A walk on a sunny and cold day, March in the city...

What separates the thoughts from running into each other and overwhelming the thinker?  Is it the ability to be an observer of the thoughts.  An observer is one who has the ability to be aware, to watch, to not be the subject but be able to create a distance between the thoughts and the feelings.  The question comes up? Who is this observer?   Is the observer also another form of thought?

As I  think these thoughts and write/type them using two thumbs it occurs, in the stream of my thinking, the similarity of how we as 'beings' are separate from each other.  At times we seem to all blend into each other, especially in crowded places, yet  what keeps us separate?  Could it be the same sense, that the observer uses, which makes us aware of our boundaries of separation? 

I am sitting in downtown Toronto, in a busy space at Tim Hortons coffee spot.  The woman in front of me places her coffee and a small paper bag on the table.  She closed her eyes, clasps her hand and I sense rather I feel an energy of gratitude in her before she bites into her chocolate covered donut, a sip of coffee and I see she is reading the free newspaper.   What stories she must have to tell.  A treasure box of life experiences.  Did she see herself as she is now ? What would she see if she went back ten years? Twenty? Thirty ? Fifty ?  Would she see herself as a small child playing, by herself.  

I feel a strong desire to write her story! Tears well up in my eyes, tears of compassions or maybe familiarity, what of myself am I seeing,  in her?   I wonder?   She looks around, her glance reminds me of the look of a chicken, her gaze is not steady, it darts as if being on her guard, an empty look in her eyes.  I notice her lips, which are moving as she continues to read.  

I finish my coffee...