Coat Check Girl, painting reproduced by permission of the artist, Max Ferguson.
Do you know that I’m looking at you? As you look into the distance. The girl with far away eyes. Can you tell, from the space between us? From that which flows? Do you sense that I’m wondering about you? I’m wondering if you’re wondering is this a man I could fall for? Fall head over heels for? You look above and beyond. Gazing into space. Do you think we could love? If I told you of my heart and what I make of this world? When we talk (we will), you (the girl with far away eyes) and I (who’s falling in love with our future), I will tell you about the man I’m thinking about as I think of you. Of his eighteen years as a forest monk in Lampang. Living off the alms of the poor. In silent meditation. In solitude. And I’ll tell you why I think the universe brought us together. Yes, you and me, for sure. But also me and the forest monk. Some will say we meet by chance. All of us. Others see it otherwise. Streams of water in quest of a single path. A shared channel. The monk and I, together on a bench in the milky sun seeking and finding complicity. Me with my quantum entanglement (will you run from me at the words? the implication?). Of dualistic nature collapsing upon itself, choosing a single outcome. Like fate. Like destiny. Like you and I at this single instance in time. And he, the forest monk, sublime, smiling, speaking of grasping and attachment. Of identities. Here and now. From moment to moment. As I wonder now what all this means to you and me? Now. If I resist the draw to seize this moment. And yet, in this instance (for an instance is all it is, is all it takes) you beguile me. Your demeanour. All the atoms connected in the universe. Soften the mind. Into action. I’ll go into the street. But please don’t disappear. Don’t fall in love with another. Stay gazing as I rush into the cold and icy New York night. And I will empty my wallet. Three hundred dollar bills. And I will beg the men that pass me by to sell me a coat. Any coat. Here. Three hundred dollars. And one will say yes (for it’s in all our natures), hurriedly checking the notes. As cheap and threadbare as the coat might be. And I’ll come back to the space in which you gaze. And offer up to you my coat. A gesture. I will hear the sound of your voice. Like an angel it will be. Like breaking a fast. And I will tell you what I know. Not of science. Not of the presence of absence. But of longing. Of love. Of distances coming together. Of love and of the life you and I will forge together. This man with the threadbare coat, and you, the girl with the far away eyes.
Do you know that I’m looking at you? As you look into the distance. The girl with far away eyes. Can you tell, from the space between us? From that which flows? Do you sense that I’m wondering about you? I’m wondering if you’re wondering is this a man I could fall for? Fall head over heels for? You look above and beyond. Gazing into space. Do you think we could love? If I told you of my heart and what I make of this world? When we talk (we will), you (the girl with far away eyes) and I (who’s falling in love with our future), I will tell you about the man I’m thinking about as I think of you. Of his eighteen years as a forest monk in Lampang. Living off the alms of the poor. In silent meditation. In solitude. And I’ll tell you why I think the universe brought us together. Yes, you and me, for sure. But also me and the forest monk. Some will say we meet by chance. All of us. Others see it otherwise. Streams of water in quest of a single path. A shared channel. The monk and I, together on a bench in the milky sun seeking and finding complicity. Me with my quantum entanglement (will you run from me at the words? the implication?). Of dualistic nature collapsing upon itself, choosing a single outcome. Like fate. Like destiny. Like you and I at this single instance in time. And he, the forest monk, sublime, smiling, speaking of grasping and attachment. Of identities. Here and now. From moment to moment. As I wonder now what all this means to you and me? Now. If I resist the draw to seize this moment. And yet, in this instance (for an instance is all it is, is all it takes) you beguile me. Your demeanour. All the atoms connected in the universe. Soften the mind. Into action. I’ll go into the street. But please don’t disappear. Don’t fall in love with another. Stay gazing as I rush into the cold and icy New York night. And I will empty my wallet. Three hundred dollar bills. And I will beg the men that pass me by to sell me a coat. Any coat. Here. Three hundred dollars. And one will say yes (for it’s in all our natures), hurriedly checking the notes. As cheap and threadbare as the coat might be. And I’ll come back to the space in which you gaze. And offer up to you my coat. A gesture. I will hear the sound of your voice. Like an angel it will be. Like breaking a fast. And I will tell you what I know. Not of science. Not of the presence of absence. But of longing. Of love. Of distances coming together. Of love and of the life you and I will forge together. This man with the threadbare coat, and you, the girl with the far away eyes.
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