Monday, February 19, 2007
Delighting in the freedom from the tyranny of events
As simple and complicated as this feels, it is going to be hard to articulate, but we'll see ...
Per esempio ...
Yesterday, my last table of the day ... It had been very busy, beginning around 9 a.m., and it finally died down, nearing two o'clock. I was sort of rejoicing in that in itself, admiring my messy, yet empty section, as I half-sat in a chair refilling sugar packets, counting five or six Splendas, Equals, Sweet 'n' Lows, putting them together, yellow, then blue, then pink, or maybe pink then yellow, then blue, then watching the three line up with the rest of the regular sugars, and thinking about that in some way while thinking of other things, and smiling over a busy yet calm, smooth, uneventful day ... uneventful in that it was smooth, and nice, and easy to smile, and so easy to give people what they wanted for some reason ... didn't really feel like working anymore, when I see a man sitting at my table from the corner of my eye.
"Would you like a menu, sir?" I asked, since he seemed to have seated himself. It was hard to tell if he was waiting on someone or if he was about to make a phone call, or maybe he wanted something to go.
Turns out, he wanted to stay. He had coffee and a large glass of water, no cream or sugar, and he ordered a French Slam.
Not the Mega French slam, which has three slices of Texas Toast with two eggs, hash browns, two bacon, and two sausage, which is cheaper. Just a French Slam: two pieces of french toast with two eggs, two bacon, and two sausage.
He ate quietly, thanked me politely and sincerely each time I came by. He read a newspaper, and when he finished, he stacked his clean plates up right in front of him.
I picked up the plates and thanked him, and smiled and told him to have a wonderful day, and just as I started to turn, he got up, and in getting up, he somehow knocked over the dessert table tent, which in turn knocked a stowaway full syrup cup, which in reaction flew off the table, and toward me.
It missed, but it did manage to create a sprawling thin line marking its path of flight like a sticky reminder of a shadow, all down the carpet reaching four or five feet across.
He apologized profusely. He seemed so embarrassed.
I assured him that it was not in the slightest a big deal at all, that it would only take a second to clean up, and not to worry about it at all, and reminded him to have a wonderful day.
I was sincere. In fact, the little incident reminded me of something, that everything happens at the appointed time, even little "unhappy accidents" that might cause breaks in the circle of thoughts or routine long enough to remind you of the present moment. To bring you right back, just as the broken plate that ricocheted into my hand that one time, cutting deeply, causing me pain, and scarring my hand did a couple of months ago.
The universe can communicate with you. It's language of communication is sometimes referred to as "the tyranny of events." The tyranny part is the part where they can be dangerously defined to mean more than they do, or inconvenient in that they remind you that you are not the only person around, but a small living part upon trillions of interconnected parts.
When I came out of the back with a broom to scrub the syrup, and poured boiling water onto the carpet to loosen it up, the man was at the register, sheepishly telling the story to Kim, the cashier, and I could hear him telling her to make sure she told me again that he was sorry.
Again I reassured the man, waving at him, and smiling, as I poured the water.
"See, I'm halfway done. It's really no big deal. Thank you ..." and I smiled at him again, and told him to enjoy the rest of the weekend.
And then I finished, and resumed cleaning my section again, spot-sweeping under the tables and arranging the chairs and table mats, when Kim came up to me and told me alone that the man left me a five dollar tip on his credit card, and hoped I would accept his apology.
That's exactly what I'm talking about.
Several events happened here that could have produced different outcomes, if my mind had reacted in detrimental ways as the mind can, uninformed of its own power in producing as part of the universe the tyranny of events themselves to communicate the things it might not be able to comprehend based on how obvious they truly are.
It had been a long, busy day.
I really was tired, although happy, and I felt my feet ache a little in a way I'm much of the time so used to that it doesn't matter.
A man seated himself at my table, obviously somehow bypassing the host stand, which is something of a faux pas, even at Denny's.
I had already left work mode, or at least, dealing with customers mode, and could have thought to myself how much I would rather enjoy taking in the small tasks one at a time until there were no more left, not wanting to add anything else to interrupt the clearly cut path laid out in front of me that might have otherwise defined my next couple of hours.
Then, the man, ever so polite and conscious of me, and manners, and his mind, whether he came to specifically do some thinking over breakfast or not, accidently makes a mess.
And it was the best part of my day.
And it feels so good to recognize that. It really does.
As simple and complicated as this feels, it is going to be hard to articulate, but we'll see ...
Per esempio ...
Yesterday, my last table of the day ... It had been very busy, beginning around 9 a.m., and it finally died down, nearing two o'clock. I was sort of rejoicing in that in itself, admiring my messy, yet empty section, as I half-sat in a chair refilling sugar packets, counting five or six Splendas, Equals, Sweet 'n' Lows, putting them together, yellow, then blue, then pink, or maybe pink then yellow, then blue, then watching the three line up with the rest of the regular sugars, and thinking about that in some way while thinking of other things, and smiling over a busy yet calm, smooth, uneventful day ... uneventful in that it was smooth, and nice, and easy to smile, and so easy to give people what they wanted for some reason ... didn't really feel like working anymore, when I see a man sitting at my table from the corner of my eye.
"Would you like a menu, sir?" I asked, since he seemed to have seated himself. It was hard to tell if he was waiting on someone or if he was about to make a phone call, or maybe he wanted something to go.
Turns out, he wanted to stay. He had coffee and a large glass of water, no cream or sugar, and he ordered a French Slam.
Not the Mega French slam, which has three slices of Texas Toast with two eggs, hash browns, two bacon, and two sausage, which is cheaper. Just a French Slam: two pieces of french toast with two eggs, two bacon, and two sausage.
He ate quietly, thanked me politely and sincerely each time I came by. He read a newspaper, and when he finished, he stacked his clean plates up right in front of him.
I picked up the plates and thanked him, and smiled and told him to have a wonderful day, and just as I started to turn, he got up, and in getting up, he somehow knocked over the dessert table tent, which in turn knocked a stowaway full syrup cup, which in reaction flew off the table, and toward me.
It missed, but it did manage to create a sprawling thin line marking its path of flight like a sticky reminder of a shadow, all down the carpet reaching four or five feet across.
He apologized profusely. He seemed so embarrassed.
I assured him that it was not in the slightest a big deal at all, that it would only take a second to clean up, and not to worry about it at all, and reminded him to have a wonderful day.
I was sincere. In fact, the little incident reminded me of something, that everything happens at the appointed time, even little "unhappy accidents" that might cause breaks in the circle of thoughts or routine long enough to remind you of the present moment. To bring you right back, just as the broken plate that ricocheted into my hand that one time, cutting deeply, causing me pain, and scarring my hand did a couple of months ago.
The universe can communicate with you. It's language of communication is sometimes referred to as "the tyranny of events." The tyranny part is the part where they can be dangerously defined to mean more than they do, or inconvenient in that they remind you that you are not the only person around, but a small living part upon trillions of interconnected parts.
When I came out of the back with a broom to scrub the syrup, and poured boiling water onto the carpet to loosen it up, the man was at the register, sheepishly telling the story to Kim, the cashier, and I could hear him telling her to make sure she told me again that he was sorry.
Again I reassured the man, waving at him, and smiling, as I poured the water.
"See, I'm halfway done. It's really no big deal. Thank you ..." and I smiled at him again, and told him to enjoy the rest of the weekend.
And then I finished, and resumed cleaning my section again, spot-sweeping under the tables and arranging the chairs and table mats, when Kim came up to me and told me alone that the man left me a five dollar tip on his credit card, and hoped I would accept his apology.
That's exactly what I'm talking about.
Several events happened here that could have produced different outcomes, if my mind had reacted in detrimental ways as the mind can, uninformed of its own power in producing as part of the universe the tyranny of events themselves to communicate the things it might not be able to comprehend based on how obvious they truly are.
It had been a long, busy day.
I really was tired, although happy, and I felt my feet ache a little in a way I'm much of the time so used to that it doesn't matter.
A man seated himself at my table, obviously somehow bypassing the host stand, which is something of a faux pas, even at Denny's.
I had already left work mode, or at least, dealing with customers mode, and could have thought to myself how much I would rather enjoy taking in the small tasks one at a time until there were no more left, not wanting to add anything else to interrupt the clearly cut path laid out in front of me that might have otherwise defined my next couple of hours.
Then, the man, ever so polite and conscious of me, and manners, and his mind, whether he came to specifically do some thinking over breakfast or not, accidently makes a mess.
And it was the best part of my day.
And it feels so good to recognize that. It really does.
Labels: Buddhism, Spirituality, Work
1 Comments:
You know, this just goes to show that people aren't perfect and mistakes happen. It is just easier to deal with those mistakes when you aren't a douche bag about it!!!
By 
Pissed Off, at
6:56 AM
