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ever dumbening
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i waited tables in new_orleans, at cuco's, commanders_palace, and mike's on the avenue. i didn't hit my mental, physical, and waiter's stride until mike's. at mike's, on certain nights, i found myself with superhuman abilities. mind: centered. hands: lightning-quick. heart: quiet, understanding. i could deal with anything, mental or emotional, but here i am concerned with my hands.
there was nothing in the restaurant that would touch the ground those nights. recently, my tai chi teacher described a distension of time (arising from being present), where an incoming punch was a lazy sweep of an elephant's ear. i have seen time. i have seen it misbehave. and on those nights, well before knowing it intellectually, my hands would slide
down
______________over
. . .now
. .here.
a knife, a glass, a sprig of cilantro; it didn't matter, for nothing would touch the ground on those nights. i would turn to andrea, or stacy, or glenn and say:
i am fucking ON tonight, baby.
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020111
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