A Letter to Adam, The Newtown Killer

I love this response from Douglas Bachman, an American Buddhist monk living at Thich Nhat Hanh's monastery in France. He displays the profound compassion of the Buddha's teaching-- that it isn't enough to forgive those who harm, but that we must have the courage to see ourselves in them and them in ourselves, and that we must change ourselves in order for the world to change. The original link is here. I'm posting the letter in case the link expires.

A Letter to Adam, The Newtown Killer

Saturday, 15th of December, 2012 

Dharma Cloud Temple

Plum Village

Dear Adam,

 Let me start by saying that I wish for you to find peace. It would be easy just to call you a monster and condemn you for evermore, but I don't think that would help either of us. Given what you have done, I realise that peace may not be easy to find. In a fit of rage, delusion and fear—yes, above all else, I think, fear—you thought that killing was a way out. It was clearly a powerful emotion that drove you from your mother's dead body to massacre children and staff of Sandy Hook School and to turn the gun in the end on yourself. You decided that the game was over.

But the game is not over, though you are dead. You didn't find a way outof your anger and loneliness. You live on in other forms, in the torn families and their despair, in the violation of their trust, in the gaping wound in a community, and in the countless articles and news reports spilling across the country and the world—yes, you live on even in me. I was also a young boy who grew up in Newtown. Now I am a ZenBuddhist monk. I see you quite clearly in me now, continued in the legacy of your actions, and I see that in death you have not become free.

You know, I used to play soccer on the school field outside the room where you died, when I was the age of the children you killed. Our team was the Eagles, and we won our division that year. My mom still keeps the trophy stashed in a box. To be honest, I was and am not much of a soccer player. I've known winning, but I've also known losing, and being picked last for a spot on the team. I think you've known this too—the pain of rejection, isolation and loneliness; loneliness too strong to bear.

You are not alone in feeling this. When loneliness comes up it is so easy to seek refuge in a virtual world of computers and films, but do these really help or only increase our isolation? In our drive to be more connected, have we lost our true connection?

I want to know what you did with your loneliness. Did you ever, like me, cope by walking in the forests that cover our town? I know well the slope that cuts from that school to the stream, shrouded by beech and white pine. It makes up the landscape of my mind. I remember well the thrill of heading out alone on a path winding its way—to Treadwell Park! 

At that time it felt like a magical path, one of many secrets I discovered throughout those forests, some still hidden. Did you ever lean your face on the rough furrows of an oak's bark, feeling its solid heartwood and tranquil vibrancy? Did you ever play in the course of a stream, making pools with the stones as if of this stretch you were king? Did you ever experience the healing, connection and peace that comes with such moments, like I often did?

Or did your loneliness know only screens, with dancing figures of light at the bid of your will? How many false lives have you lived, how many shots fired, bombs exploded and lives lost in video games and movies?
By killing yourself at the age of 20, you never gave yourself the chance to grow up and experience a sense of how life's wonders can bring happiness. I know at your age I hadn't yet seen how to do this.

I am 37 now, about the age my teacher, the Buddha, realised there was a way out of suffering. I am not enlightened. This morning, when I heard the news, and read the words of my shocked classmates, within minutes a wave of sorrow arose, and I wept. Then I walked a bit further, into the woods skirting our monastery, and in the wet, winter cold of France, beside the laurel, I cried again. I cried for the children, for the teachers, for their families. But I also cried for you, Adam, because I think that I know you, though I know we have never met. I think that I know the landscape of your mind, because it is the landscape of my mind.
I don't think you hated those children, or that you even hated your mother. I think you hated your loneliness.

I cried because I have failed you. I have failed to show you how to cry. I have failed to sit and listen to you without judging or reacting. Like many of my peers, I left Newtown at seventeen, brimming with confidence and purpose, with the congratulations of friends and the approbation of my elders. I was one of the many young people who left, and in leaving we left others, including you, just born, behind. In that sense, I am a part of the culture that failed you. I didn't know yet what a community was, or that I was a part of one, until I no longer had it, and so desperately needed it.

I have failed to be one of the ones who could have been there to sit and listen to you. I was not there to help you to breathe and become aware of your strong emotions, to help you to see that you are more than just an emotion.

But I am also certain that others in the community cared for you, loved you. Did you know it?

In eighth grade, I lived in terror of a classmate and his anger. It was the first time I knew aggression. No computer screen or television gave a way out, but my imagination and books. I dreamt myself a great wizard, blasting fireballs down the school corridor, so he would fear and respect me. Did you dream like this too?

The way out of being a victim is not to become the destroyer. No matter how great your loneliness, how heavy your despair, you, like each one ofus, still have the capacity to be awake, to be free, to be happy, without being the cause of anyone's sorrow. You didn't know that, or couldn't see that, and so you chose to destroy. We were not skillful enough to help you see a way out.

With this terrible act you have let us know. Now I am listening, we are all listening, to you crying out from the hell of your misunderstanding. You are not alone, and you are not gone. And you may not be at peace until we can stop all our busy-ness, our quest for power, money or sex, our lives of fear and worry, and really listen to you, Adam, to be a friend, a brother, to you. With a good friend like that your loneliness might not have overwhelmed you.

But we needed your help too, Adam. You needed to let us know that you were suffering, and that is not easy to do. It means overcoming pride, and that takes courage and humility. Because you were unable to do this, you have left a heavy legacy for generations to come. If we cannot learn how to connect with you and understand the loneliness, rage and despair you felt—which also lie deep and sometimes hidden within each one of us—not by connecting through Facebook or Twitter or email or telephone, but by really sitting with you and opening our hearts to you, your rage will manifest again in yet unforeseen forms.

Now we know you are there. You are not random, or an aberration. Let your action move us to find a path out of the loneliness within each one of us. I have learned to use awareness of my breath to recognise and transform these overwhelming emotions, but I hope that every man, woman or child does not need to go halfway across the world to become a monk to learn how to do this. As a community, we need to sit down and learn how to cherish life, not with gun-checks and security, but by being fully present for one another, by being truly there for one another. For me, this is the way to restore harmony to our communion.

(Douglas Bachman--Br. Phap Luu-- who grew up at 22 Lake Rd. in Newtown, CT., is a Buddhist monk and student of the Vietnamese Zen Master and monk Thich Nhat Hanh. As part of an international community, he teaches Applied Ethics and the art of mindful living to students and school teachers. He lives in Plum Village Monastery, in Thenac, France.)

Diary of a Buddhist Nun

Found a stinkbug in the house. Carried him outside and shook him off my hand. He flew a foot and then landed in a puddle of water. Looked like he wasn't gonna learn to swim fast enough. Plucked him out with a leaf. Put him down on the ground where he immediately rolled onto his back and got stuck. Rolled him over. Reminded him I cannot spend my day babysitting his accident-prone little stinky self. Reminded myself that if I had let him stay in the house in the first place, none of this would have happened. LOL

Beneath My Celebration Today, There is This

Though I don't find common ground with Republicans on political issues, I have empathy for their deep sense of fear today, as they watch what they consider to be their stable world crumble into dust.

They were in complete denial of the tidal wave of support of Latinos, women and African Americans for President Obama and Democrats. Somehow they thought that if they kept insulting enough of those people it would fire up enough of the remaining folks and they'd win the day. They thought that they could lock women back down into "traditional" roles once again-- subjugate them, demean them and hopefully even turn them back into property with just a few more laws. They thought their white privilege was more powerful than the voices of people of color. They truly thought most Americans hated gay people they way they do.

It's clear they didn't see this coming.

May they open their hearts to change instead of slamming them closed with deeper hatred and bitterness.  The world could sure use their energy if they focused it on benefiting beings.

Late Night in the Hood

I was up until 3 am last night. A neighbor came over to my yard at midnight while I was out letting my dogs go potty. She beat around the bush for a bit with small talk about the dogs and then suddenly burst into tears. It turns out her dad had just died and she wanted to talk to someone "spiritual" about it. By midnight I'm all done in, but I couldn't turn her away. I invited her in and just let her talk.

I knew I'd pay for it big-time today. By the time morning came I could barely stand up. I've had to double my steroids for the day, maybe tomorrow too. But you know, she was at peace when she left.

We didn't talk about Buddhism, we didn't talk about any religion. We talked about compassion-- for one's self and for others. We are all united by the common denominator of suffering and by the ability to transcend it through compassion.

Urgent Help Needed to Keep the Doors Open at KPC

Please chip in to help us pay our electric bill. For more information, see this post and/or this one. Thank you!

Stuff Healthy People Say to Sick People

I've heard every one of these, except the skinny comment of course.

Oppose the War, Not the Warrior

There is a hashtag on Twitter today called #HowLiberalsSpendThe4thOfJuly. I cannot speak for others (and it's a pretty stupid hashtag anyway) but this liberal is spending the 4th of July remembering what Republicans have done to John Kerry, Max Cleland, and are now doing to Tammy Duckworth. They have demeaned these veterans not for their political views, but for their actual service to our nation. They have lied about their service records and their heroic actions. And beyond anything even remotely comprehensible, they have made truly despicable comments about Cleland's and Duckworth's injuries.

My father was in the Air Force for 19 years. He was gone for most of my childhood-- a tremendous sacrifice for him and for our entire family. He served honorably and with dignity, believing that he was protecting our country.

My stepfather was also an Air Force veteran, a bomber pilot. He was in his early twenties when he was shot down over Germany in WWII, lost his entire right arm and was taken prisoner. He harbored not a trace of resentment about what he endured, not even towards the Germans, who treated him quite horribly. He was proud to have served his country.

For over 40 years of my life I have been witness to at least some of what it means to serve in the military. It isn't a path I chose myself; I have always been opposed to war. But I have deep respect for those who are willing to live on meager incomes, relinquish all control over where they and their families live and work, and walk into battle risking life and limb for others, for me.

After what we did to Vietnam veterans our nation supposedly learned that it was fine to disagree about wars but not to dishonor those who fight them. When Republicans "swift-boated" John Kerry's military record and heroism (led by John McCain, of all people), they sank to a new low. I don't know how they can even live with themselves for that. And yet they continued on and have done even worse to Max Cleland and Tammy Duckworth.

Personally I don't believe that wars make us safer--not a single one ever has. Maybe temporarily but the conflicts always deepen and resurface later when the weapons are more advanced and when much greater harm is done. But opposing the war is one thing and opposing the warrior is another. By expressing gratitude for our soldiers we don't necessarily condone war.

As a Buddhist, I contemplate the choices Republicans are making and feel great sadness for them. To deliberately harm another being results in future suffering for one's self. To denigrate people who have volunteered to risk their lives for you is some pretty awful karma. To denigrate people who have voluntarily lost limbs for you...so much worse. I will dedicate many prayers to those who would do such a thing AND to those who would remain silent in the face of it. And in a mundane way, I will take every action possible to see that they are stopped and that all participants are called out for their actions.

Yeah, Baby

Note to Self: Read Note to Self

Every time I do this month-long series of treatments I go through the same exact pattern. After the first of four treatments I think, "Well this is awful but not as bad as I remember. Maybe I'm tolerating it better." Then it gets worse all week and the second treatment hits like a brick. Still I think, "Well, closer to what I remember but not as bad. I think my body is definitely tolerating it better." Then it gets worse all week and the third treatment is straight outta hell. That's when I think, "Oh man, this IS what I remember and I'm definitely NOT tolerating it better."

Though I'm curled up right now with intense nausea, pain, weakness and a pile of other side effects, I can still step back and find the humor in the whole thing. Not every second-- that would be neurotic-- but in an overall OMG-just-believe-your-stupid-notes kinda way.

Ungagged

It's been a long time since I've written about William Cassidy, the man stalking Jetsunma and harassing our sangha since 2007. It was a forced and difficult silence; we were all prevented from discussing the case or responding to his continued online attacks while the legal proceedings were underway. It was brutal seeing Jetsunma tormented every day for years without being able to rise to her defense and watching helplessly as her health deteriorated to the point where she is now living with severe pain and multiple stress-induced conditions.

Unfortunately justice did not prevail. Several months ago we learned that the judge dismissed the case, concluding that William Cassidy was merely expressing his First Amendment rights to free speech when he bombarded Jetsunma with those 8,000+ tweets and blog posts-- a sickening collection of vulgar, hateful and threatening messages. Additionally, the judge asserted that since Jetsunma is a public figure she's basically fair game and Cassidy's comments weren't a "true threat." Really. Here are a few of Cassidy's "not-a-true-threat" tweets using various accounts:

("Tora, Tora, Tora" is the phrase Japanese kamikaze pilots shouted before striking their targets)

As disturbing as those tweets would be coming from anyone, remember that William Cassidy is a violent, convicted felon, not some teenage boy firing off scary-sounding tweets to mess with people. We take his threats quite seriously even if the judge didn't.

Since Cassidy's release from federal prison, he's resumed his online attacks on Jetsunma, our sangha and KPC. Of course.

So that's the update on Cassidy. The final piece to add is that--as if Cassidy weren't enough-- in February, 2011, we learned we had a second stalker named Andrew Wilson. This article gives the background on how that happened and the ways he's joined forces with Cassidy in cyberstalking Jetsunma. Due to various investigations we were also forced to remain silent in the face of Wilson's harassment and threats, so as William Cassidy awaited trial in federal prison Andrew Wilson was running amok online.

The charge of cyberstalking would have made legal precedent and saved countless lives. Someday it will, no doubt. It's just a matter of time before someone (statistically likely to be a woman) is killed by someone (statistically likely to be a man) after a period of intensifying cyberstalking. Having lived through this nightmare, I can tell you that cyberstalking is no different from "real life" stalking, in which the violent threats escalate as the victim tries in vain to protect herself. The law fails victims of "real life" stalking every day, and it has now failed victims of cyberstalking as well.

What Jetsunma has had to endure deserves to be told. Stay tuned.

Bye Bye Fishies

Alright. I finally sat down and tried to fix the busted blog template-- no go. As far as I can tell, "New Blogger" will have nothing to do with "Old Blogger" and has turned up its bloggy nose at my offensively outdated template. There's no way those fishies are coming back, folks.

Well, that's how samsara is-- the fact that something begins means it has already shaken hands with the ending. The fishbowl has expired. It's dead. Deceased. Pushing up daisies. It is an ex-template (respectful but giggly nod to Monty Python).

By the time I got wise to it, the fishies had already been scooped out of my karmic net. They're off on another dimensional string (nod to quantum physics, which I don't really get but like the idea that quantum physicists don't really get, either).

I don't know about the plant theme. But I have things that must be said and it buys me space to do that. And just in case I eventually fall in love with it, I'm gonna say goodbye to it right now so it won't break my pathetically weak heart when it falls into the inevitable abyss of Stuff You Wish You Still Had.

Update: The plant theme has been uprooted! Now I'm all about the Orange Sherbet look. This is eerily reminiscent of shopping for shoes. Don't make me tell that story. Just don't.

Busted

In November I noticed that my blog template seems to have spontaneously collapsed. I have no idea what happened. It's worked for nearly 3 years. I don't know how to fix it, short of reloading the entire template-- a huge job. If anyone knows how to repair it please let me know. If you're new to my blog, I assure you that it doesn't look anything like this squished mess. It's supposed to look like this!