The Fight

I sat quietly in the corner at a table with a woman telling me what’s breaking her heart. Her bright red lipstick. The whites of her big eyes and her teeth. I am focused on her, listen attentively, until distraction...

The fight started out of view from the deputies.

I was the first to see it, just a few feet from me in the corner. The first hit, and quickly the second, third, fourth and countless blows. Fists in the face and head. Fist moving quickly. Punching. Punching. Punching. Eyes swollen. Red blood. Hair tousled. Shirts disheveled. Punching. My first reflect was to cover my eyes. They yell at each other. Oh, please sisters, no. Not this. Not more violence. I shut my eyes for a flash second. A breath. Opening my eyes to bear witness to chaos. The spiral…

I call to the deputies. Fight!

The deputies’ eyes wide. Running. Yelling.

A one word prayer: chesed. Chesed now! Please, chesed…flood this hell-hole with abundant Lovingkindness. Love in action, now, please. Soak these gray concrete walls with chesed, not blood. Fill the air with chesed, not fear.

I offer the woman I was counseling a blessing as I stand up: Protection all around you. Her eyes locked with mine: And, protection all around you, too. She urges me to get out as fast as I can.

The fighters’ eyes never break contact with each other. Even when they’re pulled away, hands now restrained behind their backs. A deputy grabs one of the fighters, and slams her head into the concrete wall, then into the metal pay phone before throwing her body down on the hard floor. I watch them. My heart is beating fast. My breath is shallow.

The onlookers. Dressed in yellow and blue, the uniforms inside the mental health unit. Eyes wide. PTSD pumping through them, triggered. Fear, trauma, grief, anguish. Eyes on the fighters. Eyes on the deputies. They yell. Eyes on each other. Eyes on themselves. Eyes on the steel door as a flood of deputies rush in for back-up. I am trapped in the module. A flood of bodies in brown deputy uniforms.

A flood of patriarchy. A flood of capitalism. A flood of white supremacy. A flood of everything except care. Bearing witness, I whisper, “please, chesed, flow into this module.” Rushing in, full speed ahead in the name of safety. Riot prevention. The sound of their footsteps, like drumbeats. Like heartbeats pounding.

Their eyes, trained on the fighter, trained on the crowd of onlookers. Fear, trauma, power. They yell. Instructions. Demands.

In the violent aftermath, I am finally un-trapped from the module. I walk the halls quickly to get outside. I look inward, body scanning. Heart racing, tightness in my muscles. I am tight all over. Mouth closed. Hands clenched. Stomach muscles tight. Breathing quickly. I work to slow down, to un-tighten. Step. Breath. Step. Breath. Slower. Slower. Slower. Breath. I hear my boots on the flood. I walk focused towards my car.

I sit in silence. Breathing.

I go beyond the physical, beyond action, deeper into practice. A wave of sadness comes over me. Sadness about the system, sadness about the lack of care in our systems. Sadness for the people still incarcerated, not able to walk to their car and sit in silent practice. They don’t need my sadness or pity. My grief is useless in this present moment for them. I’m not even sure how impactful my action is for them. I am free to leave, and they are trapped inside. Another breath. Unclenching. I go deeper inside. Beyond the emotions, acknowledging the fight within me. I see the place where I am tight, where I want to punch. I see my anger, feeing powerless and afraid. I see my righteous anger, feeling brave or justified. Deeper still. The things and places I hate, within me. My fear. My smallness. The wounded child. The shadows inside of me. The fight outside around me. The pandemic of fear. The yelling of hateful noise. The world as a violent place, we walk through the dangers in our daily lives. I send chesed into these parts of me with my next breath. Chesed. Another breath. Chesed. Breath. Chesed.

I polish the mirror of my heart, so I can see my True Self. To remember also to see the same Truth in the deputies’ hearts, to see the same Truth in the hearts of the fighters, and the onlookers. Elohai n’shama she’natata bi t’hora hi. “My God, the soul that you have placed within me is pure.”

The All-seeing Eye of The One. Witnessing, experiencing, being.