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ever dumbening
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The wave, a broad one, of evening is entered. 5356 on the heavy, smooth swinging glass door. Beautiful people and light without edges, immediately.
All senses. But the one that connects me is the sound. Fifty or more voices surrounding--a din, a sonic slurry. 1988: a high school senior, a busboy, first notices this quality of sound. Whether dining or serving, this bed of formless words can carry. 1996: a college graduate, a waiter, notices again. Tonight I soften, with light and sound, scent and taste and touch. 2002: a man, yes it's time, sits.
I will never miss the tossing and turning, the customers desecrating my pyramidals. The meeting of food and spirit and knowledge, though, makes me crave that which I swore off.
There is a distension to the air, a numbness. We are the kings. We don't deserve this. Swelling is part of healing, though--flood this area with healing, with nurture, with nutrients. Happiness feels awkward and cliche. It sharpens the contrast further, but it's not bad. Learn to live without guilt, without regret, with love.
The spices and fires of evening can restore you.
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