Sunday, August 20, 2006
A Random Act of Violence
On Friday night, around 2am, my dearest ex-boyfriend-turned-darling-friend was jumped by a group of six guys as he was walking home on Clark after rehearsal. It started with one of them turning around and asking the classic "What the fuck are you lookin' at?" Brent David attempted to ignore the guys and keep on walking, minding his own business. This of course infuriated them even more and before he knew it, the biggest of the six flew at him and within seconds BD was unconscious on the sidewalk. The eye witnesses, two young women who had been across the street and were ultimately responsible for calling 911, told the police that even after they had knocked him unconscious, they continue to beat him up for several more minutes. They stole nothing. When they got bored they left. After the girls called the ambulence BD was taken to VGH. He remembers none of it.
As I was driving off the ferry yesterday, I collected my messages. The only message I had was from Brent David calling me from the VGH later that night/morning, wondering if I was in town to come and pick him up. I, of course, was not around having been on Pender over night. The message made me sick to my stomache. It occurred to me suddenly how many times I have failed to be there to help friends in crisis. But I was also sick because, like so many things in this world, it made no sense.
I am about to go and pick Brent David up and spend some time with him on the beach. He says he looks pretty awful. I don't care. I am flooded with questions about violence and forgiveness and mob mentality. I am flooded with memories of the countless times I have been asked that same question "what the fuck are you lookin' at?" as I walked down dark streets late at night. I am flooded with images of all the ways those moments could have turned into nightmares. I am flooded with saddness for a group of men, so lost and so angry, that they would randomly beat someone up as sport. I am flooded with questions about fighting in sports and men that hit women and how someone like Brent David heals from this incident without become another one of our fear-filled society.
I send out a protective layer of energy to all those I love. Stay safe. Heal anger, your own and others. Address saddness before it becomes bitter. Know the Truth.
Namaste.
As I was driving off the ferry yesterday, I collected my messages. The only message I had was from Brent David calling me from the VGH later that night/morning, wondering if I was in town to come and pick him up. I, of course, was not around having been on Pender over night. The message made me sick to my stomache. It occurred to me suddenly how many times I have failed to be there to help friends in crisis. But I was also sick because, like so many things in this world, it made no sense.
I am about to go and pick Brent David up and spend some time with him on the beach. He says he looks pretty awful. I don't care. I am flooded with questions about violence and forgiveness and mob mentality. I am flooded with memories of the countless times I have been asked that same question "what the fuck are you lookin' at?" as I walked down dark streets late at night. I am flooded with images of all the ways those moments could have turned into nightmares. I am flooded with saddness for a group of men, so lost and so angry, that they would randomly beat someone up as sport. I am flooded with questions about fighting in sports and men that hit women and how someone like Brent David heals from this incident without become another one of our fear-filled society.
I send out a protective layer of energy to all those I love. Stay safe. Heal anger, your own and others. Address saddness before it becomes bitter. Know the Truth.
Namaste.
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