A few years ago, I had the strange little thought that I could somehow become more human. I was slicing up some onions into lean cylinders to simmer into a garlicky mound of oil and balsamic drenched vegetables, each cut feeling smoother and more precise under my hand than the last, when it seemed out of nowhere that the more sensitive and conscious I was of my own experience, with every swift movement of the blade, every slice of the onion, every breath and sensation and change — holding my attention through each little maneuver as one unbroken stream — the more human I was being. Like a high level Jiu-Jitsu practitioner who is at once in the moment while always anticipating the next move, it struck me that there was a right way of doing things that was especially human — at once spontaneous and intentional, natural and planned. An image arose to accompany the thought, too, of the Good Human, someone who is totally present in everything they do. Maybe, I thought, I could become a good human, a real and realized person, awake and alert and alive to everything I am and everything that happens in each new moment, leaving nothing unseen or unfelt.
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