I really wanted to find an image of Batman being the living crap out of someone. I really wanted to give my rage and heartache a representative graphic illustrating the 12 people killed and over 50 people hurt by a gunman at a midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises in Colorado last night.
But I couldn't find something that captured my "imagination."
Instead, I found what you see posted at the top of this blog post. Maybe it's more fitting. Yeah, in "real life," Batman (if he existed in real life), would pound the bastard that shot up the movie audience into something that looks like chunky salsa, but afterward, rage would turn to grief. After all, it was the death of two innocent people, his parents, who were shot by a criminal, that created the Dark Knight in the first place. Every time some hood or madman guns down people just because they're there, it diminishes all of us. It creates, temporarily for most people, a collective drive toward justice, the need to protect the victims, the desire to punish the guilty.
But, news items being what they are and people being who we are, most of us tend to forget. We remember for weeks, months, years, what our favorite scenes are and lines of dialog from films such as TDKR, but we'll forget about the shootings in Aurora, Colorado in a few days. Something else will come along and drive it out of our memories and fractured attention spans.
For most of us, that is.
Bruce Wayne didn't forget. He never forgot. Of course, he was a kid and the people murdered right before his eyes were his parents, so you'd figure he'd never forget. But he did something more than remember. He took his anger, his guilt, and his fear, and turned it into a weapon; and incredibly powerful weapon. He turned it into Batman.
That doesn't do the rest of us much good. Batman is a fictional character. He only exists in the world of imagination. He is a symbol of our desire for dark justice and the need to not only punish the predators, but to brutalize them. He is the shadow to our light, the power to our powerlessness, the avenger to our victimhood.
He is the Dark Knight to our oppression.
We can't put on a costume and roam the night. We can't summon the heroes of fantasy into the real world of blood, and tear gas, and torn flesh, and dead bodies. But we can do something; we should do something.
All I can do is write, so that's what I'm doing. Probably a lot of people will have something to say about all this in the hours and days to come. This is me saying what I need to say right now.
As much as I'd like to take a baseball bat and beat the shooter's head like an overripe melon, that's not what needs to be done the most (I still think I'd like to do it, though, because I'm really angry right now).
No, what needs to be done more than pulling revenge and this guy's bloody colon out of his ass, is to remember the victims, to have compassion. To not give in to anger and rage, but to instead, nurture kindness and if you believe in that sort of thing, to pray for the wounded and the dying.
Anger, violence, and revenge may make us feel better in the short run, but it's justice, mercy, and compassion that heals the world in the long run. Don your metaphorical "Dark Knight" armor if you must and scream how much you'd like to hurt the guy that did all the hurting, but remember. Remember that afterward, you have to take the mask off and be who you are, to help, to rebuild broken lives.
That's the part about being a hero you don't see at the end of the movie. That's the hero in real life and I hope...I hope it's the hero you can find in yourself. I hope I can find him in me, too.
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Friday, July 20, 2012
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Wounded Starfish
Heard a story once. Don't know how true it is. Probably isn't, but it makes a nice illustration. Here goes. Pay attention.There was a starfish. They don't do much, at least as far as most people can tell. Something comes along and sees the starfish. Could have been a kid. Could have been a mean adult. Maybe just something that likes nibbling starfish.
Anyway, whatever it is, cuts off one of the arms of the starfish. I've never heard a starfish say "ouch", but it's still a rotten thing to do. Fortunately, like you probably know, the starfish grows the arm back.
Time passes. Something else comes along. Cuts off the starfish's arm..the same arm. Fortunately it grows back (kind of reminds me of Prometheus and his liver).
Time passes. It happens again. Same arm gets lost. Grows back.
This keeps happening over and over. The same arm gets lost and the same arm grows back. Keep watching the arm. Look close now. Each time the arm grows back, it's not exactly the same. It looks a little more puny. It looks a little more twisted. It's not as healthy as the other arms.
Each time the arm is cut off and then grows back, it's not the same. Damage has been done. Recovery isn't as complete. Unlike Prometheus and is amazing grow again liver, it doesn't come back exactly the way it used to be (although Prometheus probably said more than "ouch").
Sometimes I think life's that way. Sometimes I think people are that way. Sometimes I think I'm that way. Something comes along and hurts us. We grow back. We keep going. We get hurt again. We grow back again. It happens and happens and we grow back, but not exactly the same. Something isn't as healthy. Something seems twisted inside of us.
Prometheus was punished for stealing the secret of fire from Zeus and giving it to people because he thought it was the right thing to do. Zeus took it personally and chained Prometheus to a rock. Everyday at the same time, like clockwork or the evening bus, an eagle came along and ate out his liver. Guess that's what happens when you try to do what you feel is right and someone disagrees.

The starfish got hurt for probably no reason. Prometheus got hurt for a reason, but probably not a good one. Depends on whether or not you think it was a good idea for Prometheus to take the side of people against Zeus and the gods, so people would have the power of fire. Do we get hurt for a reason or do we just get hurt?
A starfish is a starfish. Probably doesn't really know or care about the arm one way or another. Prometheus is a different matter. Immortal and thus feels pain and agony forever as the eagle eats a part of his body every day. Fortunately, Hercules (or Heracles, take your pick) eventually comes along, kills the eagle and frees Prometheus. But what happened to him? What happens to us? What happens to me?

We get hurt. We get scared. We grow back. Damage is done. Prometheus is immortal. Once freed, he gets his liver back and gets to keep it. Physically, he's OK. But what scars does his feelings and soul hang on to because of all those years of torture? Does he carry them forever as an immortal? Does he ever completely heal?
We're mortal. How long do our scars last? Is our "arm" deformed forever, or is their hope that someday we can be healed, too? Remy Zero once sang Save me. Who is there to sing "heal me" for the wounded?
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