Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Insight on nonviolence



A lot of flusteration and mind-looping, mental back-flips and agony bring an abundance of insights, which create an inspiring enthusiasm, as they flash into my mind at random times and at difference stages of thought-depths and -processes.

One of those insights hold the story of anger and remorse:


I am impulsive yet restrained, patient and nonviolent (I'll write more about vulnerability, helplessness and nonviolence another time) and intentionally as well as naturally refrain from any violent or aggressive actions. But approximately once every 365 days I lose my highly-appreciated patience and I am consumed by a sudden wrath. (It seems sudden, but when I unravel the preliminary circumstances I find the causes, and I understand them.) I am swallowed into it for a few hours, and at first - before I get outdoors alone and start walkingwalkingwalking fastfastfast to calm myself - my body is so overwhelmed with an immense energy of anger that strikes out from inside me through my hands, and I impulsively push Nemo away strongly when she does something that frustrates me. I push her and I walk out and I walk for hours until I calm down, all the while thinking about how tired I am, how I may just go put myself head-down in the lake and fall asleep (but I also think that I won't because Nemo needs me), how I may like to walk into the street and be hit by a car because if I'm in the ER I won't feel as embarrassed and ashamed by so many things that Little Miriam painfully carries with her, and I keep walking and walking and walking, and eventually it starts to subside, and then comes the realization of the aftermaths of my angry actions and the sorrow of having hurt or frightened Nemo on my way out of the house, my true true love, who I never ever want to hurt of frighten for even one millisecond, who loves me unconditionally, and whose connection to me I can never take advantage of by being aggressive toward her in any way. When I frighten Nemo (and myself) I feel awful about it. As the years go by the energy of anger in me becomes more and more scarce and my ability to control it becomes more and more apparent and easy, and the forces of wrath hardly ever consume me, thank goddess, maybe only once a year, maybe less...

And then I think of a few possibilities of the virtue of compassion: 

PERHAPS
The reason I cannot tolerate using force over helpless beings, that I am "allergic" to and toxically fearful of anger and physical power (and my own anger and physical power) and that I stay away from it like from a black hole is because of the deep fear and shame I have resided in during my childhood years as a helpless being at the hands and mercy of someone physically stronger, and in this sense my nonviolence may actually not be a virtue or a moral principle that resulted in pure decision and that I can be proud of, but rather just my inclination because of trauma (which I then easily follow with an ideology of nonviolence). And in this sense, being an "ethics snob", as I sometimes feel I am, or "ethics snobbiness" in general among humans, may be void of meaning, and our ethics may be only a result of our life circumstances, which we then excuse with rationale. And even when people praise my ethics, or claim "you are a good person", I cannot claim that to my advantage, because I have not intentionally decided to be a good person instead of a bad one, but rather it's just the way I have to be, it's the way I naturally am, I really have no choice... I just am who I am, for the better or the worse. 

AND/OR it all resulted in my childhood but I did actively decide to never use violence

AND/OR
not wanting to hurt vulnerable beings is a natural instinct, and my nonviolence is cultivated through belief in that ideology and through strengthening that instinct, and a person who systematically hurts others must have - knowingly or unknowingly - altered or destroyed the part of the brain of compassion that doesn't allow you to be at peace with hurting others. I feel that people who hurt vulnerable beings and don't feel bad about it - or don't actively work on themselves to reverse their malice and their sin against humanity - are a) bad people, and b) must have unwired something basic in their brains and are ultimately messed up humans whom I cannot and will not understand or tolerate. 


And aside from my own pain of having scared my wonderful little beloved Nemo (even for just one millisecond and even if she doesn't remember it), I am overwhelmingly saddened by the pain caused to so many vulnerable beings across the globe, human and nonhuman animals alike, and I myself can almost not tolerate the knowledge that in myself I hold the power of destruction and violence. It scares me that I have the potential of being as awful as those who have hurt me. And it has become my mission in life to promote nonviolence and to do all in my current power to protect helpless beings instead of hurting them.

It's Rosh Hashanah tomorrow. The Hebrew New Year. This is a time of repentance.
I pray that everyone will have the courage to stop violence wherever it occurs and to promote nonviolence and compassion wherever it is needed.


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