Well, except for the
rapist.
One of the things that
make it possible for me to live in the city is getting out of the city. Here in
Philadelphia, I am able to do that without actually leaving. The Fairmont Park
system is a huge network of trees, trails and water nestled inside the City of
Brotherly Love, and over the years, I have spent countless hours enjoying the
quiet solitude of this magical place.
I can recall being
nine months pregnant with Number Two, hiking up and down snowy trails with
Number One in a backpack and our dog Lucy (who was petrified of heights after a 20 foot nosedive off an icy cliff in that same park) gingerly following behind.
Later that Spring, with Number One still in the backpack and Number Two safely
ensconced in a front sling, we spent hours, rain or shine, watching the
fiddleheads transforming into ferns in the underbrush and quietly hoping the
nine-point buck would visit us once again.
Aside from the fact
that Number One got frost nip on his cheek that winter, and I had to remove a
deer tic from Number Two before he was a month old, the woods were our safe
haven from the noise of the city.
Fast-forward a dozen
years and you’ll still find me traipsing through the woods, although now that
I’m unencumbered by little people, I’m logging in a lot more miles running
trails and (with impressive battle scars on my elbows and knees thanks to surprise interactions with roots, rocks and slippery terrain) loving the fact
that I can get my exercise, meditation and dose of the wilderness all in one
handy package, just blocks from my doorstep.
Except…
for the rapist lurking
in the woods who recently attacked a woman along the very route that I run.
Over the last five or so years, he has violated a handful of women throughout
the park and in one even more horrific incident, committed murder.
After a too-short
hiatus, he resurfaced a few weeks ago on the two-year anniversary of his last
attack. At 6:30 on a busy Tuesday evening, he grabbed a woman runner out of her
car, put a gun to her back, dragged her into the woods and raped her.
Now what?
I really don’t like
making decisions based on fear. But I really don’t want to be stupid either. So
I have stopped running alone except during the busiest of weekend afternoons.
And even then, accompanied by my 96 lb. black lab/German shepherd body guard, Jake, I
am hyper-aware of my surroundings and staying only on the most well traveled
trails…because I am afraid, which makes me really, really, really mad.
Fear and anger. Fear and anger. Fear and anger.
Oh, how very zen of
me.
Yup. How very zen.
This is what happens
in meditation… when we sit in meditation we are inevitably faced with emotions
that we’d rather not have. Or we become aware of parts of ourselves that we’d
rather not see. But if instead of suppressing those thoughts or feelings we
simply allow them to arise without judgment, acknowledge them for what they
are, and then let them go, we move one step closer to awakening.
And we realize that
very often, the ugly parts of life are our greatest teachers. The people who
irritate us most are our gurus. And the emotions that most freak us out are the
ones with which we ought to get intimate.
What I love
about My Woods is that I could run for hours and see few, if any people. I
could forget that I was in the sixth largest city in the United States and just
groove to the sound of the wind in the trees and the waterfall in the distance.
But what I
love about My Community is that people are forming meet-up groups to walk, run
or bike together. And what I love about My Life is that I have a best
girlfriend who loves to run in the woods as much as I do—AND who laughs at all
(OK, most) of my jokes.
Yet I am still afraid.
And I am still angry.
But I’m not alone. And
that’s super cool.
So for now, I’m
allowing myself to feel the fear and the anger while I work on letting it
dissolve. And in addition to exercising my body, I am working on exercising
compassion—for the victims of these terrible incidents, for our community, for myself and (on a good day)
for the perpetrator.
(And, by the way, here’s a link to a previous post that offers more insight on fear and also includes a handy-dandy breathing exercise…)
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