He was big. He was black. He was bald. It didn’t scare me that he was big and black but the bald factor did make me a bit reticent. You see, the two bald archetypes I have in my mental photobank is Kojak, a tough-ass cop from 70’s television, and Mr. Clean, although of cartoon stature and only seen for 30-second clips on his commercial for his cleaning product with his namesake, he wore gold hoop earrings and a smile and was a bad mother fucker. I know if he ever came to my filthy apartment he’d probably shake his head and say, “Son, not even Harvey Keitel’s Mr. Wolfe from “Pulp Fiction” could clean up this mess!” and I would respond, “Yes, Mr. Clean,” avoiding eye-contact and the possibility that he would make me his prison bitch.
I was walking with my dog and he was coming towards me. As he passed us he said with disgust on his face, “Faggot!” I assumed he meant “homosexual” by this word as thinking the lesser used definition of “a bundle of sticks” didn’t really seem like anything to get one’s panties in a whirl. I instinctively licked my lips to see if I had any toothpaste on my face that could have been mistaken for semen, an honest mistake. None.
Most people would recommend you ignore such a person, if for no other reason than personal safety. I am not “most people” and walk to the beat of my own drummer, and truthfully, I usually walk out of beat with him as well, just to piss him off. So I decided to engage.
“Why would you say that?”
“You know why I said that,” he barked, a slightly more grown-up version of “Because I said so.”
“So you think that makes you tough, calling someone a name?” Challenging a testosterone-driven aggressor’s manhood is right out of the George Costanza’s Do-The-Opposite-Of-What-One-Would-Normally-Do Handbook and what, to me, seemed like the most logical course of action.
“I’m just saying a fact,” he snarled. I’m not even going to go into now the idiocy of judging someone based on what they do with their pee-pee–I’ll save that for a future entry on organized religion. I noticed he was continuing to walk away from me and if I wanted to continue this edifying intercourse–dare I use that word to describe what this man and I were engaging in and not add more members to his Insult Club–I better throw more gasoline on the fire.
I learned this trick from the movie “Tequila Sunrise” with Kurt Russell, Mel Gibson and Michelle Pfeifer. There was one seen where Michelle Pfeifer was starting to walk out on a discussion with Mel Gibson. He shouted to her back something like, “Go ahead and run away like a coward!” and that was just way too much of a gauntlet to be tossed down and ignored. She turned and reengaged and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house (granted I had rented the movie and was watching it alone in my apartment, but still–both my eyes were moist.)
“Are you scared of me?” I gauntleted.
“I’m not scared of you.”
“Then why are you walking away scared?”
“I’m not scared,” he said but he continued to walk away.
We were outside of a playground where kids were playing and parents were vising their kids, some high-achieving parents were even super-vising their kids. I went into my version of when the irate punk’s friends are all holding him back and so he turns up the juice on his “street tough guy” routine: “Yeah, you’re lucky! This is the luckiest day of your life! I would so kick your ass if I wasn’t being held back right now!” as if were his friends to let go him go he wouldn’t immediately tangent into, “I’m just not in the mood to fight now. No dawg, the timing is off now. You blew it!”
I projected my voice loudly so they could hear me in “the back seats”: “YOU’RE WALKING AWAY ‘CAUSE YOU’RE SCARED OF ME! YOU’RE SCARED OF ME AND YOU’RE WALKING AWAY! YOU’RE SCARED AND THAT IS WHY YOU’RE WALKING AWAY!” I went on a little more, turning a few heads from the playground. I thought of adding, “You see, kids, that’s a scared man, walking away because he’s scared of me! So Remember, if you call someone a name and then walk away from them scared, you’re a pussy. Don’t grow up to be a pussy like that scared man, kids. I think if your parents would want you to walk away with one thing from this, it would be that.” But at this point even I had enough of myself and was considering kicking my own ass if I didn’t shut up.
Believe it or not, I had passed this same big, black, bald man about a year ago and he said the same thing! That’s like Devo releasing a new song after two decades of hibernation and it’s a remake of “Whip It.” I mean, this guy was a one-insult wonder and, if we face it honestly, his insult really wasn’t that wonder-ful. And his remake had nothing new to offer either, like a dancier version or maybe a whole acapella section!
Granted, the first time he sang his song to me I was wearing a white tank top, tight satin orange shorts, white sports socks with a red stripe pulled up over my calves, hair permed in a fro, with a splash of glitter on my cheekbones. I was in my Richard Simmons phase and don’t really want to delve more into that right now. Back then I was walking my dog in one hand and another big dog I was taking care of in the other. I had just told my parents, who were parked in their car outside of my apartment waiting for me, that I was going to drop off the dogs and then we could go out to dinner. On my way to dropping dogs off I came across the one-insult wonder.
I performed a pretty similar routine to the one that I put on today and he did the same backpeddling tough guy routine. I thought it went pretty well but the Russian judges still gave me a bad score. I risked coming back to my parents and having to explain to them how I acquired a black eye in the 10-minutes since I saw them last, knowing their first question would be, “Did the Russian judges at least give you a 10?”
The main difference this time around was that I had only one dog. That and the last time I was angry; this time I was playing. “Playing?” you ask. When other kids were playing in the sandbox when we were toddlers, I was playing in the pile of broken glass. I saw it all as silica. You’d be surprised, when you keep your wits about you even a stressful situation can be quite, uh, witty.
In Shambala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior by Chögyam Trungpa, it is written, “For the warrior, every moment is a challenge to be genuine, and each challenge is delightful. When you let go properly, you can relax and enjoy the challenge.” I would modify that beautiful statement–because that is what I do, I take the Mona Lisa and add a silly moustache–by saying that “…every moment is a challenge to stay connected to your genuine self–if you want to wear a costume and play a role, that is perfectly fine.” Seriously, do you think the characters we play daily–complete with character traits, idiosyncracies, neurosis, full wardrobe, costume changes and daily drama–are any more “genuine” than the character I was playing with my intercoursal friend?
Most would question “Don’t you have something better to do with your time?” in which case my slumming it swami lifestyle really comes through with an answer. “Uh, no. I really have nothing better to do.” “Is it really worth risking getting punched in the nose?” I had fun. I get to share this story with you, my beloveds. “Yes, well worth it.”
When Jesus said, “Turn the other cheek,” he wasn’t saying to do so out of fear but out of love. Most today avoid dealing with people or things out of fear and they justify it away with some logical bullshit. I’m not suggesting you take stupid risks and bow down to the god of reckless behavior–leave that to the experts like me–but perhaps I am suggesting you reflect on how you allow fear to limit your experiences.
REFLECTION:
(1) If you were fearless, how would you react differently in conflict? How would your daily routine look different?
(2) What tends to push your buttons? Someone calling you a name? Someone not acknowledging you or something you do? Why are you willing to give someone the power to disturb your piece of mind?
(3) How do you pre-judge others, based on looks, career, and even witnessing their isolated behavior? Can you turn “That guy’s a bum” into “I wonder what circumstances led him to be living on the street and calling himself a ’swami’”? Can you transform “She’s an idiot!” into “That wouldn’t have been my choice but, hey, she’s finding her own way”? Or how about turning “Faggot!” into “I believe that man may have an alternative lifestyle that is not for me but he does somehow make the Richard Simmon-look work. You go girl!” Master this alchemy and you will find it more useful to your life than changing water into wine, unless you’re a whino, of course.
One definition of yoga is “union.” Contrary to the buzz going around the yoga world, being able to touch your toes and having a Downward Dog that looks just like the cover of Yoga Journal is not the formula for enlightenment. Taking yoga beyond the studio:
(4) Does the way you see others bring you closer to “union” or closer to isolation? Hint: If you think, “Everyone’s an idiot!” then your genius self can be like Al Gore and invent the Internet but you will probably be sitting alone with your computer while everyone else is outside throwing rocks at clouds. And if you’re as delusional as Al Gore, without his membership card in the New World Order, you will probably find yourself in a padded room.
Life is scary: filled with wars, relationship break-ups, and reality T.V. Life can also be silly: filled with people killing each other over pieces of geographical dirt and whose god has a bigger dick, people being sad about splitting up with someone who’s driving them nuts, and setting up completely phony situations, turning a camera on it, and calling it “Reality T.V.” I guess it all depends on what colored lenses are in your glasses, or designer contact lenses as it may be.
ONE FINAL REFLECTION:
(5) Do you see the world as a place full of fear or a place full of love? Do you focus mostly on what is going wrong on this big blue marble in the sky or the miracle that with seven billion idiots throwing rocks at clouds that more people aren’t getting skulled when the rocks come a-crashing back down to Earth?
MEDITATION:
Imagine yourself going through your day as if you were fearless and nothing can disturb your peace of mind. As you start feeling cocky with this, start adding a few “stressors” into your image, such as traffic or delays or an interaction with a particularly difficult person–all the time remembering you are fearless and nothing can disturb your peace. Have fun!
Maybe next year when I bump into the big, black, bald one-insult wonder I will respond to his “Faggot!” with, “Thanks for sharing what you are but as a straight man I am not interested in your solicitation.” Who am I kidding, he most probably won’t know what “solicitation” means. Maybe I’ll just hit him. As long as I can PLAY life it’s all good.
This “faggot” will continue to fight against what is “wrong,” if that is even the case, but will always remind himself that any day where a rock doesn’t klonk him on the head is a good day. And on the day where that does finally happen–he’ll probably have a good story to tell about it!