“…I gave my wedding band back to him” and “I think driving under the influence sounds better than driving while intoxicated”…

These are the snippets that waft through the DC lunch atmosphere as I wait quietly in line at a local cafe.  Standing with my  back towards the voices, they are invisible unknowns.  Strangers who are unknowingly disclosing personal things about themselves in a public space.  It is in this moment that I feel like I am floating.  Floating from point A to point B, detached from the outside world.  This weird experience makes me think of the “floating world” in Chinese literature and art.  The ephemeral  highly aestethic world of literature and art, where the highly decorative were prized.  Heavily gilded furniture and clothes, intricately designed, hours of painstaking craftmanship all for the outer beauty were highly praised. 

Drifting through the streets of DC, I feel myself detached from the business crowd headed into work in their summer uniforms.  A metaphysical reality looking at myself from an out of body experience overwhelms me.  A hollowness echoes with the sound of silence.