Benevolent Aid Arrives

My lama once said to me something on the order of “You are not the martyr” or “Do not play the martyr.” No problem, I thought. Martyrdom and Sicilian natures do not mix well. We are a resilient and prideful people. And yet, it did strike me that I was living in a nearby mythology. A close archetype: cause and call.

My Drupon said that Draupadi’s violation was the pretext for the Mahabharat war. That her heartbreak went out to Krishna and the armies to protect woman, creativity, and sexuality. As my armies arrive now, they are the least likely suspects that I would ever imagine. The hands of strange and wondrous benevolent aid. The reporters who “get it” upon contact. The DC people who are more passionate than lifelong friends. The social media platform friends who show up as if we’d known each other for lifetimes, whose words I read before going to bed to give me solace. The spiritual leaders who fearlessly show up despite what it could do to their reputations, like the Christian evangelical who wrote a piece on the fact that this is a First Amendment violation.

Perhaps part of this is my awakening that I am not alone. There are people without dust in their eyes who see. We all see the same basic principles as expressed in our own unique ways, but we do meet down in the monomyth. Some wear crosses, some carry social justice signs, some wear MAGA hats, some are trippy hippies from the 60’s who live and die by free expression. To them, apparently, what’s happening to me is obvious. They are so sorry, they say, that this is happening, but it was destined. “Oh yeah yeah, you don’t have to tell me you’re innocent. I’ve read the court transcripts, I know the playbook.” There’s a playbook? Yeah, there’s a playbook.

Anyway, I’d hoped. Hope beyond hope that my innocence would end this prior to a long, drawn out, grueling trial. Leonard Cohen once wrote about the project whose purpose was to fail. That, he said, was what made it significant. This trial was meant to happen—not only so the truth could be exposed. Not only to dissolve the malady that plagues my adversaries: the belief that the cure for human dependency is not resilience, but resentment. But so that a deeper truth could emerge—one powerful enough to draw so many strange and unique people together. I was once asked why I chose Eros rather than Zen as my primary practice. I said because Eros welcomed Zen, but Zen did not welcome Eros. I wanted a practice and philosophy that would invite all expressions to the table. Apparently, I got it.

Today, as I hear stories of people working behind the scenes in powerful ways, as I receive so many supportive wishes, as I find myself standing at the crossroads of, as I said, a group of unlikely suspects—I am grateful for the choice I made and renewed in my belief that benevolent aid does arrive.