This week we heard that a jury in Boston handed down the death penalty to a young extremist called Tsarnaev for his part in the horrific bombing two years ago. And once again I sighed with deep sadness at our misguided notion that we somehow right wrongs by executing people. For as long as I can remember I have thought about this issue, going back to the Caryl Chessman case in the 50's. And that was before I began practicing the Buddha's way of deliberate non-harming... If we're to look at it all objectively, we'd have to say that taking one life in exchange for a life or lives does not really heal the wounds or erase the crime, and it does not set us on a course of becoming more humane. It is just barbaric mathematics in my view. An eye for an eye. It never made any sense to me... And it doesn't even seem to prevent further violence and cruelty. There are a lot of human beings walking around out there in deep suffering, abused and tortured themselves, who are sadly on a course of destruction, their own and that of others. And executing the wrong-doers, even in the incontrovertible cases such as the one in Boston (little doubt about responsibility here), does not change things for those who are lost and out of control.
What does, one might ask? All that rises in the mind now is that witnessing and supporting those who are sick in mind in all the ways they must be supported. The Buddha said: "hatred doesn't end with hatred, but with love alone." And compassion. A heartbreaking challenge in the face of the pathological violence we're surrounded by.
What else do I wonder about on this grey Sunday? I wonder why many of us cry at sentimental movies, why people retreat from the world when unhappy, why we can't see the chaos that is caused by passionate love, why people have a hard time looking at homeless people and offering a smile, why we feel the need for excitement even when we know it changes little in our life, why purging the "stuff" of our lives immediately makes us feel lighter and happier, why beautiful scrambled eggs all golden and buttery is some of the best comfort food on the planet, and so on, and so on.
Last night I cried up a storm while watching (for the umpteenth time) "An Affair to Remember," despite not totally believing in Deborah Kerr. Cary Grant yes, but Deborah, not so sure... There is something so undeniable and "feel good" about this romance -- it reminds us of a time in our lives when we felt such a complete welling of love for another that nothing else in the world seemed real. I have been looking back at such a time in my life, and it has been both delightful to recall the unfolding of love, and poignant as I notice the quick blurring of the love in the complicated territory of relationship and the passage of time. But, to remember a fleeting moment when the universe belonged only to you, ah yes, that does give you a bit of zing!
My revered grandmother believed that passion was messy business, and she turned away from it when it was offered to her. She settled on a safe marriage to a chilly patriarchal fellow. I never turned away from passion, and through my young adulthood, my life was frequently in disarray on the outside and the inside. I didn't know how to balance my affections very well, and frequently mistook restlessness and doubt for the call of affection and romance. And now that I have comfortably (?) become an elder. reading one great life story after the other, I find myself applauding Penelope Lively's sensible observations in her recent memoir: "I don't need or want excitement..... that restless feeling that you must having something happen, you must look ahead, anticipate, you need a rush of adrenaline -- that is gone." Except, except ... I had the opportunity to hear the voice of an old love over the phone recently, largely because I had stuck my neck out to discover this mysterious gentleman, and I have to say that it made my mind and body go all weird, as in heightened pulse and accelerated energy, and a feeling that almost anything on earth was possible. All in the space of about 20 minutes. After over fifty years of separation! If that isn't chaos showing up, I'm not sure what is. There is certainly nowhere for us to go, the paths have been forged in dramatically different ways, "we" don't have a future. Only the present trembling moment where you imagine what it would feel like to actually see this person face to face just once. You imagine a long distance friendship, just maybe ... and you imagine some more.
Thrills and excitement are like the pepper and garlic and red chili sauce in our cooking. They add some jazz music and for a fleeting moment we feel stimulated and inspired. I envy Penelope's clarity about how she doesn't need these spices any more in her life. For her it is enough to have simple enjoyment and pleasure. When I said I agreed with her, it was probably because I really want to, because I hunger for the peace that this acceptance offers. I don't think I'm quite there yet. I'm still planning adventures to Japan, the Galapagos, another safari in Africa, and Tibet, if I get brave enough. I still seek out the cutting edge eateries in San Francisco, looking for that once in a lifetime dining experience. Last night I went to such a place, or so I thought. I ate a serving of stuffed squash blossoms very artfully presented, and I mindfully noted the fluffy softness of ricotta and the tang of anchovy and appreciated the perfect form of the zucchini flower, and after quite some time of this slow eating, it was all gone -- the form, the flavors, the vibration of pleasure deep inside. And what was left was just memory, which of course pales by comparison. There you have it. The impermanence of joy and delight. Even my exquisite scrambled eggs during Mother's Day brunch last week are a hazy memory now...
Our first love vanishes too, as do the colorful memories of Burma and Venice and Paris, or the perfect plate of little white sand-dabs I cooked up for myself a few nights ago. The tapestry of this life of mine is really beautiful, I must admit, and I feel enormous gratitude for all of it, even all that letting go, the hanging up of the phone, the rolling credits at the end of the film, the inevitable washing of the dishes, and the deep compassion I feel for my society that still chooses an eye for an eye.
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