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Recently,
I reached the point where I didn’t want to hate anything
anymore. It happened all of a sudden---as if I had finally
experienced enough of the divisive nature of hatred that it was no longer
fun. So I embarked on the metaphysical mindbender of loving
something I don’t even like, and an opportunity presented itself
last month in the form of the Lewis-Tyson fight.
There
are plenty of good things to hate in this world (with plenty of solid,
material reasons to hate them) and boxing has always been one of those
things for me. Combine a sport where two people beat each other
until one can’t say his own name with the fact that the star contender
is a convicted rapist who has a propensity for biting people in and out of
the ring, and my condemnation meter goes crazy. People just aren’t
supposed to do this to each other, let alone get paid for it. But to
paraphrase Byron Katie---How do we know that people are supposed to bash
each other’s faces in for sport? Because it happens! And
with that thought the knots in my stomach loosened, and I developed a
curiosity or, dare I say, even an interest in watching this battle that
was outlawed in most states. My husband couldn’t believe his ears
when I told him that I set the TIVO to record a repeat broadcast of the
fight. "You HATE boxing," he said. Precisely!
Many
people enjoy this sport, and audience demand makes boxers among the
highest paid athletes in the world. It’s happening in a big way,
it’s real, and it’s of God---when your definition of God is all that
is. As I reminded myself of this, I could see the mastery of the
athleticism that is obvious to most, and I could also appreciate the
satisfaction of landing a punch. After all, these are only bodies,
part of the earthly illusion so what harm really came anyway? I soon
realized that I was more peaceful actually watching a boxing match without
all that judgment than I was when I refused to watch and was deep into
condemnation.
I’m
still not a fan of physical combat whether it’s for sport, entertainment
or power, but I’m coming to realize that it’s a fundamental part of
our carnal selves that will be expressed until there is no longer a need
for such expression and not a moment sooner. And who’s to say when
or even if this should happen. All I know is that I’d like to stop
expressing it myself and, ironically, this is achieved by loving
everything, even the gruesome details of life, until there is no hatred
left to express. That’s why I call it a spiritual mindbender.
This used to sound impossible to me, and sometimes it still does.
But as my foray into the world of boxing has taught me, we never know how
far we can flex until we try.
Karen
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