VATICAN CITY (RNS) A Vatican official told a United Nations body on Tuesday (March 22) that people who openly object to homosexual behavior are at risk of losing their human rights when they are prosecuted or stigmatized for their beliefs.
Archbishop Silvano M. Tomasi, at the U.N Human Rights Council in Geneva, stated that the persecution that he feels for his belief that homosexuality is intrinsically disordered is a violation of his human rights. In Letter to the Bishops of the Catholic Church on the Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons, it states that, "Although the particular inclination of the homosexual person is not a sin, it is a more or less strong tendency ordered toward an intrinsic moral evil; and thus the inclination itself must be seen as an objective disorder.".
The Buddha once said that when meditating, a technique to use is to focus on how precious the human life is. He used the analogy of a blind turtle, swimming in an ocean, who only comes up for air once every thousand years. Floating on top of that ocean is a small golden yoke. The Buddha stated that it is more likely for that turtle to rise to the surface with his head in that yoke than it is for a spirit to be born as human. From the Buddha's teachings, he has stated that he has only been able to teach the dharma to the human realm. The beings that inhabit the Hell and Hungry Spirit Realms are too focused on their own suffering to hear the dharma. Likewise, the beings of the Heavenly Realm are too focused on their material rewards to hear the dharma, and the beings of the Demigod realm are too focused on taking over the Heavenly Realm to listen to the dharma. It is only in the Human Realm, where there is a balance of suffering and pleasure, that its beings are capable of listening to and understanding the dharma. Even the beings of the Animal Realm, who share our plane of existence, are too focused on finding food and avoiding becoming food to hear the dharma. To be human is to be closest that one can be to attaining Enlightenment that one will achieve in eons.
In this case, there is a human right at stake. That human right is to have the ability to see one another as beautiful beings. It is to look at another person and to have the ability to empathize with that person, to view that person as one views himself or herself. Throughout history, however, we have shown, time and time again, that this proximity to Enlightenment is still very far by comparison. The Inquisition, the Holocaust, World Wars, terrorism, xenophobia, homophobia, sexism, racism - these are but a few of the many ways in which humans take away their own human right of empathy and ability to attain Enlightenment.
It is easy for us to see the victimhood of those who are killed by others. It is easy to feel remorse for the downtrodden, the racial, religious, sexual, and gender minorities. But what many people fail to see is also that the perpetrators are victims, too. How many times have we seen instances of pastors belittling the homosexuals, only to be caught (literally) with their pants down? How many other instances are there that we find the diaries of people who gun down their school, only to see that the world they created for themselves is like a well of darkness and fear that is so deep that they see no light?
My cousin died seven years ago this month. He was seventeen, and driving out of his subdivision with his girlfriend. He was killed because two guys decided to race their trucks down a busy highway. It is such a ridiculous way to die. I do not have the ability to forgive those two men for what they did - nobody does. The actions that they took not only took two human lives, but they took a son and daughter from parents. They took away a man and a woman; a man and woman who nobody knows what they would have done, but if their past was an indication, it would have been beautiful. Their karmic retribution is already taking place. For almost 2600 days, those two men have had to wake up, every day, and know what they did. I do not know if time has dulled what they feel. They may have been responsible for what happened, but they have become victims, too.
I agree with Archbishop Tomasi. I do believe that he has lost a defining right of humanity in his belief that certain people, because of how they were born, are intrinsically disordered. He has lost his ability to view those people with loving kindness. He has lost his ability to see a mass of human beings as beautiful creatures. And as the years go by, and more and more people regain their human right to view homosexuals just as they view everyone else, the world that people like Archbishop Tomasi are creating for themselves is only going to become darker and more frightening. He may be responsible for creating that world, but we must never forget that he, too, is a victim.
Read more at the worlds of me graves
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
On Pain, or, Our Wings Are Broken
On Pain
by Kahlil Gibran
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses
your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the
daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem
less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that
pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the
winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician within
you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy
in silence and tranquillity:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by
the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has
been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has
moistened with His own sacred tears.
I taught myself to ignore the countless beggars that flank the entrances to the markets. It was difficult to do at first, but I told myself that I can't support all of them, and I can't favor one over the other. I began by learning how to ignore the men. They are walking around, talking and joking, I thought to myself, they can find some way to fine some form of manual labor. I then had to teach myself to ignore the children. They should be in school anyway, I thought, school is free. Then came the women. This was the most difficult. Most of the women here have no other means of employment. I had to teach myself to ignore them by pointing out their sheer numbers. If I were to give even a dirham to only the women, I would have no money for rent or food. I can't give to just one, because the others will see me, and I will be surrounded. The children and men would then see me as an easy mark for money.
I guess for all of my talks about the ideals of liberalism, I am no less stingy than the average WASP that I rail against. I know the story of The Star Thrower and of How Avalokiteshvara Attained Her 1000 Arms. I understand, at least theoretically, how one dirham can buy a woman a banana here, but my issue is at the fact that I vacillate between feeling that she will use it wisely or not. I also know that regardless of what she buys with the dirham, be it used wisely or not, it is not my place to judge, but my duty to show compassion towards. I have, for a long time, said that regardless of others' actions towards you, it is your actions towards others that determines your character. But I feel at times that simply throwing money at the problem won't help; it is an institutional issue, one that needs to be address not with change in one's pocket, but change in one's heart. Then again, it could simply be the mental gymnastics of someone who wants an extra dirham for a soda.
On Tuesdays, I go to the youth center for my weekly health class that I teach to some English-speaking students. This is part of my project that I am heading, along with someone from the Youth Development and Environment sectors of my organization. I entered the youth center as usual, when I came across A_____, the English teacher, and the man who wanted some English books that I have so he can read in order to learn about lengthy dialogue.
"Hey," I said, "I do have some novels in English for you. I'm not sure if it is what you are interested in, but there are extended dialogues in them."
"Thank you so much," he said, "I love English books."
He told me about Kahlil Gibran, a Lebanese author who immigrated to America and is the author of many poems and a novel. He is widely regarded, I was told, as a major literary figure, and I should know about him.
"Do you know what I love about English novels?" He asked.
"What do you like about them?"
"I love the stories and how I can escape for a while in them. I read these stories as much as I can. It is great to dream about the lives in the stories and leave this place for a while. People here are trapped. They cannot do anything. We have skills and desires, but we are like birds with broken wings who cannot fly."
A_____ noticed a change that took place on my face. I could feel that he knew my eyes began to glaze over, but he continued.
"I know that people in America and Europe cannot bring us back with them. But you come to me with these books and give me this great gift of these books. You let me imagine better things. You are like angels to me."
I stood back for a moment. I noticed how the sun sunk below the horizon, creating more shadows in front of me. The sky slowly turned to black. I kept thinking about the beggars. Maybe that man does walk with a major limp and cannot find work. Maybe those children are turned away from the school due to the number of children with homes who do go. Maybe those women do know how to be responsible with the dirhams they receive.
A_____ went into the library to teach the English class, and I went to the other side of the youth center to teach my health lesson. It was about blood pressure, and how even slight problems with the heart can disrupt the entire body. The students enjoyed themselves. Afterwards, I left the youth center and watched my shadow, so much larger than myself, against the wall of the youth center. A_____ may think of us as angels, I thought to myself, but I don't see the wings yet. I know that one of these days I will truly believe that I am doing good in this world, and that I am making a difference. Maybe when I look back on my life, I will realize that, in my own way, maybe I am throwing at least one starfish back into that ocean.
by Kahlil Gibran
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses
your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the
daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem
less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that
pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the
winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician within
you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy
in silence and tranquillity:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by
the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has
been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has
moistened with His own sacred tears.
I taught myself to ignore the countless beggars that flank the entrances to the markets. It was difficult to do at first, but I told myself that I can't support all of them, and I can't favor one over the other. I began by learning how to ignore the men. They are walking around, talking and joking, I thought to myself, they can find some way to fine some form of manual labor. I then had to teach myself to ignore the children. They should be in school anyway, I thought, school is free. Then came the women. This was the most difficult. Most of the women here have no other means of employment. I had to teach myself to ignore them by pointing out their sheer numbers. If I were to give even a dirham to only the women, I would have no money for rent or food. I can't give to just one, because the others will see me, and I will be surrounded. The children and men would then see me as an easy mark for money.
I guess for all of my talks about the ideals of liberalism, I am no less stingy than the average WASP that I rail against. I know the story of The Star Thrower and of How Avalokiteshvara Attained Her 1000 Arms. I understand, at least theoretically, how one dirham can buy a woman a banana here, but my issue is at the fact that I vacillate between feeling that she will use it wisely or not. I also know that regardless of what she buys with the dirham, be it used wisely or not, it is not my place to judge, but my duty to show compassion towards. I have, for a long time, said that regardless of others' actions towards you, it is your actions towards others that determines your character. But I feel at times that simply throwing money at the problem won't help; it is an institutional issue, one that needs to be address not with change in one's pocket, but change in one's heart. Then again, it could simply be the mental gymnastics of someone who wants an extra dirham for a soda.
On Tuesdays, I go to the youth center for my weekly health class that I teach to some English-speaking students. This is part of my project that I am heading, along with someone from the Youth Development and Environment sectors of my organization. I entered the youth center as usual, when I came across A_____, the English teacher, and the man who wanted some English books that I have so he can read in order to learn about lengthy dialogue.
"Hey," I said, "I do have some novels in English for you. I'm not sure if it is what you are interested in, but there are extended dialogues in them."
"Thank you so much," he said, "I love English books."
He told me about Kahlil Gibran, a Lebanese author who immigrated to America and is the author of many poems and a novel. He is widely regarded, I was told, as a major literary figure, and I should know about him.
"Do you know what I love about English novels?" He asked.
"What do you like about them?"
"I love the stories and how I can escape for a while in them. I read these stories as much as I can. It is great to dream about the lives in the stories and leave this place for a while. People here are trapped. They cannot do anything. We have skills and desires, but we are like birds with broken wings who cannot fly."
A_____ noticed a change that took place on my face. I could feel that he knew my eyes began to glaze over, but he continued.
"I know that people in America and Europe cannot bring us back with them. But you come to me with these books and give me this great gift of these books. You let me imagine better things. You are like angels to me."
I stood back for a moment. I noticed how the sun sunk below the horizon, creating more shadows in front of me. The sky slowly turned to black. I kept thinking about the beggars. Maybe that man does walk with a major limp and cannot find work. Maybe those children are turned away from the school due to the number of children with homes who do go. Maybe those women do know how to be responsible with the dirhams they receive.
A_____ went into the library to teach the English class, and I went to the other side of the youth center to teach my health lesson. It was about blood pressure, and how even slight problems with the heart can disrupt the entire body. The students enjoyed themselves. Afterwards, I left the youth center and watched my shadow, so much larger than myself, against the wall of the youth center. A_____ may think of us as angels, I thought to myself, but I don't see the wings yet. I know that one of these days I will truly believe that I am doing good in this world, and that I am making a difference. Maybe when I look back on my life, I will realize that, in my own way, maybe I am throwing at least one starfish back into that ocean.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Like Sands Through The Hourglass
Milestone update blog entries typically consist of a brief overview of the writer's story. The instances of when they first arrived at their post, the beginning feelings of nervousness, the initial embarrassments, etc., are all rehashed and the morals are briefly listed alongside of them. However, I do not feel the need to start from the beginning, because I have it all here in my blog.
Therefore, I will only give an update of how recent events have shaped, and will continue to shape, the rest of my service. I have been doing small projects since I came here, instructing village children to wash their hands, writing up small discussions for maternal health, but I haven't had any inspiration that would lead to a project that I felt I would be able to use to define my service. There is nothing wrong with not having a large project, as many of my bosses have told me. Sometimes, drinking tea and eating at people's houses will leave a longer lasting impression than any project, they told me. I, however, prefer to have something that I can point to and say that I did something; this is simply part of who I am.
For the past few months, I have been going to a youth center in Er Rachidia. It began last year, during winter, when I went there as part of an HIV awareness campaign. I contributed to a skit competition. The students decided they wanted to continue the club, but with a general health focus. We got together and decided that we could have a small health fair in May. I would come into class every week from February through May and teach topics regarding health, and the students would lead the health sessions on that day in May. I went to my coordinator, who turned it into a week long festival to coincide with the Er Rachidia music festival in June.
As a part of the festival, Peace Corps will have full run of the youth center for the entire week. Not only will health lessons be taught, but we will also have Youth Development and Environment volunteers come in and give their own lessons. My project has blossomed into a Peace Corps showcase, and I could not be happier. If successful, this health fair will continue every year.
It is funny, that upon reaching the year point, that I would find myself finally with a project. I have told family back home that I could not see myself doing another year of simply going to houses and drinking tea. I had said that if I didn't have anything by then that I would leave at Mid Service Medicals. Before this project, before the yawning realization that I would be leaving here before I know it, I felt as though I were merely drifting in this culture. But now, as I approach the edge of the upper bulb of the hourglass that is my service, I feel a sense of narrowing inside of me. Before, within the bulb of the beginning of my service, all of my activities seemed disconnected from each other. But now, I feel that everything that I have done so far has, in essence, prepared me for this time.
Once this project is over, it will almost be July. The issue becomes just waiting. Nothing is done from July through the end of October due to the heat and Ramadan. Once that is over, I will have my own time for Halloween, Thanksgiving, birthday, Christmas, and New Year's, so none of the other volunteers will be available for us to work on anything large together. Once January gets here, it will be too close to work on anything large. I will work, obviously, but the projects that I work on will be much smaller in scale than this.
So, as they say, like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.
Therefore, I will only give an update of how recent events have shaped, and will continue to shape, the rest of my service. I have been doing small projects since I came here, instructing village children to wash their hands, writing up small discussions for maternal health, but I haven't had any inspiration that would lead to a project that I felt I would be able to use to define my service. There is nothing wrong with not having a large project, as many of my bosses have told me. Sometimes, drinking tea and eating at people's houses will leave a longer lasting impression than any project, they told me. I, however, prefer to have something that I can point to and say that I did something; this is simply part of who I am.
For the past few months, I have been going to a youth center in Er Rachidia. It began last year, during winter, when I went there as part of an HIV awareness campaign. I contributed to a skit competition. The students decided they wanted to continue the club, but with a general health focus. We got together and decided that we could have a small health fair in May. I would come into class every week from February through May and teach topics regarding health, and the students would lead the health sessions on that day in May. I went to my coordinator, who turned it into a week long festival to coincide with the Er Rachidia music festival in June.
As a part of the festival, Peace Corps will have full run of the youth center for the entire week. Not only will health lessons be taught, but we will also have Youth Development and Environment volunteers come in and give their own lessons. My project has blossomed into a Peace Corps showcase, and I could not be happier. If successful, this health fair will continue every year.
It is funny, that upon reaching the year point, that I would find myself finally with a project. I have told family back home that I could not see myself doing another year of simply going to houses and drinking tea. I had said that if I didn't have anything by then that I would leave at Mid Service Medicals. Before this project, before the yawning realization that I would be leaving here before I know it, I felt as though I were merely drifting in this culture. But now, as I approach the edge of the upper bulb of the hourglass that is my service, I feel a sense of narrowing inside of me. Before, within the bulb of the beginning of my service, all of my activities seemed disconnected from each other. But now, I feel that everything that I have done so far has, in essence, prepared me for this time.
Once this project is over, it will almost be July. The issue becomes just waiting. Nothing is done from July through the end of October due to the heat and Ramadan. Once that is over, I will have my own time for Halloween, Thanksgiving, birthday, Christmas, and New Year's, so none of the other volunteers will be available for us to work on anything large together. Once January gets here, it will be too close to work on anything large. I will work, obviously, but the projects that I work on will be much smaller in scale than this.
So, as they say, like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
A Dialogue Between A Humanist Moroccan and a Buddhist American
The dust storm brought with it the spring. The sky was devoid of clouds, and the sun shone above the store buildings in downtown Er Rachidia. I watched as children roamed the streets. Because of the protests and the holiday of Muhammad's birthday, the children were out of school. Men lined the streets hawking their wares that were laid out on an old blanket. From down the street, I could smell the restaurant preparing shawarma for lunch. The buses' horns blew continuously throughout the morning as passengers traveled to the surrounding cities.
My coffee had just arrived by the time D_____ showed up. D_____, the Moroccan who is usually used by the new volunteers as a language instructor, wanted to develop an association with me and another volunteer to "encourage cultural exchange and human development opportunities between Morocco and America". This meeting, however, wasn't focused on business.
"I think I'm going to give up on some bad habits." I said.
"Why do you want to do that?" D_____ asked.
"One, it costs money," I began, "And when I wake up the next morning, I usually think to myself, "So, you really paid money for that?""
"Okay," he said, "But are you just going to stop buying it, or are you stopping completely?"
"Well, I'll just have to take it one day at a time," I said, "I've reached a point where I'm beginning to think that it does nothing but bring empty happiness."
"Empty happiness?" He asked.
"Yes, empty happiness. A happiness that doesn't last. It's not the same happiness I seem to experience when I meditate."
"So, you're still Buddhist?"
"Yes, I am."
"Well, think of it this way," D_____ said, "With your habit, the empty happiness goes away after a few hours, but I've seen the empty happiness of religion in followers, but that empty happiness lasts their entire lives."
"So you think it's like the opiate of the masses?" I asked.
"That's a good way of putting it."
Two women passed by; each held the side of a souk bag filled with vegetables. I looked down at my coffee and began to stir. For a moment, the sounds of the street seemed to leave the cafe, leaving only the sound of my spoon clinking against the glass. A man walked by, and D_____ pointed him out to me.
"Hey, that man is like you." D_____ said.
"Really?" I asked, "Here?"
"Yes. Sometimes the children throw rocks at him. When I see it, I usually go up to the kids and tell them that he is human, just like them."
I began to drink my coffee.
"That's one thing I like about America," D_____ continued, "There is freedom. People can believe whatever they want. They can be whoever they want to be."
I looked down the street again. My mind traveled to six years ago. I was on a beach in Florida with friends. We had just left a restaurant when I heard someone shout in the parking lot. Even though the rest of the words were a blur, I remember that word they used. It had since seared itself into my brain. I reached the parking lot just as two men knocked down the third man, shouting that word over and over again. My immediate reaction was to jump in and try to pull them away, but they pushed me aside. I spun around and watched as a crowd had formed around us. Why aren't you helping? I thought as I watched their blank faces, he is one of us. The faces in the crowd remained blank, cold, indifferent, as though they weren't witnessing a beating, but were Romans sitting inside the Colosseum.
I remember the glass bottle I found, and I remember the sound and feeling of it breaking over one of the attacker's head. The most vivid detail that I remember though was their eyes. The look in their eyes wasn't an anger one sees at another human, but an anger one sees directed at a dog that did something bad, or a car that won't start. Their anger wasn't directed at the man as a person who needed to be killed, but as a thing that needed to be destroyed. After I chased them away, I remember looking down at the man. He was now just a pulp; blood streamed down his face, a tooth dangled in his mouth, and his clothes were torn. I remember crying as I held him. I remember being told, you saved your friend's life, and I replied, I don't know him. I remember the look of confusion on some of the people's faces, and I remember the anger welling inside of me, not at the attackers, but at the people who surrounded me that night.
As my mind returned to the cafe on the corner of the street in Er Rachidia, I turned to D_____.
"What is one thing you don't like about Islam?" D_____ asked.
"Are you familiar with Sufism?" I asked in an attempt to alter the subject.
"I knows about them." D_____ replied.
"I like the Sufi. When I read the Quran, it reminded me of Christianity very much. In Islam, mankind is seen as a completely depraved creature, something not worthy of grace, much less life. It is only through God that mankind is saved. Christianity and Islam share this in common, the belief that mankind is inherently worthless without God. In Christianity, this is called total depravity."
D_____ leaned forward and nodded his head in agreement.
"The Sufi are different," I said, "In Sufism, the belief in the fitra is ever-present. It is the understanding that God is the fitra, the source of all wisdom. God is complete fitra, complete wisdom. All living things contain within themselves a piece of this fitra, this wisdom. The seeming depravities exist like shrouds that cover our fitra, but our inherent nature is this holiness, this wisdom, this fitra. In Christianity, this is called the inner light. In Buddhism, this is called Buddha nature."
This is, and always has been, my favorite religion discussion to have with people. Whether people embrace their culture to the point of denigrating others, or whether they denigrate themselves to embrace a Western worldview, I feel that discussing this concept, and the connection that they have with each other, helps people realize that there is no need to unify cultures or religions, nor is there a need of dominant cultures. It is akin to believing that the cultures, in their essence, are like this pureness, and the negative expressions that we find - racism, xenophobia, terrorism - are all shrouds that cover them. The positive expressions of these cultures are present in all cultures, just as the negative examples are found there, as well.
I left D_____, and returned to the Fulbright scholar's house, and imagined what it would be like to alter my memory of the event that occurred six years ago. Maybe there was no attacker, there was no victim, there was no mass of bystanders. There was only fitra and shrouds.
My coffee had just arrived by the time D_____ showed up. D_____, the Moroccan who is usually used by the new volunteers as a language instructor, wanted to develop an association with me and another volunteer to "encourage cultural exchange and human development opportunities between Morocco and America". This meeting, however, wasn't focused on business.
"I think I'm going to give up on some bad habits." I said.
"Why do you want to do that?" D_____ asked.
"One, it costs money," I began, "And when I wake up the next morning, I usually think to myself, "So, you really paid money for that?""
"Okay," he said, "But are you just going to stop buying it, or are you stopping completely?"
"Well, I'll just have to take it one day at a time," I said, "I've reached a point where I'm beginning to think that it does nothing but bring empty happiness."
"Empty happiness?" He asked.
"Yes, empty happiness. A happiness that doesn't last. It's not the same happiness I seem to experience when I meditate."
"So, you're still Buddhist?"
"Yes, I am."
"Well, think of it this way," D_____ said, "With your habit, the empty happiness goes away after a few hours, but I've seen the empty happiness of religion in followers, but that empty happiness lasts their entire lives."
"So you think it's like the opiate of the masses?" I asked.
"That's a good way of putting it."
Two women passed by; each held the side of a souk bag filled with vegetables. I looked down at my coffee and began to stir. For a moment, the sounds of the street seemed to leave the cafe, leaving only the sound of my spoon clinking against the glass. A man walked by, and D_____ pointed him out to me.
"Hey, that man is like you." D_____ said.
"Really?" I asked, "Here?"
"Yes. Sometimes the children throw rocks at him. When I see it, I usually go up to the kids and tell them that he is human, just like them."
I began to drink my coffee.
"That's one thing I like about America," D_____ continued, "There is freedom. People can believe whatever they want. They can be whoever they want to be."
I looked down the street again. My mind traveled to six years ago. I was on a beach in Florida with friends. We had just left a restaurant when I heard someone shout in the parking lot. Even though the rest of the words were a blur, I remember that word they used. It had since seared itself into my brain. I reached the parking lot just as two men knocked down the third man, shouting that word over and over again. My immediate reaction was to jump in and try to pull them away, but they pushed me aside. I spun around and watched as a crowd had formed around us. Why aren't you helping? I thought as I watched their blank faces, he is one of us. The faces in the crowd remained blank, cold, indifferent, as though they weren't witnessing a beating, but were Romans sitting inside the Colosseum.
I remember the glass bottle I found, and I remember the sound and feeling of it breaking over one of the attacker's head. The most vivid detail that I remember though was their eyes. The look in their eyes wasn't an anger one sees at another human, but an anger one sees directed at a dog that did something bad, or a car that won't start. Their anger wasn't directed at the man as a person who needed to be killed, but as a thing that needed to be destroyed. After I chased them away, I remember looking down at the man. He was now just a pulp; blood streamed down his face, a tooth dangled in his mouth, and his clothes were torn. I remember crying as I held him. I remember being told, you saved your friend's life, and I replied, I don't know him. I remember the look of confusion on some of the people's faces, and I remember the anger welling inside of me, not at the attackers, but at the people who surrounded me that night.
As my mind returned to the cafe on the corner of the street in Er Rachidia, I turned to D_____.
"What is one thing you don't like about Islam?" D_____ asked.
"Are you familiar with Sufism?" I asked in an attempt to alter the subject.
"I knows about them." D_____ replied.
"I like the Sufi. When I read the Quran, it reminded me of Christianity very much. In Islam, mankind is seen as a completely depraved creature, something not worthy of grace, much less life. It is only through God that mankind is saved. Christianity and Islam share this in common, the belief that mankind is inherently worthless without God. In Christianity, this is called total depravity."
D_____ leaned forward and nodded his head in agreement.
"The Sufi are different," I said, "In Sufism, the belief in the fitra is ever-present. It is the understanding that God is the fitra, the source of all wisdom. God is complete fitra, complete wisdom. All living things contain within themselves a piece of this fitra, this wisdom. The seeming depravities exist like shrouds that cover our fitra, but our inherent nature is this holiness, this wisdom, this fitra. In Christianity, this is called the inner light. In Buddhism, this is called Buddha nature."
This is, and always has been, my favorite religion discussion to have with people. Whether people embrace their culture to the point of denigrating others, or whether they denigrate themselves to embrace a Western worldview, I feel that discussing this concept, and the connection that they have with each other, helps people realize that there is no need to unify cultures or religions, nor is there a need of dominant cultures. It is akin to believing that the cultures, in their essence, are like this pureness, and the negative expressions that we find - racism, xenophobia, terrorism - are all shrouds that cover them. The positive expressions of these cultures are present in all cultures, just as the negative examples are found there, as well.
I left D_____, and returned to the Fulbright scholar's house, and imagined what it would be like to alter my memory of the event that occurred six years ago. Maybe there was no attacker, there was no victim, there was no mass of bystanders. There was only fitra and shrouds.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Traveling, Pt. 4
Er Rachidia 4
It was cold as we left the Fulbright student’s house. It was a clear night, and I watched the stars of Orion and Canis Major. It was late, and the only sounds were our shoes hitting the road. I thought back to the dinner. Everyone loved the pizza, so I made sure to limit the amount I ate. Another volunteer had bought a nice cake at the restaurant in Er Rachidia. I knew there wasn’t enough for everyone, so I let the others have it. My friend turned to me as we walked down the street.
“Marcus,” my friend told me, “I am the one who wrote that card for “unconditional”.”
I looked up into the night sky. It wasn’t the fact that someone had written it that bothered me. It was the fact that it won. Everyone at the table looked at me for a moment and nodded their heads before the judge declared “Marcus’ love” as the winner for “unconditional”. Yes, I’m Buddhist. Yes, I tell them about meditation and how my ultimate goal is to be a Bodhisattva. I don’t know why it makes me uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because I don’t see myself as having reached that point yet.
I get angry. I get frustrated. And yes, I do tell myself that anger and frustration are to be utilized in a positive way, and to ultimately be supplanted with love. But to have someone outside of me identify me as having unconditional love makes me feel like I’m a fraud. Have I earned the right to have people tell me that I’m a good person? Do I really express my love and kindness unconditionally?
It’s strange, how one can have such opposing thoughts in a short period of time. In Esaouira, I felt transcendent as I pretended to fly over the Atlantic. In Rabat, I felt as though I was being crushed by the people. In Tinghir, I felt like I needed no one to tell me how to live my life. In Er Rachidia, however, when presented with the possibility that I am a good person, I withdraw.
Conclusion
I’m going to stay in my village. I need to let the men and women there know that just because I don’t match what they think of as a man I am useless. I need to let them know that it’s fine that I clean my house, that I cook and do laundry, that I read and write and sing. I have no right to impose my culture on them, but they have no right to tell me that I am living my life incorrectly. I am who I am, and they can accept that, even if they do so with curiosity.
I’m going to work in Er Rachidia more. I can speak to kids there and teach health lessons. I just met with some and we created a curriculum through May, until my family comes to visit and I visit Los Angeles. By the time my current schedule is complete, it will be down time in this country, and everything will shut down for a few months for Ramadan. By the time I need to make another schedule, I will be close to ending my service. These things will fall into place. I will go where I am needed. If I am needed in Er Rachidia to fulfill goal one, then so be it. If I am needed in my village to fulfill goals two and three, then so be it.
Because there is nothing to be attained, the Bodhisattva, relying on the Prajna Paramita, has no obstruction in his mind. ~The Heart Sutra
It was cold as we left the Fulbright student’s house. It was a clear night, and I watched the stars of Orion and Canis Major. It was late, and the only sounds were our shoes hitting the road. I thought back to the dinner. Everyone loved the pizza, so I made sure to limit the amount I ate. Another volunteer had bought a nice cake at the restaurant in Er Rachidia. I knew there wasn’t enough for everyone, so I let the others have it. My friend turned to me as we walked down the street.
“Marcus,” my friend told me, “I am the one who wrote that card for “unconditional”.”
I looked up into the night sky. It wasn’t the fact that someone had written it that bothered me. It was the fact that it won. Everyone at the table looked at me for a moment and nodded their heads before the judge declared “Marcus’ love” as the winner for “unconditional”. Yes, I’m Buddhist. Yes, I tell them about meditation and how my ultimate goal is to be a Bodhisattva. I don’t know why it makes me uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because I don’t see myself as having reached that point yet.
I get angry. I get frustrated. And yes, I do tell myself that anger and frustration are to be utilized in a positive way, and to ultimately be supplanted with love. But to have someone outside of me identify me as having unconditional love makes me feel like I’m a fraud. Have I earned the right to have people tell me that I’m a good person? Do I really express my love and kindness unconditionally?
It’s strange, how one can have such opposing thoughts in a short period of time. In Esaouira, I felt transcendent as I pretended to fly over the Atlantic. In Rabat, I felt as though I was being crushed by the people. In Tinghir, I felt like I needed no one to tell me how to live my life. In Er Rachidia, however, when presented with the possibility that I am a good person, I withdraw.
Conclusion
I’m going to stay in my village. I need to let the men and women there know that just because I don’t match what they think of as a man I am useless. I need to let them know that it’s fine that I clean my house, that I cook and do laundry, that I read and write and sing. I have no right to impose my culture on them, but they have no right to tell me that I am living my life incorrectly. I am who I am, and they can accept that, even if they do so with curiosity.
I’m going to work in Er Rachidia more. I can speak to kids there and teach health lessons. I just met with some and we created a curriculum through May, until my family comes to visit and I visit Los Angeles. By the time my current schedule is complete, it will be down time in this country, and everything will shut down for a few months for Ramadan. By the time I need to make another schedule, I will be close to ending my service. These things will fall into place. I will go where I am needed. If I am needed in Er Rachidia to fulfill goal one, then so be it. If I am needed in my village to fulfill goals two and three, then so be it.
Because there is nothing to be attained, the Bodhisattva, relying on the Prajna Paramita, has no obstruction in his mind. ~The Heart Sutra
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