Two incidents that I recently witnessed, involving lower orders of society than those high-flying-if-they-would-but they-don’t students.
I woke in the small hours of the morning to hear someone in the road outside shouting “Useless piece of shit! Fucking go! Fucking shit! Why won’t it fucking go! Useless fucking piece of fucking shit!” and so on. I looked outside and it was a young man on an electrically assisted bicycle, which appeared to have stopped electricking. There was another chap with him, on an ordinary bicycle, who was saying nothing, because what could you say? What could I have said? That was the state of mind he was in, which a Buddhist would call unskillful, and no-one can wave a magic wand to awaken him to his folly. I doubt it would have gone down well to point out that screaming at the bike won’t recharge the battery, and if he wants to get wherever he’s going, he’ll just have to pedal the whole weight of the bike himself.
They passed on, but it was a while before his screaming passed out of hearing. Sound carries a long way at night.
Cycling through town one evening, I heard someone raving angrily in the street. On drawing near, I saw it was a man, not young, bare-chested, and I guessed he had just been thrown out of the nearby pub. Rough type, I’d call him working class if I thought there was any chance he was actually employed. I couldn’t make out a word he yelled. Others in the street were watching the spectacle and keeping their distance. What could any one have done?
These people’s minds are surely hideous, broken places. And however vividly I imagine them, I don’t care about these people, and I don’t care what becomes of them as long as I never encounter them.
There is a saying, “Tout comprendre, c’est tout pardonner,” but I don’t think so.
Two incidents that I recently witnessed, involving lower orders of society than those high-flying-if-they-would-but they-don’t students.
I woke in the small hours of the morning to hear someone in the road outside shouting “Useless piece of shit! Fucking go! Fucking shit! Why won’t it fucking go! Useless fucking piece of fucking shit!” and so on. I looked outside and it was a young man on an electrically assisted bicycle, which appeared to have stopped electricking. There was another chap with him, on an ordinary bicycle, who was saying nothing, because what could you say? What could I have said? That was the state of mind he was in, which a Buddhist would call unskillful, and no-one can wave a magic wand to awaken him to his folly. I doubt it would have gone down well to point out that screaming at the bike won’t recharge the battery, and if he wants to get wherever he’s going, he’ll just have to pedal the whole weight of the bike himself.
They passed on, but it was a while before his screaming passed out of hearing. Sound carries a long way at night.
Cycling through town one evening, I heard someone raving angrily in the street. On drawing near, I saw it was a man, not young, bare-chested, and I guessed he had just been thrown out of the nearby pub. Rough type, I’d call him working class if I thought there was any chance he was actually employed. I couldn’t make out a word he yelled. Others in the street were watching the spectacle and keeping their distance. What could any one have done?
These people’s minds are surely hideous, broken places. And however vividly I imagine them, I don’t care about these people, and I don’t care what becomes of them as long as I never encounter them.
There is a saying, “Tout comprendre, c’est tout pardonner,” but I don’t think so.