Renunciation–It’s an Emotional Thing

 Believe it or not, there is a long history of sexual assault/domestic violence victim advocates.  We started back in the late seventies.  We were called “rape squads” back then (Is that cool or what?  I so want that on a t-shirt!).   Our job was to stand up for sexual assault or domestic violence victims’ rights—particularly with law enforcement.  In fact, cops and advocates historically have been enemies—big time.  Things have gotten better in the last decade, but once in a while we clash.  Like Friday (which is why I wasn’t at training that night). 

To make a very long story short, I had a domestic violence victim who needed to make a police report.  The two officers who showed up were very adamant about not taking a report.  I was equally adamant that they take the report.  And so, in the tradition of their gun-toting, shield-wearing ancestors, they began a pissing contest.  And in the tradition of my Burkenstock-wearing, bra-burning foremothers,  I became confrontational. 

And in the long standing lineage of bruised egos throughout time, it got personal.   They questioned my experience in these matters, I questioned their formal education, they ordered me off the scene, I told them they had no right to do so, they got in my face, I got back in theirs, they threatened to arrest me, I demanded their badge numbers,

(at this point they actually did threaten to cuff me and it suddenly dawned on me that “Oh Shit, I have yoga teacher training tonight” and that being thrown in jail was perhaps going to interfere with that so I went inside my office)

I called their sergeant.  They called their sergeant–each of us pulling whatever power we could in an effort to prove who had more power (which really doesn’t make any sense if you think about it). 

And after they left, I found that as I reflected on my behavior, I was quite surprised to find how quickly I deteriorated to very un-yogi behavior  in the situation.  And I honestly don’t know which I am more ashamed of—everything I did to them that  night or everything I’m planning on doing to them on Monday morning.  It’s kinda a toss up really. 

I have a long letter planned outlining everything that the officers did, were capable of doing, might have done, really should have done, what their mothers should have done (I have very specific suggestions in that paragraph) —well, you get the idea.  I have been pondering whether to send it to Internal Affairs, the head of the department himself, or perhaps the governor.  Ooh, I get emails from President Obama all the time (and I’m sure I’m the only one who gets them) so maybe I should send it to him!

By the time I got done with all the phone calls to superiors, and re-hashing the episode with my boss (who had to stand helplessly by and watch through a window while wondering if you can post bail with a university procurement card), it was 6:30 p.m. and I was in a really bad energetic space.  So I went home to my family where I feel safe and warm—and ate an entire pizza (which led to gastric disasters as I am gluten intolerant). 

 And as I gloated over finally getting my way in the situation(and how I would now exact my revenge via letter writing) , an old Jewish legend popped into my head:  “Each of us has an angel who walks before us calling out ‘Behold the Image and Likeness of God’ and we must honor our own angel and everyone else’s as well.” 

Could this possibly apply to these officers? I mean it sounds implausible but . . .  Immediately my brain went to “well they weren’t honoring my angel so therefore I don’t have to honor theirs.” 

But the real question that mattered:  Was I honoring my angel?   I spent a lot of emotional and physical energy planning revenge and being angry and eating pizza.   And then the final  question is, if I wasn’t honoring my angel, then why do I expect them to do so?

We talked a lot about renunciation this weekend.  I’m no Buddhist expert (you’re amazed, right?)  but I’m pretty sure renunciation also includes emotional states—anger, ego, failure to honor our own angels.  And after pondering this and asking myself “WWSBAAAD” (What Would Sylvia Boorstein And Ajahn Amaro Do) I wondered “Is a letter really necessary?”  Do I want to spend more energy on dishonoring their angel and ultimately, my own for the sake of placating my ego?  What would happen if I didn’t write the letter?  Could I find another way to placate my ego while still honoring my angel?  Could I just honor what is instead of what I think it should be?  Could I let the situation be over?

On Monday, it will be interesting to see if I’m enlightened enough not to  write the letter.