Austism, Dreadlocks, and Such

Earlier this week, I was riding the bus-- heading home to spend a 25 minute lunch with some soup and my own space-- when, on the metro, I encountered something magical! To my left, across the aisle was a group of four white people, talking amongst themselves. As they got off the bus, I noticed that one of them remained seated. He was younger than the other three, who were all adults, and stared off absentmindedly. As his friends called and beckoned him out of his seat, I came to the conclusion that the young man was autistic or had some other mental disability. The three other energetically encouraged him to join them on their venture to the YMCA. Smiling faces and kind words almost hypnotized me to leave with them. They patiently and shamelessly practiced their routine and techniques. Perhaps, after a minute of that, one woman resorted to counting down and this got the young man moving. He walked to the door, where they were all standing outside, and stopped right in front of it. I got a clear profile of his stare and his baseball cap in his mouth, as I pondered how his mind was processing the situation and how his thought processes differed from mine. The enticing continued and eventually the group thanked the bus driver, unapologetically, and were gone.

 

The patience, energy and understanding of the trio amazed me. How many of us would be guilty of losing our temper or blaming the situation on the young man? What I pulled from the experience is the idea that everyone I'm around and that I interact with, including myself, is like that young man. A feeling and "normal" person, created with imperfect materials, with something that slows them down or causes difficulties- whether it be mental retardation or social conditioning.

 

Next to that experience and my parents, I think my greatest teachers in compassion have been my dreadlocks. I've had them for nearly 15 months. They take time to develop and won't look like "real dreads" (were there ever such a thing) until March. They make my head heavy and require lots of love, care and attention daily. And when I look into a mirror, despite what anyone tells me or thinks about my dreads I realize and remember how raw and beautiful they are. What's most important is that, like compassion, they connect me to the roots of humanity like antennas reaching out to God, Tao and the cosmos.

 

About a month ago, I taught an Anti-Racism Workshop at Memorial High School. While it was fantastic that the teacher gave up three of her classes for three days, she had many layers of power hunger, profiling, etc. that made working with her ridiculous. I've had trouble with forgiving her for the hopelessness that she helped to instill in some of her students, running deeper than any three day workshop. But as I try to think of her in the terms of dreadlocks and autism, as I try to see of her through the lense that she has a different system of values or thought process from me, that there may be things she is incapable of seeing doing or understanding right now, as I change my attitude I am able to move out of anger and see clearer solutions. The same can be said for myself; I'm infamous at losing stuff, in the past two weeks I've lost my cell phone, my bus pass, my homework, thirty dollars and I waste a number of hours playing Tetris online. (The list of my problems could go on.) And if I can change my thought process from that of belittlement and "why aren't you better" to that of compassion, I am able to improve on myself. Plato's explanation of creation is that we are all perfectly conceived ideas but the Demiurge (his not-all-powerful god) could only create the world with imperfect materials and that no person or thing, not you, not I, nor your best friend; not Plato, not God, not dreadlocks, nor Tao could ever live up to any standards of perfection. The best that we can do is be patient, enthusiastic and understanding.