Cafe Racer

I went by Cafe Racer today, the little coffee shop near my home where yesterday four people were shot to death. I wondered what sense the Buddha might make of such a tragedy.

I suspect he would make nothing of it, though. He might just sit there silently in response to our asking "why?" and "why them?" and "why here?" and "what could we have done?" and "what do we do now?" My guess is that he would understand that the questions are the answers, that not only do they not have answers that will satisfy, but that in the asking we come to understand much more than we would have otherwise.

There are mounds of flowers outside Cafe Racer. I would guess that many of those who left flowers (and beer and wine and photos and other mementos) had never been there, or had been only rarely, like me. As you can see, there are people sitting and standing and hugging and wondering and grieving together. Many more people drove by as I was standing there. All of us were bearing witness to the loss, the pain, the sheer lack of sense in all of this. A community is grieving together and we don't know what else to do.

The Buddha might mention karma, but probably not. Karma may be involved, both for those who died and the man who killed them (and who killed himself later), but any such explanation for such an event is not only grossly inadequate but vaguely insulting, as if we can pass over the wrongness of it by consulting some cosmic ledger. I think not. I doubt the Buddha could be that insensitive.

This was a pleasant little hole-in-the-wall with surprisingly good food and good coffee. They served beer and wine in the evenings and had a stage for live music. They were, by all reports, good neighbors and loved companions. They did not deserve to die this way, at this time. They left a scorched patch of life behind them.

But here's the thing. When we calmed down, when we could put away our hatred, anger and fear for a moment the Buddha might well tell us, "Yes. Yes, this is evil. Yes, this is wrong. Yes, this is sad. Yes, this is tragic. But, look, it has always been so. We are born, we live, we die. And the most important lesson you can take away from this is that we are all connected. There is no separate self. You are as much a part of the killer as the killed. You carry in your heart the seeds of grace and pain, anger and benevolence, peace and discord, isolation and communion. Violence such as this cannot happen if we understand in the depths of our hearts that we are all one, for to shoot a man in a coffee shop would be the same as shooting our grandmother or our dog or our father or our mother. We wouldn't be able to do it.

"My teachings," he might say, "despite what you may have heard, do not counsel indifference to such things. On the contrary, my teachings are to understand with your whole being that this happened to you, too. This is not an event outside yourself. And my teachings would tell you, I hope, that to hate the man who killed is just as much to hate yourself or your grandmother or your dog. It is not that he is unworthy of blame, but that putting more hatred into a world made poorer by this man's hate and rage makes no sense. It is like pouring gasoline on a fire.

"Open your hearts. To everyone, always, as much as you are able and, one would hope, a bit more each day. Only in this way can we heal. Only in this way can we find true peace, a peace that last for lifetimes and covers the earth with garlands of flowers rather than scars of grief.

"And understand: this is possible. My example and those of hundreds of other buddhas and bodhisattvas demonstrate that in this very life your heart can open entirely and you can surrender hatred forever. And in the process you will be healing one small part of the torn fabric of life as it is currently lived. You will become attractive to others who will want to follow your example, and the life-sustaining force of love will take over the world."

At least, that's what I hope he would say.