I enter a coffee shop with my laptop in my bag, ready to write.
Ready to inquire into something interesting, and commonly stressful.
Not sure what will come to mind to investigate, I buy my Rooibos tea and find a seat in the long, fairly full cafe.
There are empty tables spotted throughout the large space.
I do that thing where I place myself just about evenly between other groups, or tables where people are sitting, glancing slightly at the environment, placing my laptop facing away from a guy in the corner who has a….busy….energy, for want of a better word.
I take off my coat and place it on the opposite chair to the one I’ll be taking, and sit with my back to that guy.
I open my laptop, and I hear the guy say something.
“Can I open my mouth? Hey! I’m talking to you. Can I open my mouth? You! The one with the hat. Can I open my mouth?”
It’s an angry, haunted kind of question that doesn’t make sense.
I don’t have on a hat.
I don’t think he’s talking to me.
Although I did just have a hat on as I came in, and I placed it inside my bag. Was he looking at me before, when I entered the cafe?
Wait, is he on the phone maybe?
I look carefully.
“Can I open my mouth? Can I?”
He’s got weird eyes, rather intense.
I get up for a glass of water before starting to write in earnest, and he’s staring straight at me and still saying the same words. Like super sarcastic and creepy.
I get the water. My phone lights up as my good friend is calling me and I pretend to answer her call even though I know she’s just leaving me an important message and it’s not necessary for me to pick up.
I actually fake that I’m saying “hello” while gathering my stuff and I move to the front of the cafe, the opposite end from this quiet back area. I carry my full cup of tea in one hand, and the phone in the other, with coat and laptop and sweater tucked under my arms.
I sit by the big street window near the very front of the cafe instead.
No big deal.
But I notice a pretty stressful belief come through.
I stop the other writing I’m doing, on something completely different, and decide to write on this instead.
I’m creeped out.
Inside I’m saying “this place always is weird. It’s a strange coffee shop. There are weirdos in it every time, or just a weird feeling. It’s too dark. The music is sort of horror movie-ish. I shouldn’t come in here alone. This place is like the Devil’s Triangle.”
I kind of chuckle, though.
Not true.
Who would I be without these thoughts?
I’m being a little extreme, right?
I just happen to look up at movement out on the sidewalk after someone has left the cafe and I felt the cold air from several feet away from the door opening and closing. A person is walking by right outside the window I’m sitting next to now.
I catch the eyes of the same man, directly through the glass, looking in at me.
The guy who kept saying “Can I open my mouth?” like he was furious, and insane.
I look down and start to type, looking in a nonchalant way at the screen of my laptop.
I can see him standing there out of the corner of my eyes, maybe staring back at me. Not moving. Body still there.
Still there.
All of this through my peripheral vision.
I’m typing this.
Then I see him turn, and head down the dark, night time, wet street in the rain.
I don’t look up for a long time.
A moment like this can happen to anyone, anywhere.
What actually occurred?
Nothing much.
A man was acting angry, and sarcastic, and talking to someone, or himself out loud. Maybe talking to me.
I guess I knew to move away, to not engage.
But I want to inquire into the creeper energy, the one that says “it’s ALWAYS like this in this coffee shop. It’s dangerous.”
It shouldn’t be dangerous. He shouldn’t have been in here. He was too weird. Typical, for this coffee shop.
Is that true?
Yes.
I’d like to be able to come up here, buy tea, and not be worried about who or what is in this place! Jeez!!
I want to come and go as I please…..everywhere I please.
No weirdos!
Really?
Well.
No.
Something seems very unrealistic and a little off about that idea.
It really does not appear to be true.
How do you react when you think the thought that this place shouldn’t be dangerous, and I shouldn’t encounter a man talking angrily out loud or staring at me through the window?
Deciding I am never coming here again.
Freaked out.
Writing this.
Cold. Shivering even.
Checking the time until the dance class down the street begins.
Who would I be without the belief this place shouldn’t be dangerous and creepy?
I look up at a painting on the wall. It’s the body of a bride in a white satin dress, holding pale purple flowers, with a completely black body and black face full of dots of stars, no face at all, and geometric black hexagon shapes for hair that blend into a fully black background.
I notice, for some people, this might not be creepy at all. Lots of people are here, in fact.
But what if it is creepy, for me?
No need to fight anything.
Am I safe in this moment?
Very.
Without the thought, I notice I’m physically very, very safe….and I may not come hang out here any time soon.
Without the thought that it shouldn’t be dangerous, I notice I have fun noticing when something is, but not in a furious, deep, or defiant way.
It’s like the way I also know not to cross the freeway on foot, or jump out of an airplane, or contact that one friend right now, or climb Mt. Everest. People can do those things, and I find I’m not interested or drawn.
Maybe I don’t like when really angry-sounding people are talking around me, or staring at me. It’s OK not to like that.
Turning the thoughts around: it should be dangerous.
Well, it’s bringing this kind of “creeped out” feeling to my attention and giving me this wonderful opportunity to inquire into when these kinds of movements happen, without malice or anger or big fear myself.
In fact, I hardly feel any fear at all in my body.
I’m sitting, enjoying the typing flow, listening to the murmur of other voices, seeing the lights are on and people are drinking coffee and tea. I notice I’m not leaving yet and I’ll be a little late for the dance class and it’s fine with me.
Turning it around again: my thinking shouldn’t be dangerous, I shouldn’t be dangerous, especially in this situation.
For all I know, that guy thought I was.
I have no idea what he was concerned about, but it was important to him.
My thinking began to remember proof of moments being creeped out here before, but honestly, I can’t really remember anything specifically that ever happened.
I just notice, I don’t like the atmosphere. It’s dark and eerie and the art and music creates an ambiance of the macabre.
So maybe I’ll go dance class now.
And I’ll be on alert as I walk down the street, noticing movements and people and shadows. It’s the wise, interesting thing to do.
Nothing wrong with it.
My mind is a great story-teller. Creating images, and nervousness and spooky ideas about the man in the corner.
Turn Around: it shouldn’t be safe.
Oh. Got it.
With this whole situation, I have no idea what any of it really was. I may have misunderstood (probably).
I have no idea of that man’s orientation, who he saw as he looked, who he was talking to, what he was meaning, or if he was crazy.
I’ve experienced that same confusion, about myself!
Maybe he was me, looking at me through a window, telling the story about a dark and stormy night and creepiness and the vital question about if he can open his mouth.
I notice nothing actually happened.
I was completely, absolutely “safe”.
It should be dangerous. He should have been in here and I shouldn’t have been. I was too weird. Typical, for this mind.
And it doesn’t mean that’s now my favorite coffee shop.
I don’t think so.
Much love,