THE INCANDESCENT MIND OF AYCE GUEST BLOGGER DEREK FERGUSON
A PIECE FROM HIS PERSONAL BLOG BEYOND WORTHY OF SHARING
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Karma, as they say, is a bitch. Usually this is said right after some eerily coincidental occurrence, such as the slumlord who eventually ends up homeless, or the player whose wife (who he really, really loved) leaves him for his (clearly not) best friend. When this same woman is left by the ex best friend for her (now) ex-best friend, well, that's karma too, apparently. These are but prosaic examples, but you get the idea. The Law of Karma is a constant: what you give is what you receive. Typically the Law is invoked on the negative side, because, let's face it, most of us are bad. Literature and the movies love Bad Karma, but Good Karma, frankly, doesn't really sell tickets. We all want to see the bastard get what he deserves, and what he deserves, ideally, is pretty painful. (This, of course, doesn't help our own karma.)
Of course, there are some loopholes in the Law. How many rich people are good and sweet? Damn few, that's how many. Life is filled with rich dicks who screw over countless people, have no shame, and still live long and happy lives. Perhaps they're secretly miserable, or their kids turn out to be junkies, but I'd call that a push, at best. And life is also filled with genuinely good people who work selflessly for others and then die of ass cancer at 42. Innocent children who haven't even had time to do any bad shit die in horrible ways, every day. This is explained by some as the influence of their past life, or, perversely, as a good thing--they are clearly in some Heaven right now, enjoying an endless parade of delicious milkshakes with God. Religion is rife with karmic teachings, in various guises (what is "The Golden Rule" other than the "Law of Karma" writ with consequences?), and as can be expected there are those who buy it hook, line, and sinker (the devout), those who struggle with the concept but grudgingly think it has merit (the agnostics), and those who reject it all as a bunch of malarkey and find rational explanations for every instance of perceived divine intervention (the atheists). Those who actually live by the Law, be they atheist, devout, or somewhere inbetween, are an exceedingly rare breed (the Saints), which may be why most of us are doomed to die of cancer in some form or another. There's a teleological lesson in here somewhere (not to mention an epidemiological study), but I'll leave that for finer minds.
My small, small point, is that we've all heard of karma, and feared its repercussions, while not necessarily embracing the positive flip side (remember if you're good...ah the hell with it...nobody's good). I remember walking back from the beach at night with some friends when one said, apropos of nothing as far as I can remember, "I *totally* believe in karma!" A nanosecond later, I stubbed the shit out of my toe. At that moment, it felt like a metaphorical poke in the eye from some Universal Body, not enough to kill me, of course, but enough to get my attention. Somebody with a capital S was watching, and in time, I'd be forced to pay for my deficit of love, compassion, humility, selflessness, etc.
In yogic teachings, karma is a particularly tricky beast, because it has looooong incubation period. You must do good things for ages before seeing positive results, and you may not see the negative results of your unenlightened behavior until way down the line. Which, presumably makes it even harsher if you've been an asshole for years, enjoyed success, and then have it stripped away from you right when you've given a ton of cash to some orphanage. WTF! you scream as the ex cleans out your cupboard. I've been good! Well, no, sorry, you haven't. I was once a pretty devout yogi, but I always struggled with that conceit, feeling it was a bit of a fudge, a handy separation of action from consequence that was used to cover up obvious examples of people getting away with evil deeds. No doubt my analysis needs work, as I'm sure there are subtleties I just don't understand, but I think I reflect the general sentiment that we all expect a shorter trajectory between cause and effect, sin and punishment. I will say that my life was a lot "better" when I was doing yoga daily, but I can also explain that easily in rational terms, rather than couching the whole thing in some sutra. But, as evidenced above, I'm far from enlightened, and I'm not even going to broach the topic of "manifestation." Some other time, perhaps.
So anyway, the example of karma that sparked this post: The other day, one of my good buddies, an absolute stand up guy who doesn't talk shit, always helps out, and leads what I would consider to be an upstanding life, had his jetski ripped off. (Note to the cynics who say, "Aha, see! That's the problem right there! He had a fucking jetski!!--you probably drive cars, fly in planes, pollute and eat processed food. So stop being self-righteous. Every now and then a jetski is a great tool, particularly for say, tow in surfing. And it's a four stroke. So there.) As anybody who's been ripped off knows, the loss of the item is a drag, but the loss of your sense of security is the thing that really rattles your cage. Some motherfucker came in and stole from me! Somebody I trust probably helped them do it! It is witching hour in the dark night of the soul when you start thinking like that.
This being a tiny town, there are only so many thieves, although proportionally it feels pretty high at times. Anyway, a big job like that, breaking into a bodega, hauling off heavy equipment...really there was only one guy who leapt out as the suspect, a guy named Minor. Minor was a little fuck who has ripped off nearly everybody with anything to steal in this area. He worked as a mechanic in a town a few hours north, and he also had an outpost here where he would come down to fix things occasionally, and then usually depart quickly with something he'd fixed on the previous visit. He wasn't even a very good mechanic, so basically he stole from you twice.
I had a sweet old green Toyota Land Cruiser truck that I bought years ago with the idea that it could be a work truck on the farm, but it proved to be too fragile for that sort of effort and repeatedly broke down. I decided to sell it, and put it out by the road, although just inside my gate, with a "Se Vende" sign on it. I was cautioned that this was a dumb move. "Somebody's going to take it," said my cuidador. "How can they take it?" I asked. "It doesn't run." My logic notwithstanding, somebody did, in fact, take the truck, or at least many of its vital organs. Transmission, battery, radiator, the fucking windshield wipers...a host of things disappeared in the night, and there was evidence that they were coming back to take more (various bolts had been loosened, but I guess after hours of disassembly they ran out of time). So, I dragged the truck to a more secure location and was duly informed that it was Minor who was to blame. My thoughts ran to murder, naturally, but instead I went to the cops, and they did exactly squat. Basically, I was told everybody knows he's the thief, but nobody catches him red handed or with the stolen goods, so he never gets punished. I toyed with the idea of retribution, but eventually wrote it off as just another example of the Gringo Tax (cf. some future post) that's levied on every expat down here in one form or another. The price of paradise. Let it go. Breathe. Be a yogi about it. Fine. Well, about a week ago somebody came back and stole my turn signals (!!), which was right around the time my boy's jetski went missing. This time I was going to get some satisfaction, so I started making calls. Or rather, I asked my cuidador who I should have listened to the first time. He said he would make some calls.
Today, I found out that the jetski (and likely my turn signals) showed up in the very same town ol' Minor had his shop in, Quepos. "Well," I frothed, interrupting Carlos, "I'm going to get that bastard now!" But there was more to the story: Apparently Minor had taken the jetski up there to sell, but it was broken. I knew this to be true, as does anybody who owns anything that floats and has a motor. The shit is always broken. Minor, having secured a buyer, set about fixing the ski, and then took it for a test drive to prove its capabilities. As it so happens, the swell lately has been kick ass, really solid. Quepos has a port that is largely protected, but Minor decided to hit a little open water. Hell, he was probably enjoying himself. And that's when karma, or some reasonable facsimile thereof, struck with a vengeance. A wave lifted the ski and banged it against Minor's pea brain. The impact likely killed him, but just for good measure, he drowned as well. I was incredulous, and dubious. "He's really dead? Minor? Dead?" (Ahogarse is one of those Spanish words that, as a surfer, I don't like to focus on, so when Carlos told me that Minor "ahogó"--he drowned-- I fumbled for a bit before understanding it.)
Now, if I was, or ever had been, a good yogi, I would have felt something akin to sadness. We are all equal beings, and the only reason violence exists is because we have violence in our hearts. Think of his family, particularly the five kids by five different women that Minor (a major player, obviously) had, and the pain they were feeling. Think of his mother. Think of the circumstances that had driven him to a life of crime. So many mitigating circumstances, certainly. So many reasons to show compassion.
But I can't. All I can do is smile. He got what he deserved. As, I'm sure, will I.
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