There was a lady at the bus stop this morning who seemed a bit off. Even though it was chilly and drizzling, she was wearing a light summer dress; and as she walked up, she seemed to be inspecting everyone's clothing. It was early, and I was tired and annoyed, so I just ignored her; but after she got onto the bus, she began pacing back and forth, staring intently at everyone, particularly at what they were wearing.
She struck me as OCD, and I didn't think too much about it until someone sitting next to me said that she looked like she was on drugs or maybe like she'd been drugged. She got off at the last stop downtown with everyone still left on the bus, myself included. I started walking to work, thinking about it and debating whether or not I should do something. "She was dressed a little strangely considering the weather, and she did seem rather confused..." I was afraid to say anything, though, and I didn't want to be late to work, so I kept walking. But then I stopped and decided to go back and ask if she was alright and needed any help, feeling ashamed at my fear and selfishness.
When I got to the corner where I'd last seen her, however, she was already gone. I felt a heaviness in my heart. I failed to help someone who may have needed it. I knew what the right thing to do was and I didn't do. During Lent, even. And after just hearing about the parable of the good Samaritan. I've been trying to take the teachings of Jesus to heart, to put them into practice and be a better person; and yet here I was, one of those who "passed by on the opposite side."
When I got to work, it was all I could think about. My heart was pained, and I chastised myself for not at least saying something, being like so many others in the world who are too self-absorbed to really practice what they preach. As I was working, I offered a prayer, asking for forgiveness (because I couldn't forgive myself) for not helping someone who was potentially in need and for someone to help her if she was indeed in need of it. It was all I could think to do.
Later, on the way to RCIA with Romanos, he asked me how my day was and I told him about what'd happened. He said it was a missed opportunity, but also that sometimes we may not be able to help at the moment; and in some cases, God may not want us to do anything; God may just want to open our awareness to those in need. If it was a missed opportunity, on the other hand, he said all we can really do is ask for forgiveness and for God to send them an angel — anyone who can help them, divine or otherwise — and then let it go.
That was somewhat reassuring, and I felt better after talking about it. There's something liberating about confessing a wrong-doing, which funny enough happened to be one of the topics of tonight's class. My conscience holds onto every unskillful thing I do, like a hot coal that burns me every time I think about it. And by confessing it, with sincerity and remorse, I'm able to more easily let it go, as well as get the advice of someone I consider wise, much like how the Buddha often advises in places like MN 61:
Having done a bodily action [same with verbal and mental actions], you should reflect on it: 'This bodily action I have done — did it lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both? Was it an unskillful bodily action, with painful consequences, painful results?' If, on reflection, you know that it led to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both; it was an unskillful bodily action with painful consequences, painful results, then you should confess it, reveal it, lay it open to the Teacher or to a knowledgeable companion in the holy life. Having confessed it... you should exercise restraint in the future. But if on reflection you know that it did not lead to affliction... it was a skillful bodily action with pleasant consequences, pleasant results, then you should stay mentally refreshed & joyful, training day & night in skillful mental qualities.
People often think that it's simply about feeling guilty and unworthy, but I don't think that's true. I think confession is more about you admitting your failings to yourself, without justifications or judgments of others, because it's through being honest that we're able to truly grow emotionally, spiritually, etc. When we're open to being wrong, to making mistakes, to new ideas, etc., we gain knowledge, real knowledge. We learn more from our mistakes than we do from anything else. I've heard that's why hospitals often ask potential brain surgeons questions like "Have you ever made a mistake?" and "If so, what would you do differently next time?" to determine who'd make a good surgeon and who wouldn't.
It's the same in Buddhism, as well. The Pali term hiri, for example, which is often translated as shame or conscience, refers to a sense of shame over unskillful actions that arises out of self-respect; and these feelings of guilt and remorse are actually guardians and quite skillful when properly approached. We don't use them to beat ourselves up with; we use them to grow, to become better.
Looking back at it, she could have just been a little crazy and there might not have been much I could have done to help her besides call the police, which, to be honest, isn't at the top of my list of ways to 'help' people. Maybe approaching her would have even made her angry, more manic. But if it was a missed opportunity, then I at least hope the memory of my failure will motivate me to not make the same mistake next time.
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