A couple of days ago I was standing at a bus stop on Mass Street, debating whether to ride the bus or walk the seven blocks to my friend's house. There's been relatively little snow but this Winter has been mean, physically and emotionally. Temperatures have regularly dipped to bone-chilling negatives -- humbling and dominating the body -- but have periodically soared during the day to ridiculously unseasonable highs.
The first 60-something-degree day made us silly. We abandoned hats and gloves. The air sparkled with sounds of greetings and laughter, like tinkling bells. Traffic hummed on Mass Street and included a few convertibles with tops down. It was like we'd all fallen in love. That night, the temperature dropped to 17 degrees. Our hearts were broken.
We were not as reckless and full-throttle in our enjoyment of the next faux Summer day.
On this day, though, the sun and sky and breeze and temperature were like a caress. The weather offered not a flamboyant promise that Winter was over but a congenial reminder that Spring will come. I was hatless but wore a lightweight, ankle-length coat. I closed my eyes and turned my face toward the blessed sun, the hem of my coat snapping briskly against my calves in the "in like a lion" breeze.
I was yanked from reverie and contemplation by the sound of a male voice shouting "Nigger!" as a car was passed about 10 feet away from me. The car had slowed as it approached the traffic light, which was turning from red to green.
The head and neck of a thirty-something white guy protruded from the rear passenger-side window. I registered the cartoonish exuberance of his features as the face withdrew and the car accelerated through the intersection.
For over a year now, I've been meditating every day in Sam Harris' Waking Up mindfulness meditation course. (You can try it, too, for free, by following the link at his website). I was unfazed by the hateful outburst and I believe my equanimity was due in large part to meditation practice.
Contrary to what some believe, my response was not a matter of denial or detachment from "reality". I didn't retreat to a la-la land in my head, clutching a security blanket of numbness or blithe disregard. I could see his face clearly. I remember the license plate number and make of the car. There were four people in the car and the driver was the only woman. As they passed, I watched through the rear window as she turned around and briefly chastised the passenger.
I saw and heard everything. Mindfulness practice enabled tremendous clarity. I saw with minimal distraction what was happening -- both in the surrounding environment and within myself -- and was not swept away into either stream.
This morning I heard a rebroadcast of Kamau Bell's story about an incident at the former Elmwood Cafe in Berkeley CA on the radio. Near the end of it, someone said something about fostering the capacity to see racism clearly without internalizing it.
I saw the face. Perceived the ignorance and hatred and stupidity etched thereon. Felt my own startle response and noted my thoughts about the irony of living nearly five years in Mississippi without ever being the target of the epithet but hearing it in Lawrence -- residents lovingly call it LFK, "Lawrence Fucking Kansas" because it's the most liberal place in the state -- on arguably the most beautiful day of the year thus far.
When I reached my friend's house I told him and his wife about what had happened. "I can remember being emotionally and psychologically unsettled by similar events in the past," I commented. "Well, eventually that ignorant older generation will die off," my friend proffered.
"Oh! Well, this guy seemed to be in his early 30s," I said. "And I don't really see bigotry as a generational problem."
The first 60-something-degree day made us silly. We abandoned hats and gloves. The air sparkled with sounds of greetings and laughter, like tinkling bells. Traffic hummed on Mass Street and included a few convertibles with tops down. It was like we'd all fallen in love. That night, the temperature dropped to 17 degrees. Our hearts were broken.
We were not as reckless and full-throttle in our enjoyment of the next faux Summer day.
I was yanked from reverie and contemplation by the sound of a male voice shouting "Nigger!" as a car was passed about 10 feet away from me. The car had slowed as it approached the traffic light, which was turning from red to green.
The head and neck of a thirty-something white guy protruded from the rear passenger-side window. I registered the cartoonish exuberance of his features as the face withdrew and the car accelerated through the intersection.
Contrary to what some believe, my response was not a matter of denial or detachment from "reality". I didn't retreat to a la-la land in my head, clutching a security blanket of numbness or blithe disregard. I could see his face clearly. I remember the license plate number and make of the car. There were four people in the car and the driver was the only woman. As they passed, I watched through the rear window as she turned around and briefly chastised the passenger.
I saw and heard everything. Mindfulness practice enabled tremendous clarity. I saw with minimal distraction what was happening -- both in the surrounding environment and within myself -- and was not swept away into either stream.
This morning I heard a rebroadcast of Kamau Bell's story about an incident at the former Elmwood Cafe in Berkeley CA on the radio. Near the end of it, someone said something about fostering the capacity to see racism clearly without internalizing it.
I saw the face. Perceived the ignorance and hatred and stupidity etched thereon. Felt my own startle response and noted my thoughts about the irony of living nearly five years in Mississippi without ever being the target of the epithet but hearing it in Lawrence -- residents lovingly call it LFK, "Lawrence Fucking Kansas" because it's the most liberal place in the state -- on arguably the most beautiful day of the year thus far.
When I reached my friend's house I told him and his wife about what had happened. "I can remember being emotionally and psychologically unsettled by similar events in the past," I commented. "Well, eventually that ignorant older generation will die off," my friend proffered.
"Oh! Well, this guy seemed to be in his early 30s," I said. "And I don't really see bigotry as a generational problem."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Reflecting on my experience this many days later, I remember that I moved to Kansas the Spring after Drumpf became president. The waves of ignorance, greed, hatred, etc. that have swept the nation and world in the intervening months have expanded the possibilities for bigotry. Probably it's easier now to be called "nigger" anywhere and everywhere.
It's a good time for practicing mindfulness.
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