomes inward...
Life becomes more meaningful when he strips away the superfical, social posturing.
Contentment is followed by peace... relaxation... bliss...

A Cup of Coffee

The brass bell attached to the top corner of the old oak door rang as he pushed his way into the quiant coffee shop.  The smell of freshly roasted coffee and sandal wood incense made an aromatic refreshing pair. 

Buried in their books, laptops, and writings, the patrons barely acknowledged his presence.  He made his way to the counter which was situated against a very old and worn brick wall.  As he approached he noticed the counter didn't belong in a coffee shop.  The polished mahogany stretched almost the entire span of the wall.  It brought an image forward he only had read about and saw in movies.  A 1930s speakeasy.  That's where this handcrafted bar would have been more suited. 

Just as he began to invision the burly doorman, the brass band playing some swinging toon as the women in their flapper dresses danced with reckless abandon; a woman popped up from behind the expansive bar.  She was easily twenty years his senior but the years had been extremely kind to her.  The contours of her face and neck blended sentually with the golden brown color of her shoulders.  Her dark auburn hair was cut short to show off the nape of her neck.  He was struck by this unexpected and pleasant feeling.  She radiated a warming auroa, her smile said everything he needed to hear.  Little did he know, that cup of coffee would change his life.

My Routine

  There is a fine line between being stuck in a rut and becoming comfortable and content with a routine.  I'm definitely in the latter.  The honeymoon phase of Korea is over, but there is still excitement that lurks around every corner.  I still venture out through the subways, connecting cities, and meandoring trails along the river.  But my day to day life has become the foundation of my happiness.  I like waking up every morning with a purpose... I like the fact I'm doing what I love... teaching. I get to walk to work, I don't have to drive.  I like going down stairs at lunch and eating with my fellow teachers.  I usually just sit back, eat and listen to them talk about their day.  I'll add to the conversation once in awhile but I like listening... I like getting off work at night, going home, throwing on my gym clothes and walking with my friend to the gym.  When does a routine become a rut?  Well I'll let you know.  But for now, I'm happy and content and living in the moment.

Addiction

  Emotions are a very strong thing.  They can be a great motivator or a crippling hindrance.  The funny thing is, all emotions are, are chemical reactions in our brain.  When you start to really think about that the more we just might view ourselves as addicts.  Is it a long leap in thought to go from a heroin addict to a person addicted to the feeling falling in love gives them?  Does it cheapen the thought of love or any of our other emotions by looking at it in such a matter-of-fact way?  Does it make it any less wonderful?  I still like the feeling, but some of the mystery and wonder of it all are lost.  Sometimes not thinking or understanding how things work can be a blessing in disguise.  I wish someone would come along and become addicted to me.