Unmindful me
This one starts with a quote – the Fourth Wonderful Precept:
The opinions I expressed then have not changed, but my feelings have, somewhat. Now that the shock has worn off a bit and the reality of the situation is sinking in – this person is never going to be in my life the way he was before, if at all – I'm still angry, but mostly just sad. To try to work through it, I've been reviewing the whole situation again, looking for ways I might channel those kinds of feelings in a more positive direction if I ever have to deal with something like this again. Which I really hope I don't. But – things happen. I know so many people who've been molested or abused, or victimized in some way by someone they trusted ... you can't always just cut the offender out of your life and forget about them, even if you wanted to. And even if you could, that doesn't necessarily solve the problem.
I've read probably hundreds of books about how people heal from the various kinds of damage we all experience. But this incident has re-ignited my curiosity about how perpetrators might also be healed. A few years ago I read this book on engaged Buddhism and restorative justice (among other things), which I've just started reading again. In the introduction, the editor talks about how easy it is, in our eagerness to alleviate suffering in the world, to try to "leapfrog over our own situation – as if the pickle we ourselves are in doesn't count." As an example she mentions Mrs. Jellyby, from Dickens's Bleak House (one of my favorite books of all time) – a woman who spends all her time working for the education of African natives, while her own children fall ill from neglect.
That made me think. What does all my study and practice really mean, if the moment somebody I care about fucks up – really seriously fucks up something that really matters – my only "official" response is to angrily condemn their actions and sever the friendship and never speak to that person again? Even if those relationships can't be repaired, there must still be some way to ... I don't know. Let go of the anger? Say good-bye with love? Forgive? What does that mean, exactly? How do you actually DO that? And what do you do afterwards?
I keep coming back to that phrase, "to speak ... with words that inspire self-confidence, joy and hope." What would those words have been, under those circumstances? I've felt haunted by the memory of several different moments during that weekend when I wanted to say something about what was going on, and decided not to. Why did I do that? To put it in the plainest terms, it was because I valued my own comfort more than my friend's distress. I felt concerned, but also annoyed at him for making people uncomfortable. I felt uncomfortable. I felt compassion, and I also wanted to control his mood so everyone could enjoy the weekend – and then I identified that thought as "codependent" and disengaged. I reminded myself that he's a grown man, he's responsible for his own feelings and behavior. I still think that. But it wouldn't have cost me anything to find a private moment to let him know I was aware of his pain, and offer a little support. Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference in what happened. But maybe it would have. I wish I'd done it.
The other part of mindful speech that I will be working with again for awhile is the "deep listening" part. I wonder what would have happened if I'd been willing to really listen.
Also: completeness. I was relieved in reading those emails to see that even though the feelings I expressed were extreme, I'd been able to refrain from exaggerating or overstating them. But there were other things I also felt and thought that I didn't say, that might have been worth saying. Like the fact that my own personal experience with this person has been that he's always respected the boundaries I've set, when I've made them clear. I didn't say it because it didn't seem relative to what he had just done, and because I didn't want to seem to be blaming his victims for not being clear about their boundaries – not least of all because I know many of them were clear with him. And with me. A lot of people knew about this person's "habits." So why didn't I just say what was on my mind?
My point though was that I personally have not felt exploited or abused by him, and the few times when I have felt uncomfortable about some conversation or something, he always dialed it down as soon as I said something. I felt he respected me. Was I deluded? Was he just different with me? If so, why? Why does it seem so important to understand his point of view about all this? Why do I still feel so invested in trying to work out some kind of reconciliation?
Is this the kind of thing I should not be blogging about? Is it too personal? Is it a violation of other people's privacy, even if I don't use anybody's names (even my own)? Is this unmindful speech? I somehow doubt it's going to inspire joy or happiness in the person I'm writing about, or relieve his suffering. Although I would dearly love to do that, too. First I need to get clear with my own self, and this is one of the ways I do that.
I think in this case I'm going to go with my dad's advice about mindful speech, though that's not what he calls it. He says if you're ever wondering whether or not to say something, ask yourself whether it's true, kind and necessary. If it isn't at least two out of the three, you probably shouldn't say it.
Some of what I'm saying here will probably be painful for certain people to read, but I don't think that necessarily makes it unkind. It's also true, and for me, necessary.
Sharing these thoughts in a public blog may not seem necessary to some, but that's part of my process, too. I'm going to go ahead and post this. If anyone out in the blogosphere gets any benefit from following my story as it unfolds, well ... that would make me happy.
Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful speech and the inability to listen to others, I vow to cultivate loving speech and deep listening in order to bring joy and happiness to others and to relieve others of their suffering. Knowing that words can create happiness or suffering, I vow to learn to speak truthfully, with words that inspire self-confidence, joy and hope. I am determined not to spread news that I do not know to be certain and not to criticize or condemn things of which I am not sure. I will refrain from uttering words that can cause division or discord, or that can cause the family or the community to break. I will make all efforts to reconcile and resolve all conflicts, however small.Yesterday something reminded me of my friend who assaulted my other friend in November, and I decided to go back and re-read the emails I sent to the group right after the shit hit the fan. I was really surprised at how angry and condemning my messages sounded, and dismayed to find in them almost no trace of the kindness, compassion and willingness to listen and engage even in the face of great obstacles that I have supposedly been trying to integrate into my life for lo these many years.
The opinions I expressed then have not changed, but my feelings have, somewhat. Now that the shock has worn off a bit and the reality of the situation is sinking in – this person is never going to be in my life the way he was before, if at all – I'm still angry, but mostly just sad. To try to work through it, I've been reviewing the whole situation again, looking for ways I might channel those kinds of feelings in a more positive direction if I ever have to deal with something like this again. Which I really hope I don't. But – things happen. I know so many people who've been molested or abused, or victimized in some way by someone they trusted ... you can't always just cut the offender out of your life and forget about them, even if you wanted to. And even if you could, that doesn't necessarily solve the problem.
I've read probably hundreds of books about how people heal from the various kinds of damage we all experience. But this incident has re-ignited my curiosity about how perpetrators might also be healed. A few years ago I read this book on engaged Buddhism and restorative justice (among other things), which I've just started reading again. In the introduction, the editor talks about how easy it is, in our eagerness to alleviate suffering in the world, to try to "leapfrog over our own situation – as if the pickle we ourselves are in doesn't count." As an example she mentions Mrs. Jellyby, from Dickens's Bleak House (one of my favorite books of all time) – a woman who spends all her time working for the education of African natives, while her own children fall ill from neglect.
That made me think. What does all my study and practice really mean, if the moment somebody I care about fucks up – really seriously fucks up something that really matters – my only "official" response is to angrily condemn their actions and sever the friendship and never speak to that person again? Even if those relationships can't be repaired, there must still be some way to ... I don't know. Let go of the anger? Say good-bye with love? Forgive? What does that mean, exactly? How do you actually DO that? And what do you do afterwards?
I keep coming back to that phrase, "to speak ... with words that inspire self-confidence, joy and hope." What would those words have been, under those circumstances? I've felt haunted by the memory of several different moments during that weekend when I wanted to say something about what was going on, and decided not to. Why did I do that? To put it in the plainest terms, it was because I valued my own comfort more than my friend's distress. I felt concerned, but also annoyed at him for making people uncomfortable. I felt uncomfortable. I felt compassion, and I also wanted to control his mood so everyone could enjoy the weekend – and then I identified that thought as "codependent" and disengaged. I reminded myself that he's a grown man, he's responsible for his own feelings and behavior. I still think that. But it wouldn't have cost me anything to find a private moment to let him know I was aware of his pain, and offer a little support. Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference in what happened. But maybe it would have. I wish I'd done it.
The other part of mindful speech that I will be working with again for awhile is the "deep listening" part. I wonder what would have happened if I'd been willing to really listen.
Also: completeness. I was relieved in reading those emails to see that even though the feelings I expressed were extreme, I'd been able to refrain from exaggerating or overstating them. But there were other things I also felt and thought that I didn't say, that might have been worth saying. Like the fact that my own personal experience with this person has been that he's always respected the boundaries I've set, when I've made them clear. I didn't say it because it didn't seem relative to what he had just done, and because I didn't want to seem to be blaming his victims for not being clear about their boundaries – not least of all because I know many of them were clear with him. And with me. A lot of people knew about this person's "habits." So why didn't I just say what was on my mind?
My point though was that I personally have not felt exploited or abused by him, and the few times when I have felt uncomfortable about some conversation or something, he always dialed it down as soon as I said something. I felt he respected me. Was I deluded? Was he just different with me? If so, why? Why does it seem so important to understand his point of view about all this? Why do I still feel so invested in trying to work out some kind of reconciliation?
Is this the kind of thing I should not be blogging about? Is it too personal? Is it a violation of other people's privacy, even if I don't use anybody's names (even my own)? Is this unmindful speech? I somehow doubt it's going to inspire joy or happiness in the person I'm writing about, or relieve his suffering. Although I would dearly love to do that, too. First I need to get clear with my own self, and this is one of the ways I do that.
I think in this case I'm going to go with my dad's advice about mindful speech, though that's not what he calls it. He says if you're ever wondering whether or not to say something, ask yourself whether it's true, kind and necessary. If it isn't at least two out of the three, you probably shouldn't say it.
Some of what I'm saying here will probably be painful for certain people to read, but I don't think that necessarily makes it unkind. It's also true, and for me, necessary.
Sharing these thoughts in a public blog may not seem necessary to some, but that's part of my process, too. I'm going to go ahead and post this. If anyone out in the blogosphere gets any benefit from following my story as it unfolds, well ... that would make me happy.
Labels: boring philosophical ramblings, buddhism, the events in question
1 Comments:
Don't stop blogging about your processes T. I really appreciate your insights.
I've always felt like forgiveness is the greatest gift--but I don't know how to do it.
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