Flashlight beam through the windshield: an almost universal sign that you’re cold busted. The cop - soft face, Jeremy Renner buzz - pointed to the side of the road and I pulled over (in front of the “sucker” who was stopped before me). I started getting out my license and registration immediately; I wanted him to see I was really a good girl.
-What I stopped you for ma’am was a lane violation. You proceeded in a left-turn-only lane without making the left turn. License and registration please…
-I’m sorry about –
-I can’t hear anything you’re saying with the noise from all these cars out here. I can’t hear anything you’re saying.
-I was just saying I’m sorry, I don’t really know where I’m going and I didn’t realize what lane I needed…
He took my documents, swung his flashlight over towards my inspection sticker and walked back to his car. And I started bawling. Ironic; I always want very badly to cry when I get stopped, and in 20 years of driving, not once have I broken out the blubbering. Blame it on the meditation retreat I’d just left behind… a practice in forgiveness.
The retreat was at Advaita Meditation Center in Waltham, a beautiful Victorian mansion with elegant but minimalist studies, doors everywhere, and the clean afterglow produced by mindful upkeep. I discovered all of this in silence because I’d arrived exceedingly late, of course (I HATE being late) and there was a distinct absence of sound when I walked in. Sweating, worried, trying not to breathe loudly so I could hear where everyone was… I found them up a flight and a half of stairs – sitting on chairs or cushions in a dimly lit, carpeted room, eyes closed… felt like interrupting a funeral.
As soon as the teacher started her reading, I crept in. Her voice was steady, her English tinged with a Russian accent. Forgiveness is an acknowledgement of impermanence, she was saying… actually, that’s all I remember. She led us through the exercise of forgiving those who’ve hurt us, intentionally or un-, and I dutifully called to mind all the big hurts, the past wrongs, the loveless fights and the self destruction. After sitting, we’d do walking meditation, trying to ignore the rasp and groan of every step, measuring our wobbles to be just the right distance behind the woman in front of us.
Later, we ate a light meal, also in silence. Vegetable soup, gluten-free bread, dairy-free spread, a clementine. I felt gratefully absolved of making small talk and was mostly thinking of my friend’s birthday party, which I was leaving the retreat early to attend. As I turned on my headlights in the parking lot, I thought Well, a good way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Nothing too deep. Maybe next time.
* * * * * *
I didn’t think of the retreat when I was sobbing in my car. I just felt b a d. Deeply, terribly bad. We can’t afford to pay a ticket right now, I thought… what about the Christmas presents we have to buy and the condo fees and I don’t even make 300 bucks a month and I can’t believe I did something so stupid, I can’t believe I got caught. I’m not going to be able to pay this and Chris is going to be so mad at me and I’m going to be even later to the party… I just kept wiping away the tears, hoping my eyeliner wasn’t running, feeling like I was just a tunnel between my stores of bad and the authority of the world.
The cop arrived at my door and I fumbled with my keys, the window – I couldn’t look at him directly, but I could tell what he was feeling.
Ma’am, I’m going to… oh, no – I… I’m going to let you go, just - just be careful.
I nodded, tried to say thank you, rolled up the window. I drove, and sobbed more, and realized that underneath all the bravado, belligerence and adamant defensiveness I always respond with in situations where I’m stopped or corrected or wronged, I just feel really bad. Like I’m never going to be able to make it right. Like I won’t be worth anything and no one will love me if I can’t make it right.
Forgive forgive forgive, it felt desperate now… I need to forgive myself for thinking that, and everyone I’ve ever hurt with that, and by the time I’d parked in front of my friend’s house, I felt with great certainty that I had no clue what the word forgiveness actually meant.
* * * * * *
Here’s where I cop out and defer to higher-functioning minds… I don’t know anything about the guy who runs this site, but this page gave me a lot to chew on:
http://viewonbuddhism.org/anger.html
And this is simple, but drives it all home:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTAWeWDTbFw&feature=related
