Shape shifting

I have been walking...walking long distances to and from the gym everyday.  In part, because I am committed to improving my fitness level (preparing for my excursion up Mt. Kilimanjaro), in part, because I don't always have access to a car or driver when the impulse to get up and  go strikes, and in part, because I am drawn to the view.  Our apartment sits at the top of a high ridge that looks out over the Anatolian plateau and onto the mountains in the far distance.  There are vast spaces of undeveloped land interspersed with densely clustered pockets of civilization.  When looking out from the vantage point of the hilltop, a veil of desert dust blurs the scene, blending the hard edges of the concrete buildings into the mountain ridges.  The geometric jumble of buildings stacked against the undulating horizon look lifeless.  The cityscape bakes silently in the midday sun. All human activity is obscured by the vast distance.  It is if I am looking at the remnants of an abandoned civilization. I feel like an alien trekking across an unknown land in search of human contact.   I am mesmerized by this surreal view, and I trudge down the hill.

I know that what I can see from here is  not what I can see when I am thrust into the middle of the city.  There, the sidewalks teem with color and movement.  Crisp edges define space, with curbs separating foot traffic from automobiles.  Lights flash. Cars screech. Horn honk.  People shout. Music leaks from the windows of the apartments and cafes. It is noisy and messy and alive. The pulse of the city overwhelms the senses. No matter where you stand, you cannot fully take in all that is happening.  And yet these are one and the same place, just observed from two different vantage points.

My reality is shape shifting.  With each step I take  down the mountain, I feel grounded, yet somehow more free.  Expanding. Opening. Something new has wedged itself into my mind, and is pushing me forward into the unknown. My senses are on alert.  I notice the details.  The uneven curb heights.  The crumbling sidewalk.  The struggling hibiscus blossom, trumpeting its fragile beauty at the end of a parched stem. The plastic water bottles glistening in the weeds.  The security guard dozing at his post.  The taxi driver talking on his cell phone.

I am sure I am noticed.  There are not many pedestrians on this stretch of roadway.  Occasionally someone stops to offer me a ride.  I always refuse, preferring to walk in silence.  I feel invisible, cloaked in my own thoughts.

I am drawn to this dichotomy, this split scene experience of a life in which I am always part observer and never fully integrated into the fabric of daily life.  I feel oddly safe despite being vulnerable and isolated.  I feel privileged to be with but not a part of the culture.  I feel anonymous, but special.  I am feel like I am walking toward a revelation buried in the distance.