Updated: Feb 12
Sitting in a loud restaurant, the door jars my nervous system every time it bangs behind me, and as the waitress wipes our table down in front of me busily, old pieces of food land in my lap. Ordering was even worse as I feel an aggressive energy as I am hurried to make my order because the waitress is unable to answer questions concerning the menu. This is not as bothersome however as the thirty minutes later that we have not received our drinks. Steam is rising from my ears as a cold plate of food is slapped down in front of me with dried heavy cheese on the top. I asked for no cheese. Five words enter my mind over and over. I could have stayed home. Home, where the food is always amazing, because I love cooking it. And the ambience is even better. Lighting is perfect and soft music in the background is rather inviting for digestion. I am an easy to please person. I have a cheerful disposition. I only like to be treated a tad special and know that I am well received and wanted. I like to have my food brought the way I order it, and to be able to order it from a person who is not irritated that I am asking questions about the menu. Perhaps a little enthusiasm would come in handy in your CHOSEN field of work? Otherwise I can take my sweet happy go lucky energy elsewhere. If I had not spent many years in the restaurant business as an eager servant, I would not be so baffled. What has happened to the service industry?
On my sixteenth birthday I began a barrage of phone calls to the owner of a local dairy bar which landed me a job. I began work my Junior year of high school in 1988. Forty bucks a night in tips wasn’t too shabby for a high schooler, if you were lucky enough to work the dining area. Hourly wage was 2.65 an hour. If we arrived one minute late for work, we were docked fifteen minutes. If our hair was not pulled back and hanging in front of our face, sometimes we were sent home. Our work shirts were expected to look impeccable. On Friday and Saturday nights there was a line of people anxiously awaiting to place their order of footers, fries and milkshakes from two windows. Inside the establishment was a full dining room that opened for lunch through dinner service every day. We were rocking and rolling. We worked till the space was spotless after service, and got paid only for thirty minutes after closing. This meant that you worked busily and endlessly with the thoughts and hopes that you would be prepared to get out of there on time. The truth is, I adored this job, and admired my boss even more. For the first time in my life I got a glimpse of what my truest purpose was. To serve. With all of its theatrical value, being a waitress has very high vibrations. There is lots of moving and shaking so it fits a mover and shaker. There is plenty of time to socialize and laugh, cut a joke, put on a fun show. Make people feel special. Lots of space for creativity and stepping outside of the box. The movement of it all. Rhythm and waves, the underlying pulse of life.
This place was a powerful introduction to my place in the great tapestry. A journey that has been delightful, as long as I stay true to this path. For the times that I left the path to become and wear the silken robes of a Queen, the crown was crooked with wonky gems that didn’t fit right. Any misery that I have had in my life stems from the times that I have tried to be something that was against my very own nature. A marriage to money did not suit me well. In the ugliest way possible I rebelled without understanding why. I drank so much that I ended up in Rehab for a three day weekend. My family had to take hidden bottles of vodka out of my house so I could start fresh. My marriage to a King ended in divorce due to reckless discomfort. I believe on a deep level that I could not bear a life of too much leisure and comfort. I needed to stand close to my nature of service, organization and structure. My bloodline wreaks blood of pirates and soldiers, not lords and queens. Possibly a Jack or two. Not to say there is great purpose to a true Queen, but I couldn’t wear the crown straight. I do not want to eat the food that someone else cooks. I want to cook the food. I do not want to lay on a bed that someone else has made. I like to make the bed. Running barefoot in the garden and digging in the dirt speaks to my soul, and I prefer to be in the company of other servants. When we do not know where we stand in the intricate details of the Great Mandala, we are usually walking inauthentically or destructively trying to wear hats that do not fit us well or suit us at all.
Where are my fellow servants in this art these days? Why aren’t we holding our head up high? Why is it so difficult during these times to be served well? Perhaps the problem is in our perception. Why have we lost this incredibly powerful art. Where have we dropped the ball. What happens to a society when no-one wants to clean the bathroom, or make the beds? Have we all forgotten how magnificent it feels to work in energetic fields of true value. The problem is that there is no nobility in being noble. And no enthusiasm in being of service. All lines are crossed so now even the queens and kings do not lead well.
There is not a feeling in the world that hits a higher vibration than serving. If you want to feel inherently better, give. It ebbs and it flows. No loss can be found when there is so much to gain. “The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” ~Mark Twain. We have looked for too long in our culture up to a specific perception and we have forgotten who we truly are. Caretakers of the world and others. Covered up in all of our delusions, this is what really matters. If we could all recall our ancestry and know in our hearts that we have this art in our very blood. The work, the survival, the service to others.
There are rare moments that we are fortunate enough to meet the spirit of the servant. As I wait in line at a local Farmer’s Market, a sweet young girl with bright red curls is proudly displaying a pie at her booth. She names each individual ingredient that went into the peach, her favorite. A proud smiling Grandma stands over her shoulder. I am touched on a deep level. Rhythm and flow. HOPE. The spirit of the servant will not retreat any time soon.