The fifth. Avenue drummer
Near the huge lions that guard the beautiful New York Public library (a quiet art filled haven with rare books, ceiling murals and marble) the silence was broken not just by Fifth Avenue NYC holiday traffic and pedestrians but by percussive, resounding beat. Exiting the library, I walked down the steps to find the source - this human source generating sound that resonated in my chest and broke off the weight of my sad, heart-broken weariness.
I heard the beat. I gave a donation in the repurposed postal service tub. But I needed to respond more. I needed to pay, honor, this man more. This man who wore only a sock on his right foot (on forty degree day) to fine tune his regular percussive aluminum kick beat.
So I responded. I contributed me. I blew bubbles. I briefly danced spontaneously to his side (not to distract or detract) but to not just observe but to celebrate, participate being me.
I have learned I need to consciously know my tools. My tools, my life expressors, that unlock JOY flow when it is anything but what i am feeling. This man offered an invitation. I accepted.
And before I moved on I went aside him and said, "THANK you". He did not stop his incessant chatter or glorious cadence to acknowledge my tribute but I walked away with gift of a chuckle and a breaking open, lighter heart.
Thank you. Mr. Drum man. The street beat. Thank you for the performance of you being exceptional you for every common man to see and feast. It was not Radio City Music Hall but you gave me a box
seat. Thank you for offering me a reMINDer to be free, to be me. To open up and let the JOY of LOVE flow.