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| - Every Tuesday night after our late night hockey games, I join a rag tag collection of heroes, misfits and misanthropes at Four Peaks Brewery in North Scottsdale for some post game gab and nosh. I love these nights. We test our aging, yet surprisingly spry bodies mano-a-mano for adult hockey league glory and bond over drinks that no one actually orders because while Karina, our beloved server, may not know our last names, she knows we're predictable.
And speaking of it, I always order a plate of fries, or hope Brad E does. They're fucking delicious. T.A.S.T.Y. Big fan. But on this one lucky night, my boy Jerry W, genius that he is, orders nachos. I think nothing of it, until they arrive. They are GORGEOUS. Seriously beautiful. A culinary specimen clearly dispatched to our table by some immaculately conceived experiment working through the now divine hand of a short order cook. The guy, or lady, is a magician with these nachos. They're like eye-crack. Or better perhaps eye-(censored) as I visually molested each chip and chunk of cheese.
But like all impurities and roadblocks in our beautiful kingdom, like a cancer on the king's nose, these nachos were covered in chicken. I'm not even going to get into that discussion, but I don't do chicken. So I couldn't eat any of what I considered a plate of life-changing nachos, even before they changed my life. And I told myself "Dally G., no matter what happens tonight, whether it's because you go to the store and get the ingredients or because you go to Filibertos and get their supernachos, you're dumb ass is going to be chowin' down on delightfully tasty nachos this evening."
So here's one of the keys to the story. It was a done deal. I already believed with 100% certainty that I would be eating a plate of nachos that evening. Are you with me? A sure thing, no matter what. The universe had no choice but to comply. Emerson said it best, "The world makes way for a mo fo who knows where he's going."
But my friends didn't eat the whole plate. Nacho remnants teased me like those little shorts hot young women wear in the spring. I'm not gonna lie; more inspired to get fat I have never been.
Time passes and my thoughts stagnate (but without any of the negative connotation normally associated with the idea of stagnation). Nachos. Can't let it go...Men quip and pontificate and ask answers and tell questions and borrow my phone to look at (censored) and some hit on Karina but I am of one mind: Nachos.
And a woman's voice rings out! She was three words deep and I knew my life was changed forever. You, dear Yelper, should have chills right now. She said, and I quote, "Hey, the cook made these by accident. Does anyone want them?" I knew what they were without turning around but I had to look because my eyes compensate for my imperfect relationship with the universe and I needed to connect the truth in my soul to my physical experience that I call existence, living.
She sat down chickenless nachos right in front of me. They were free. For me. More beautiful than the first plate, they sparkled. CHEESE SPARKLED!
What does this mean? So what? Big deal. Total coincidence, right?
I know in my heart I connected with those nacho-potentialities and made them come to be as the beautiful plate that was placed before me... There's no question in my mind. Not even the faintest hint of doubt. And every day since, I've made small things happen. Am I able to win the lottery? No. I tried. But I didn't BELIEVE believe. I only wished and hoped and did what everyone else does. My skills are weak. It's very different knowing that the money is already mine, compared to knowing I'd have nachos. Winning the lottery is a huge and powerful experience that I'm not prepared for... Everyone asks me to will them their hearts' desires. It doesn't work like that... I don't care if you find your wallet (I do, but not like I need to)... You need to believe that you already have it and it will happen. You can literally have anything you want if it's mutually beneficial to you and the object's relationship to the world.
I know. This sounds like voodoo. Hocus pocus. The Secret. Whatever. It's crazy. I don't know it's true. I just feel it is with every ounce of passion and love and creative energy I've ever experienced... I share this experience primarily because I enjoy being made fun of but if even one person gives it a try and finds power in their life I've done a very good thing. Oh! and to remind everyone Four Peaks is life changing.
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