Going to a museum.
People-watching.
Browsing social media.1
These are some of the ways I get overwhelmed living in my own body.
It makes me realize how numerous we are —
and how differently we experience life.
I could be any one of the people I saw today.
The child wearing a unicorn hairband, tagging along with her father through the busy streets of the capital, taking in every sight, smell, and face she can.
The father, focused on his destination, planning his way through the crowd — keeping a steady pace, yet one his little one can keep up with.
Two larger ladies wobbling on their heels, beautifully dressed for a formal event. Somewhat stressed, yet excited at the thought of a nice night out.
An Orthodox priest doing his closing rituals — delegating last duties to his volunteers, shutting off the lights one by one, gently, while humming a hymn.
A group of longtime friends outside the local bakery, coffee in hand, savoring warm pretzels and the small conversations that come with them.
A British tourist, luggage in hand, newly arrived and looking for the way to his hotel.
A performance artist filming his naked body from all angles — exploring the meatsuit he was given — not in the present, but through film, evermore here.2
A foreigner riding a delivery bike, trying not to get run over, unamused yet determined.
…
The list goes on.
And these are only snapshots of a single moment —
not even accounting for the lives that have already been lived.
It’s too much to take in sometimes.
The fact that I cannot have all these experiences.
That I can’t visit every country, or explore every nook and cranny of every home, building, garden, or space.
That I can’t join you on your vacations, or go to work with you, or hang out with your friends.
At least, for now.
Not until I reunite with the Oneness —
the moment I let go completely of my own frequency and croak.
I’d like to postpone that, of course.
But I’m so curious in the meantime.
My own little experience on this Earth, playing my own little game…
it’s nothing in comparison to what is.
Yet at the same time, it is Everything.
To me.
Maybe that’s why we feel the need to tell stories.
And even more, to listen to them.
To share a part of that experience — and in doing so,
to bypass death, if only for a moment.
Please, world —
continue telling me your stories,
and I’ll promise to share with you mine,
just by being alive.
Casica 