Mirrors

Late last night, the Trayvon Martin case came to a final, dramatic head, with the accused found not guilty.  The jury claimed they were unable to prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that Mr. Zimmerman could be charged with murder in the second degree.  The case was widely debated, casting light on a number of controversial aspects of Florida state law, as well as bringing racial profiling into the national spotlight.

I do not know yet how I feel about the verdict.  To be completely honest, I did not do a good job of staying educated about the case and following its development.  It would, in my opinion, be irresponsible and juvenile of me to comment on the rightness or wrongness of the verdict. 

I will, however, comment on what this case is doing to me personally as I write this.  Emotionally, I feel lost.  Intellectually, uncertain.  Spiritually, challenged.

As I sit and read Facebook post after post, unable to pry my eyes away, I am assaulted by any number of opinions.  Some ready to revolt, taking to the streets, ready to fight and challenge a system they genuinely see as corrupt.  Others lauding what they see as a just verdict in a case riddled with uncertainty.  Some want blood.  Some want justice.  Some knowledgable.  Some not.  Some tuned in for only this moment.  Some who have been following and fighting for this case since the beginning.

I think, so far, this case has presented itself to me as a mirror - as an opportunity for deep reflection.  To look at myself.  Does my own race, social-class, upbringing, education, etc, influence the way I view this case, influence the way I sift through the various reports I have read?  And if so, what does that mean for me, a person who sees himself as committed to peace and justice?

I hope I will have more to share in the coming days or weeks, but for now, the following poem from the Vietnamese monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, captures the essence of what this case is making me wonder and think of.  



Call Me by My True Names

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to
Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain if like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

Thich Nhat Hanh