Before Wendy died, I was against capital punishment for all the open minded liberal wooo rah whatever theories I can’t even remember now, but most importantly because life is sacred and an eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.
After Wendy’s death, I was filled with such inconsummate rage that I felt anyone who hurts anyone should experience the same. An eye for an eye, even if it will make the whole world blind, at least will demonstrate to an individual (or group) the insufferable pain that those who experience loss go through; something that those who cause said pain seem to feel nothing of, because if they did they never would have caused such pain in the first place.
Then, years later, I ‘discovered’ God, or rediscovered, or whatever. The spiritual awakening that lead to numerous healings and daily meditation, a daily ritual of prayer and the understanding that every living creature on this Earth deserves to be happy and the reason bad things happen is because bad things happen and people don’t know how to forgive. For years I forgave. I forgave unforgivable things that have nothing to do with Wendy’s death, things that some would say are worse but I will never speak of those things.
Now, years later, I feel a cold detachment from people who do bad things. All of a sudden, I do indeed feel they should suffer the same fate they mete out to others. Not because I am angry. This is the difference from the Me that is now and the Me that existed after Wendy’s death. That Me wanted people to suffer from anger. Now, the desire for people to get what they do to others is more an assisted karma. Like The Bride says in Kill Bill:
When fortune smiles on something as violent and ugly as revenge, it seems proof like no other that not only does God exist, you’re doing his will.
It makes me wonder. I never thought I believed that until now. And I feel eerily calm about saying it.
Tonight was a strange night. Drinks in a haunted bar, a Moorish Overlook hotel with chilling vibes. On the way home I suggested we put on ‘An American Haunting.’ We get home and the episode of ‘Cold Case’ on TV is a copycat murder of ‘Halloween.’ Weird. Then I watched ‘Capote’ thinking I would avoid all the crazy slasher murder death drama and clear my mind before sleep, only to find that horror movies come in all shapes and sizes.
And for once in my life, I have no sympathy for murderers, as fucked up as their lives may have been. I don’t give a good God damn, so I don’t. I’ve had a fucked up life myself and I have not killed a single person, so I haven’t. I know people who’ve had it worse than me and they haven’t hurt a soul, so they have not.
Fuck people who hurt other people. Fuck murderers. Fuck rapists. Maybe it is God’s will to remove them from this planet, especially since they seem to have no iota of respect for those who they remove from its surface. Maybe there is a sick sense in an eye for an eye, even if it will make the whole world blind.
If a crime is done in cold blood, then maybe blood is the only price that can be paid in return. Blood for blood. An eye for an eye. They should feel what it feels. They should know. And they should pay.
In this life. They should pay in this life.
Yet, when a murderer is executed I cry. I cannot make myself cold enough not to feel anything even though they felt nothing, otherwise how could they have done what they did? How? How? I cannot force myself into that steel-guarded heart that cares nothing. That could shoot people in the face without flinching. That could lie, that could go to the grave without apologising. Without even begging forgiveness. How? How is it possible that I cry for these people? That I even found tears to cry for that bitch who murdered Wendy in cold blood? That I have prayed for her salvation? I fucking cried for her. How could I cry for her? How could there be any tears in this world for what she did? How?
This is sick. It makes me feel sick.
I cannot abide. I will not abide.
So, now what?