zenjones

They go at it twice a week. It escalates throughout the night, until somewhere between midnight and 6 a.m. the yelling and the thumping wakes me up. I lie there and listen, trying to convince myself that this is their choice, they have been married for 30 years, it’ll be over soon. But lately their words have become clearer and they are definitely threatening. I imagine one of them dead, and me having to say to the reporters, “Well, I listened to them for years, but never did anything.” Also, after a bad night, I wake up trembling and spikey. And shut down. Anxious and afraid, I spend the day jumping at the slightest sound.

So I wrote them a letter, with the name of a therapist, and I said that if they didn’t stop, I’d call the police. And I gave a copy to my landlord. I think they will be evicted now. It will probably take a month.

Yesterday, the day they got the letter, I crept around the house, afraid they’d come over. I saw the wife get the mail and walk into the house. Then there was thumping. Violence is so unpredictable. Am I next? And, of course, it calls up all the sensations of when I experienced domestic violence personally. As a child, there was so much fear and dread. And that conspiracy of silence–we never talked about it in my house. I’ve just broken that covenant. I’ve brought in the outside world to their private hell. Since they brought their private hell into my little world.

I have this expectation that my life now will be free of violence. I have a non-violent husband and non-violent friends. Must I be reminded of the horrible way people can treat each other? Must I be reminded of my own experience?

Well, yes. That is the face of God. It reminds me of that poem we sometimes read at the Zen Center in San Diego, “Please Call Me By My True Names,” by Thich Nhat Hanh, about the pirate who rapes the little girl. It easy to feel compassion for the little girl, but the real shocker in that poem is the part where we must say,

And I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.

I am my next door neighbors.

I can see my neighbor Kate lying in her hammock reading. It’s a hot summer day, and she’s in the deep shade of her little sycamore grove. It looks idyllic. While I’m up here slaving away, grumble grumble.

But actually, she might be not feeling so idyllic. I’ve learned that what you look like on the outside has no relation to what you feel like on the inside. This same neighbor sees me meditate in my front room early in the morning, and she thinks I’m all peaceful and at one with the world. Hah! Half the time I’m planning something just to keep from being present. The other half the time I’m either (1) doing the dual awareness meditation, or (2) forgetting to do the dual awareness meditation, or (3) bringing myself back to the dual awareness meditation with this promise, “Just take three breaths, then you can go back to planning snacks for your nephew and niece when they get here next month.”

Still, I look at these images of meditators and I think, “I want to be like them!” assuming they are always present. But maybe they are planning snacks for their guests? And maybe this is a good time to practice with expectations.