With palms together
Good Morning Everyone,
A short rant inspired by my study of the Buddha’s Nine Contemplations on a Corpse.
I remember walking through the streets of some Third World country a few years ago and coming upon a rotting corpse. What had been a man was now just there in the street covered in flies and other vermin. I was surprised to see him there, dead and all, just rotting as if he were like the other garbage strewn along the street. But this had been a human being.
The image, like so many others in my disappointing mind, is rather like a still life. I have it framed there. Another image, a bloated, purple body wrapped in my poncho in the jungle. It had been a Buck Sgt who decided to be John Wayne or something, but now was leaking out through various cuts and holes torn into him by a raging monsoon river. Or of a small boy, beaten by his parents, his arm twisted until it broke. I held him while the ER doc set it. Or the voice of some self righteous redneck family court judge ranting as he compared the Black family in front of him to dogs. Good grief.
What do I store these images for? Do I really have a choice? I know one thing I do with these things is keep them for support as I sit Zazen at the Veteran’s Park, or when in some sort of discussion regarding healthcare, poverty, racism, or peace. I do not want to see rotting bodies on the streets of America, though I know they are there. Nor do I want to see more young men and women killed in combat somewhere. And I for darned sure do not want to see our Government oppress its own people.
Back in graduate school, I was a regional researcher for a study of the mental health needs of homeless people. We interview 1000 homeless persons in Ohio. Such fun. We also interviewed “key informants” those who might have access to homeless persons or who offer them services (even more fun). You know, I never heard a single “hands on” expert suggest homelessness was a choice or a result of some sort of laziness on the part of the homeless person. Yet, in nearly any conversation today with people who (I am sorry for saying this) haven’t got a clue, such blame is cast. Blame the sick and dead, the soldier, the homeless, right. They should have known better, I hear.
I think one of the positive consequences of aging and life experience is that we have the potential to develop a lack of a willingness to let humanity slide in the face of suffering. Some of us elect to sit in comfortable houses and throw stones at the less fortunate. I cannot. Nor do I tolerate it well. Those who think they have no obligation to their society or to humanity at large really need to get a life. To me they are a bunch of self-serving whiners.
Our food drive is suffering. I had hoped we would have a full box by the 1st, but, alas, it is only a third full. If you should have a can or two of something nutritious and you are nearby, please consider dropping it off here at the Temple. Or if you are in some other part of the world, offer a can or two to your local shelter.
Be well.
Good Morning Everyone,
A short rant inspired by my study of the Buddha’s Nine Contemplations on a Corpse.
I remember walking through the streets of some Third World country a few years ago and coming upon a rotting corpse. What had been a man was now just there in the street covered in flies and other vermin. I was surprised to see him there, dead and all, just rotting as if he were like the other garbage strewn along the street. But this had been a human being.
The image, like so many others in my disappointing mind, is rather like a still life. I have it framed there. Another image, a bloated, purple body wrapped in my poncho in the jungle. It had been a Buck Sgt who decided to be John Wayne or something, but now was leaking out through various cuts and holes torn into him by a raging monsoon river. Or of a small boy, beaten by his parents, his arm twisted until it broke. I held him while the ER doc set it. Or the voice of some self righteous redneck family court judge ranting as he compared the Black family in front of him to dogs. Good grief.
What do I store these images for? Do I really have a choice? I know one thing I do with these things is keep them for support as I sit Zazen at the Veteran’s Park, or when in some sort of discussion regarding healthcare, poverty, racism, or peace. I do not want to see rotting bodies on the streets of America, though I know they are there. Nor do I want to see more young men and women killed in combat somewhere. And I for darned sure do not want to see our Government oppress its own people.
Back in graduate school, I was a regional researcher for a study of the mental health needs of homeless people. We interview 1000 homeless persons in Ohio. Such fun. We also interviewed “key informants” those who might have access to homeless persons or who offer them services (even more fun). You know, I never heard a single “hands on” expert suggest homelessness was a choice or a result of some sort of laziness on the part of the homeless person. Yet, in nearly any conversation today with people who (I am sorry for saying this) haven’t got a clue, such blame is cast. Blame the sick and dead, the soldier, the homeless, right. They should have known better, I hear.
I think one of the positive consequences of aging and life experience is that we have the potential to develop a lack of a willingness to let humanity slide in the face of suffering. Some of us elect to sit in comfortable houses and throw stones at the less fortunate. I cannot. Nor do I tolerate it well. Those who think they have no obligation to their society or to humanity at large really need to get a life. To me they are a bunch of self-serving whiners.
Our food drive is suffering. I had hoped we would have a full box by the 1st, but, alas, it is only a third full. If you should have a can or two of something nutritious and you are nearby, please consider dropping it off here at the Temple. Or if you are in some other part of the world, offer a can or two to your local shelter.
Be well.
1 comment:
Roshi, the images I keep are similar. A squad of Iraqi policemen urinating on the decapitated head of a suicide bomber who just killed twenty of their friends. The screams of women five seconds after a car bomb exploded in their neighborhood. And many many more. Sometimes, a Boddhisatva is not kind, but drives one to sit, and find compassion in the face of all that ugliness. I vow to never allow these lessons to go unlearned, and to keep them close.
With respect...
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