I walked out of the crowded but at least air-conditioned county holding cell into one scorching July afternoon in a city located in the Mojave desert where the ambient temperature was often in three digits and sometimes stayed that way until early dawn.
I was already down two grand, the fee to the bail bond set by the stupid, smug, fat judge with a florid face and a Jewish name, the fucking Aaron Levy. He asked me if I wanted to stay out till the trial day which he designated two months away. I said, "Yes, your Honor". "Twenty grand bail. The clerk will provide you with procedures about bail. As soon as the money's received, you're free to go. See you in two months". The motherfucker quickly delivered his words in a monotone, boring voice I would bet that he had done a thousand times before. I would also bet that he even said them in his alcohol-saturated sleep, at least once a week.
I was down two grand because I had run my mouth to a haughty, supercilious white traffic cop. Before I even finished my sentence, he screamed, "You're under arrest. Turn around and place your hands behind your back." After cuffing me and warning me not to run away or he would shoot me down like a dog, he reached into his cop car and called for back-up, lying through his teeth about some crazy, high-on-drug Asian dude acting all belligerent and threatening. Barely five minutes later, two cop cars pulled up, sirens blaring, two cops exiting, hands on the holsters, looking grim and deadly serious. I was shocked and stunned and infuriated. They frisked me, ran an ID on me and my car, read me the Miranda, had my car towed to the Police Pound, and hauled me to jail. All of these took place within a time period of about twenty minutes, just for my talking back to a traffic cop, and maybe because I looked Asian and the asshole racist rednecked white cop didn't like imigrants that looked Chinese. Unless you experienced first hand, not vicariously, not from reading in some newspaper, you wouldn't know about what abuse of power and police brutality, American style, would be like. During the ride to the county jail, my mind had flashes of Black Lives Matter movement, and the shooting at cops, and the names of the three pigs stitched on their shirts. I would never forget their names or faces. They might come in handy in the future.
I am a sensitive guy. I cry easily. I write poetry. I wasn't born violent. I turned violent. Humans made me. I felt I had no choice. Maybe I did. Maybe I would respond far better and differently if gentleness and acts of kindness were shown to me, but I don't care now. I like violence now. It energizes and invigorates me; it makes me entertain healthy fantasies while coping with frustrations; it forces me to wait for the right time and the right place. I understand human behavior better because of it. Or if I want to show off my facility with words, I would say, I have a better understanding of the dynamics of human relationships while meditating on power and violence. I just hope I don't die because of violence, but if I do, that's the price I'm willing to pay.
Anyway, Sassy met me when I exited the building. She gave me a hug and then cried, "Oh, Roberto, what did you do to yourself? You all right? You're looking like shit. What happened to your nose?"
Sassy was an old friend of mine, figuratively and literally. We lived together on and off for five years. She loved me and I cared about her, but we quarreled all the time and fought like cats and dogs. She moved out for good after telling me that I was a "stupid failure" (sic!), after my yelling at her for being a short, fat, and ugly bitch. But even after that torrid exchange of words, somehow we stayed in touch and remained friends. So, after I got thrown into the slammer and needed to post bail, I contacted her.
"You didn't get abused in there, did you?", Sassy wanted to know.
"One black asshole tried, but I gave more than I took. I sent him to the hospital with a broken windpipe. He puked all over himself. After that, they gave me enough space and left me alone."
Sassy didn't say anything after that, but looked sad. I felt murderous and enraged again, just from talking about the altercation. I closed my eyes, counted my breath, and tried to sleep, while Sassy was driving me to the Pound to reclaim my car. I paid the storage fee and felt murderous again. The system sucked and was rigged to exploit the powerless.
I embraced Sassy upon saying good bye and added, "I really appreciated your help. I'll put the check in the mail for the bond fee. I need to get decompressed and get some sleep. I'll give you a ring. You're a really true blue friend, the kind one counts on one hand, maybe one finger. Thanks again." Sassy cried once more and, typically of her, said things she didn't have to say, "Please stay out of trouble. Your luck may run out next time. Keep your mouth shut, please. Only speak when you have no choice, not when you want to show off how smart or knowledgeable you are. Don't wear your superiority complex on your sleeve. It's only inferiority complex in disguise."
I can't help myself. I have a foot-and-mouth disease. I keep putting my foot in my mouth. I keep being outspoken and untempered in my denouncing the stupid, the ignorant, and the hypocritical who love to pretend to be otherwise. But without denouncing them and seeing their visceral reactions, I would not have known exactly how most human animals thought and operated. I am now of a firm conviction that most humans basically are very sick; stupid, ignorant, and lazy yet vain; irrational, prone to excesses and self-destruction; and must be kept at arms length in negotiations and dealings. They fear facts and truths. They are not at peace with themselves, with their inadequacies. They must lie to themselves and others. They love myths, lies, and the so-called miracles. That's why the so-called religious and political leaders are able to enslave them and live off them. If you are a theist and need a human leader to guide what to think and believe in, you are a dumb ass. Period. No need for further discussions. Most humans are also vicious and full of lies and lice; if you open your heart and your arms to them, you will get hurt.
I am a dumb ass myself, but of a different kind. A few years ago, I felt my life slipping and sledding away from me. So I moved to the desert where sun, sand, stone, and saguaro have as much claim on my soul as do books, music, and long walks at night on the desert trail along the foothills in the cold winds under the moonlit, starry sky. During those walks, I feel restored and connected, not with humans for whom I have developed a much needed wariness, but with nature while making peace with my coming and eventual demise.
I used to have a higher regard for purity of intentions than actual outcomes, but not anymore. Intentions mean nothing if the results don't measure up. We don't really know what's going on in your black box/brain, we only see your words and actions, so your words and actions or lack thereof tell us what goes on in your brain. You can't really blame us for not knowing you, for lack of empathy, can you?
The world is really a comedy show, loosely defined. If you know how to look at the world and learn to laugh with and at it, you will be all right. The tragedies that you see with your own eyes are only enacted by those who don't know that Life is a comedy, that it is full of absurdities and nonsense. The only sense Life has is a process of which an organism learns to survive and reproduce and then die. You have to go through Life with a craggy, crazy aplomb and don't get easily offended. You must learn to craft depression and suffering into laughter and art. You should get rid of the arrant nonsense that you must have money, power, and fame to be happy. You can't win in life without knowing how to think logically to the bone and marrow of the matter. Today a friend sent me a story of a ex-gangbanger who had been steeped in drugs and violence before he found salvation through compassion and Buddhism. Buddhism is a system, some even say a science, of thinking; of the Mind and its relationship with the external World; of learning to go through Life with serenity and no suffering; and of obtaining wisdom without a crutch called God. Buddhism would help us get to the bone and marrow of most of the matters we are contemplating as Buddhism deals with realities, not with wishful thinking like most other religions, especially the three stupid and nonsensical Faiths emanating from the Middle East. I often wonder that perhaps only those who have no real self-respect would believe in the nonsense.
Buddhism helps me recognize a simple fact that to live is to learn to die with serenity, and without regrets none whatsoever. "I've put up a good fight. I've given everything that I've got. I've lived life with a gusto, to the brim, joyously and fearlessly." This has been my motto and modus operandi ever since I hit the big Three O. This has been my approach to the big intertwined issues: Love, Money, Power, and Knowledge.
I got back to my condo, showered, turned off my cellphone, and jumped right into bed. After meditating and visualizing that I was in a company of kids and puppies frolicking in a field of swaying golden grass in a windy late Summer afternoon, I soon felt asleep.
I woke up twelve hours later. I slept through the afternoon and evening and into early morning hours, not once getting up for a pee like I normally would. I had all kinds of dreams but forgot all of them upon waking up. It was all quiet and peaceful where I lived. Not a sound. I went out on a patio for a smoke. The sky was full of stars. The moon still shone quite brightly near the horizon. Mexican palm trees rustled in the brisk, crisp desert winds blowing in from the North. The sleep restored my balance and helped me deal with my smarting loss of two grand and the annoying impending trial of trumped-up charges of "resisting arrest and threatening public officials" (sic!).
I went back inside the condo and put my running shoes on. It was still dark outside so I would just run on the treadmill in the exercise room at the condo complex. I ran and ran till all the residual anger and homicidal urges temporarily drained out of me.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror when I got back to my unit and saw that I did look like shit as Sassy had remarked earlier, all because I couldn't help myself and had to say something caustic to the motherfucking white cop. But nothing that I could do now but to soldier on and accept whatever the fallout it would come out of that act of stupidity of mine. That wouldn't be the first time I did something stupid, nor would it be likely the last time. I was like that, very poor at controlling my verbal impulses.
After taking the shower, I went to my study and put it in order and got on with my paperwork which was neglected due to my being distracted by too many verbal duels with the fucked-up, despicable, ignorant and stupid little worms TamiKaKa Ito, Paul Van, and Hồng Lĩnh. I worked while Pandora was playing the music of Marco Antonio Solis in the background. I was humming and rumbling with my paperwork when my phone rang. It was a friend of my deceased girlfriend. Her youngest daughter was just committed to a mental institution from a nervous breakdown caused by a departure of some punk. And since I had a reputation among some circle of friends and acquaintances as knowledgeable of the human heart, would I help, she wondered . Please, Roberto, she begged and she burst out crying. I was a stupid and soft-hearted kind of guy who never learned from past experiences. I couldn't say No to women, no matter how absurd and ridiculous their requests were. I hardly knew the woman and her daughter. I met them only three times socially. I tagged along when my crazy girlfriend needed somebody to escort her to some crazy Buddhist-cum-seance sessions that went on for hours in a big room of a big house filled with incense smoke and loud incantations and faked impersonations of mediums and deceased personages. The smoke got so bad and badly affected my breathing that I refused to escort her after the third session. She died a few months later from a stroke in her sleep. I think all that smoke and the exertions from pretending to be the voice of the dead killed her.
Anyway, the woman and her daughter were nice enough. They were so soft-spoken, gentle, polite, and of course superstitious to the tenth degree. I sort of liked them. I had not seen them for about two years. When I arrived at the mental institution two days after I got the phone call from the woman, the daughter didn't look bad at all. We had a pleasant conversation in the presence of the mother. What had happened was that the daughter was sweet and devoid of guile. She was kind-hearted and generous with her money made from being a hairdresser. A fellow hairdresser took advantage of her money and body and promptly disappeared after a few months of amorous liaison. He refused to answer her numerous phone and text messages. She couldn't sleep and eat and started jabbering nonsense. Alarmed, the family got her admitted to the institution where she was promptly diagnosed as having an episode of psychosis, and administered anti-psychosis drugs to which she responded well. I liked her sweet innocence although she was almost fifty and was once married. She took a liking to me during my visit, especially after I confided to her I was also jilted and taken advantage of financially by not one, but two women.
Two days after my visit, she got "well" enough to be discharged. Her mother invited me to a celebratory dinner at her home at the urging of the daughter. The mother disclosed that Tina (the name of the daughter) seemed to respect my opinions and she thus would appreciate if I would give Tina more heart-to-heart advice. The dinner lasted two hours during which I held court. I was not vain or conceited during my speech. Rather, I was being honest and sincere and earnest. I poured my heart out. It was as much therapeutic for me to say it as for her to hear it.
"Tina, the world we live in is really a wild jungle where only the strong and the wise and the cunning can survive. It's not easy for a good person like you to survive in that kind of environment. You belong in a convent or a charitable hospital where you can do good, caring work. You don't belong in this world. I don't really belong in it either, but I am really trying and making some adjustments. Apart from getting sufficient sleep and healthy food and daily physical exercises, you must work on your mind through meditation and through having a clear understanding of how things operate in life.
Don't ask for anything from anybody, not financially, not even spiritually or philosophically. You've got to work out things yourself. Something happens to you, you live through it, and maybe you learn something from it, about yourself and the people in this world. Then something else happens. You go through the same process ad infinitum, ad nauseam till you die. That's life is all about. But it doesn't have to be that way. You can have fun with it, with Life, if you don't take Life so fucking seriously. It's all a game. Once you understand it's only a game with both strict and arbitrary rules ( if you could figure which is which, you're home free. Know what I mean?), you will go with the flow. Nothing in this world lasts forever, not your joys, not your sufferings, and certainly not your life. Don't let your Ego stand in your way of understanding what Life is all about. Use Ego as a servant, not a master. Not that you have a colossal ego to begin with, but everybody has an ego. Watch it. Keep it under control. Nobody has an obligation to make you feel happy or fulfilled. Only you have that obligation to yourself.
Sure, please keep on being kind. You can approach every situation, every moment with kindness and understanding. That will make you feel good unless you run into some real assholes like your former boyfriend.. Talking about boyfriends, it's normal for a woman like men, but just don't be a sucker. You can't win in life without controlling your thought processes, without learning how to think logically. You must base your thinking on facts, not dreams, not wishful thinking. Facts, facts, and facts. The business of living is about facts. You would hurt yourself, sooner or later, if you dream impossible dreams. A certain man does not love you. Then find some man who does. If no man really loves you. That's fine, also. Get a dog. Find love in working with children in an orphanage. Keep your heart in sync with your head."
I felt light-headed and delirious after I finished my long speech. Tina clapped her hands loudly, and suddenly came over and gave me a big kiss right on my lips, right there in front of her mother, her sister, her brother-in-law, her nephews, and the two Chihuahuas. That impulsive act of hers embarrassed the hell out of me, and my delirium got worse. I felt like passing out into oblivion. I excused myself and rushed to the bathroom. I sat on the can, my head was spinning, and I felt sick. I was vainly flailing at the enclosing darkness.
I didn't know how long I passed out. They told me that everybody was concerned that I stayed a long time in the bathroom and didn't respond to the inquiries from outside the door. So Tina's brother-in-law opened the door and found me unconscious on the floor. Alarmed, they called the ambulance, but I regained consciousness before the ambulance arrived. I refused to be taken into the ambulance; I kept saying I felt fine. I was embarrassed but adamant in my decision. Soon thereafter, I drove home, feeling like the protagonist of the novel The Idiot written by Dostoevsky while the music of Los Bukis blared through the radio
I'm now sixty-seven years of age and I've been an idiot all my life as far as Love is concerned. I have a big heart and I'm dreamy and romantic. But that evening, upon waking up from a strange blackout, a sudden clarity of the follies of the adventures of my heart came to me. I loved many wrong women for the right reasons. And they used me and all thought they were superior to me. I'm not saying I'm not still bitter at those women who hurt my heart and my checkbook. But I must say I'm finally wiser now. I now realize Love is truly conditional and tenuous and dangerous. It can destroy a life or kill a person. In fact, it is a mine field that must be treaded and treated with care and experience.
The day after I came back to my condo after having dinner with Tina and her family, I changed my phone number and moved out of my condo into a motel, putting the condo on sale, and looking for a replacement in a different location of town. The life I save must be really my own. Something in me is dying. In the past I got hurt because I had too much compassion.
I did give Sassy my new phone number. She remained my only contact from the past.
October 12, 2016
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