Kashyapa
Unregistered
K
I'll arrive at my point in a roundabout sort of way.
When I was 11 my dad got me a really kick-ass pellet gun. Black, evil, shiny. Could absolutely obliterate a plastic army man. Accurate as hell, too. I could place ten pellets in the center of a target at thirty paces. I had a lot of fun with it. It made me feel powerful, like a badass. One day, I was playing with it. My parents were gone, my mom at work, my dad doing something else. I lived in the forest, in a quiet little town right in the foothills of the front range in Colorado, and there were a lot of squirrels around. On a black, evil little impulse, I turned my weapon on one of them, took aim, and fired. I blew it straight off the branch it was sitting on, flipping end over end, until it hit the ground. I felt like the s--t. Great white hunter drops his kill. Boo ya!
So I walked over to inspect my handiwork, swaggering in the way only a little boy can. I knelt down and looked at the squirrel. My pellet had taken it in the haunches, and exited the flank. Blood was pouring out of the ragged wound. The squirrel was still moving, squirming in agony, its bright little black eyes still open, still conscious, still feeling the godawful pain it must have been feeling, staring up at this gigantic curious thing above it in shock and fear and holy s--t what the hell happened to me I'm dying!!!! And I watched it die like that, terrified and alone, its killer kneeling over it. And I became the squirrel, imagined the pain so vividly my own stomach knotted and flared, imagined its uncomprehending last seconds. I spent the next hour sobbing uncontrollably, saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" over and over again. Because it felt the same amount of pain I would have if I had been walking down the street, minding my own business and attending to my own life, and suddenly a chunk of metal the size of a pop can had zipped through the air at 200 mph and hit me in the ass. It felt the same incomprehension, the same panic, the same terror. I realized that the squirrel was no different than I, that I was an animal just like it.
Just yesterday, I was aimlessly websurfing and came across a site called "Information Clearinghouse", a sort of anti-establishment news service. I scrolled down. A picture flashed into view. A little boy's face, eleven or twelve, contorted in misery. Olive skin, dark hair. Further. Shoulders. Two shapeless potatoes of white gauze sprouting from them, the amputated stumps of his arms. More. Blackened flesh, scorched like a well-done burger, smeared with white burn cream. A little Iraqi boy named Ali, twelve years old, good at geography although he'd never left his hometown, a big family with a lot of sisters and one brother who all love him very much. A missile had hit his house, and his life changed. All he could talk about to the reporter who came to visit him was that he wanted to go home. He was worried about his arms, not being able to eat and play and enjoy a normal life. You could see the hurt and incomprehension and misery in his face, plain as day, just like that little squirrel I wasted half a lifetime ago. I cried, bitter tears burning my eyes and my throat aching. "I'm sorry, little buddy," I said to him, to myself. Ali deserved what he got just like the squirrel did- that is to say, not at all. His life will be forever changed, if he doesn't die from septicemia in a totally unprepared hospital, suffering from injuries that a high-tech US burn ward would have trouble treating effectively.
I don't think that anything meaningful, anything material separates me from Ali or the squirrel. Just beings, capable of feeling joy and pain and everything else, going about their lives, trying to survive and be happy and at peace. Life is life is life. No separation, no dominion, no separate rights. We feel the same pain, we dream the same dreams. Ali loves his mother just like I love mine. I'd be just as miserable as Ali is if I had been burned and my arms blown off. The squirrel might not have the mental capacity to love in the same way that a human might, but I'm sure the basic essence is there. It feels the same pain I do. Culture, nation, race, species, morality- all meaningless distinctions that seek to emphasize nonexistent divisions. We are all LIFE! We all seek to survive as best we can. We all seek to live and have babies and be happy. Sometimes our culture or our life circumstances lead us into delusion, and our priorities get messed up, and we do awful things. That seed of evil and destruction can be planted in any heart. Evil is in the act. I believe that we all possess the same potential for good and evil, and that when evil is done it is done not out of inherent evil but misdirection and delusion.
The squirrel died because of an arrogant little boy. So might Ali, for the same reason, if one doens't essentially consider him dead already. Just one of thousands of wounded, over a thousand dead, in yet another war that's going to do nothing to achieve a lasting peace. Just another cause, and just another effect, of those meaningless distinctions, and the needless turmoil and hatred. When we go to war, we forget that we're all humans, capable of the same pain, the same bliss, the same joy, the same hatred. Our genes are all the same, just with different ones flipped on and off. We share the same physiology and psychology, yearn for the same things. We all just want to live in peace and be happy and have children and love. When we do things that cause pain, cause suffering, cause death and destruction and maimed little boys, we destroy our ability to be at peace and love and have babies. Death and destruction, even for the purest of motives, beget only more death and destruction. As the saying goes, bombing for peace is like f--king for virginity. War will not create peace in the long run. War will just create more war, as hearts are misdirected by fury and hurt and seek to lash out at those who have hurt them. We cannot bomb the world into being peaceful, and you're living in a dreamworld if you think that's possible. Introducing peace into the world is the only way peace will become a part of the world.
We defend our country, passing draconian laws and fortifying points of entry, lashing out at those who oppose us, hating and fearing and hurting. We oppose force with force, take an eye for an eye, revenge our dead by creating more. Instead of perpetuating the endless cycle, why not try combating hate with love, war with peace? Why do the terrorists hate us? Because for the last hundred years, we've been at nearly endless war, trying to impose what we think is right on the world, sowing the seeds of hate and pain all around us. Don't delude yourself by saying that they "hate that we have a free society". They hate us because of our heavy handedness, our willingness to f--k with other nation's affairs, to create little Alis in the name of our values, to bomb cities and wedding parties. They hate us because we presume that our way is best and that everyone should be like us, because our companies care only for the profit motive, because we have such blatantly deceptive motives for our misbegotten wars.
The only way out is peace. If the entire war budget had been devoted to building universities, schools, infrastructure, and perpetuating love, the world would be a better place. The war hasn't changed anything but a regime. Why not change the minds and hearts of millions? Why not fund AIDS treatment for all the infected poor of Africa? Why not send our nation's youth out to do service work in less fortunate parts of the world? Why not promote good sanitation and medical care? You get out of the world what you put into it. Why not put some peace and goodwill and happiness out into the world for a change? We could take away the reasons that the terrorists hate us. Instead of killing little boys, let's endow scholarships to send them to college and build the third world's educated workforce. Let's promote an open and tolerant and free society. Instead of bulding America into a fortress, let's open it up, and open up our hearts. Because all we are is beings, trying to find a way to survive and prosper. And we all deserve the same chance to do that.
Whew.
When I was 11 my dad got me a really kick-ass pellet gun. Black, evil, shiny. Could absolutely obliterate a plastic army man. Accurate as hell, too. I could place ten pellets in the center of a target at thirty paces. I had a lot of fun with it. It made me feel powerful, like a badass. One day, I was playing with it. My parents were gone, my mom at work, my dad doing something else. I lived in the forest, in a quiet little town right in the foothills of the front range in Colorado, and there were a lot of squirrels around. On a black, evil little impulse, I turned my weapon on one of them, took aim, and fired. I blew it straight off the branch it was sitting on, flipping end over end, until it hit the ground. I felt like the s--t. Great white hunter drops his kill. Boo ya!
So I walked over to inspect my handiwork, swaggering in the way only a little boy can. I knelt down and looked at the squirrel. My pellet had taken it in the haunches, and exited the flank. Blood was pouring out of the ragged wound. The squirrel was still moving, squirming in agony, its bright little black eyes still open, still conscious, still feeling the godawful pain it must have been feeling, staring up at this gigantic curious thing above it in shock and fear and holy s--t what the hell happened to me I'm dying!!!! And I watched it die like that, terrified and alone, its killer kneeling over it. And I became the squirrel, imagined the pain so vividly my own stomach knotted and flared, imagined its uncomprehending last seconds. I spent the next hour sobbing uncontrollably, saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" over and over again. Because it felt the same amount of pain I would have if I had been walking down the street, minding my own business and attending to my own life, and suddenly a chunk of metal the size of a pop can had zipped through the air at 200 mph and hit me in the ass. It felt the same incomprehension, the same panic, the same terror. I realized that the squirrel was no different than I, that I was an animal just like it.
Just yesterday, I was aimlessly websurfing and came across a site called "Information Clearinghouse", a sort of anti-establishment news service. I scrolled down. A picture flashed into view. A little boy's face, eleven or twelve, contorted in misery. Olive skin, dark hair. Further. Shoulders. Two shapeless potatoes of white gauze sprouting from them, the amputated stumps of his arms. More. Blackened flesh, scorched like a well-done burger, smeared with white burn cream. A little Iraqi boy named Ali, twelve years old, good at geography although he'd never left his hometown, a big family with a lot of sisters and one brother who all love him very much. A missile had hit his house, and his life changed. All he could talk about to the reporter who came to visit him was that he wanted to go home. He was worried about his arms, not being able to eat and play and enjoy a normal life. You could see the hurt and incomprehension and misery in his face, plain as day, just like that little squirrel I wasted half a lifetime ago. I cried, bitter tears burning my eyes and my throat aching. "I'm sorry, little buddy," I said to him, to myself. Ali deserved what he got just like the squirrel did- that is to say, not at all. His life will be forever changed, if he doesn't die from septicemia in a totally unprepared hospital, suffering from injuries that a high-tech US burn ward would have trouble treating effectively.
I don't think that anything meaningful, anything material separates me from Ali or the squirrel. Just beings, capable of feeling joy and pain and everything else, going about their lives, trying to survive and be happy and at peace. Life is life is life. No separation, no dominion, no separate rights. We feel the same pain, we dream the same dreams. Ali loves his mother just like I love mine. I'd be just as miserable as Ali is if I had been burned and my arms blown off. The squirrel might not have the mental capacity to love in the same way that a human might, but I'm sure the basic essence is there. It feels the same pain I do. Culture, nation, race, species, morality- all meaningless distinctions that seek to emphasize nonexistent divisions. We are all LIFE! We all seek to survive as best we can. We all seek to live and have babies and be happy. Sometimes our culture or our life circumstances lead us into delusion, and our priorities get messed up, and we do awful things. That seed of evil and destruction can be planted in any heart. Evil is in the act. I believe that we all possess the same potential for good and evil, and that when evil is done it is done not out of inherent evil but misdirection and delusion.
The squirrel died because of an arrogant little boy. So might Ali, for the same reason, if one doens't essentially consider him dead already. Just one of thousands of wounded, over a thousand dead, in yet another war that's going to do nothing to achieve a lasting peace. Just another cause, and just another effect, of those meaningless distinctions, and the needless turmoil and hatred. When we go to war, we forget that we're all humans, capable of the same pain, the same bliss, the same joy, the same hatred. Our genes are all the same, just with different ones flipped on and off. We share the same physiology and psychology, yearn for the same things. We all just want to live in peace and be happy and have children and love. When we do things that cause pain, cause suffering, cause death and destruction and maimed little boys, we destroy our ability to be at peace and love and have babies. Death and destruction, even for the purest of motives, beget only more death and destruction. As the saying goes, bombing for peace is like f--king for virginity. War will not create peace in the long run. War will just create more war, as hearts are misdirected by fury and hurt and seek to lash out at those who have hurt them. We cannot bomb the world into being peaceful, and you're living in a dreamworld if you think that's possible. Introducing peace into the world is the only way peace will become a part of the world.
We defend our country, passing draconian laws and fortifying points of entry, lashing out at those who oppose us, hating and fearing and hurting. We oppose force with force, take an eye for an eye, revenge our dead by creating more. Instead of perpetuating the endless cycle, why not try combating hate with love, war with peace? Why do the terrorists hate us? Because for the last hundred years, we've been at nearly endless war, trying to impose what we think is right on the world, sowing the seeds of hate and pain all around us. Don't delude yourself by saying that they "hate that we have a free society". They hate us because of our heavy handedness, our willingness to f--k with other nation's affairs, to create little Alis in the name of our values, to bomb cities and wedding parties. They hate us because we presume that our way is best and that everyone should be like us, because our companies care only for the profit motive, because we have such blatantly deceptive motives for our misbegotten wars.
The only way out is peace. If the entire war budget had been devoted to building universities, schools, infrastructure, and perpetuating love, the world would be a better place. The war hasn't changed anything but a regime. Why not change the minds and hearts of millions? Why not fund AIDS treatment for all the infected poor of Africa? Why not send our nation's youth out to do service work in less fortunate parts of the world? Why not promote good sanitation and medical care? You get out of the world what you put into it. Why not put some peace and goodwill and happiness out into the world for a change? We could take away the reasons that the terrorists hate us. Instead of killing little boys, let's endow scholarships to send them to college and build the third world's educated workforce. Let's promote an open and tolerant and free society. Instead of bulding America into a fortress, let's open it up, and open up our hearts. Because all we are is beings, trying to find a way to survive and prosper. And we all deserve the same chance to do that.
Whew.