Squiggle & Heart, No. 45
Though my brain is, of course, doing all the catastrophizing I would expect it to be doing right now - dreaming up all sorts of horrible scenarios to come hand-in-hand with the president-elect; some guaranteed, others purely disastrous speculation - every now and then I experience a profound calm and confidence for which I am incredibly grateful.
The most staggering moment like this happened yesterday, when I held the door for a woman pushing a child in a stroller. I happened to arrive at the grocery store at the exact moment she was about to maneuver a cumbersome door situation. We locked eyes in a genuine thank-you, and as she expressed her gratitude for my tiny act, I became suddenly aware of the sensation of delight in the interaction. I was so grateful to have manifested in time and space for her. In moments like that I have agency, I am connected, I am of purpose, I am happy.
As I then entered the grocery store it hit me: the 47th president has never experienced that level of happiness, that physical sensation. He does not approach life in search of service, and therefore can’t know what it feels like to experience the truly indestructible. He is a man who wants to consume, own, or destroy everything, but cannot consume, own, or destroy what I have.
And if I could give it to him, I would.
Every morning in meditation, I offer that man the following phrases: May you be happy. May you be peaceful. I say it over and over again and watch what happens to my body. I say it to other men like him. Other humans who would consume, own, and destroy. May you be happy. May you be peaceful.
It ain’t easy.
But the practice is two-fold. One, I know if these humans WERE truly happy and peaceful - if they could shed their delusion and the harms done to them in their youth, if they could taste what it feels like to connect in ways that are not tied to consumption and suffering - they would not cause the devastation they are currently causing. Two, the more I can offer them what is in my heart, the more robust I make that thing they cannot take from me.
If I were lying on the ground bleeding, I am fairly certain Those Men would step over me. But I know if I found one of them bleeding, I would tourniquet the wound and call for help. I might give them a piece of my mind while I do it, but as long as I know that is what I would do, then there is something of me they cannot have.