AA Will Give You Pride & Make You Well

I was walking across Victoria Square after my blood test, having devoured a large strawberry sundae and medium fries as my calming-down-after-blood-test magickal ceremony, when I saw something shocking.

A man sitting on the bench beside the tram terminal stood, took three staggering steps, and fell without hands directly against the concrete. His head didn't bounce and I was too far away to hear the sweet taTHock sound of a flexible skull on impact. If you don't think that sound is sweet then you have never heard the brittle squashing sound, similar to the sound of a bug's carapace failing, that indicates a brain cage has failed to bounce back.

I walked nearby. He seemed okay. I began to wonder what to do.

I walked to the Narcotics Anonymous office around the corner and picked out two palmphlets. I wrote on the top: ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS WILL GIVE YOU BACK PRIDE IN YOURSELF AND MAKE YOU WELL.

Full of pity and anger at the lack of shame the man exhibited, and the near-fatally low level of consciousness he must be experiencing in order to behave that way in public, I walked over to him and immediately noticed, for the first time, that blood was pooling around his skull. Mixed emotions flashed in my heart and mind.

I bent over.

"Sir," I said. "Can you hear me?"

His eyes opened a little.

"I'm getting help for you. I'm going to the police to get some help. And I will put some brochures in your bag." The bag, which was open, had a bottle of kerosene hanging out of it. I put the brochures atop that and ran to the police station, giving them my name and number and asking for an ambulance. They asked if the man was old or young. I replied old and drinking a lot. They asked if the man was causasian or aboriginal. He was white.

Then I marched back to the man and touched his arm again. The blood was dark colored.

"Sir?" I said. "Can you open your eyes if you can hear me?"

Again a weak glance.

"An ambulance is coming. It will be here in about ten minutes."

And for the first time he clearly opened his eyes and said "I don't want an ambulance." He said it three times. His eyes reminded me of others I had seen scared and in pain, and the memory wrenched at me.

"I'm sorry," I said to his eyes, "I thought it was the right thing to do."

I walked away and for the next few hours my heart was in a state of war. Pity, anger, shame, outrage, sadness, fear, and inner acceptance played themselves out in the silence of my heart.

I knew I had done the best thing, and that he was not in command of his ability to act on his own benefit. But I also selfishly knew that the small pinprick of pain and fear I had experienced with having my bloods taken earlier that day, in his case would be multiplied a thousand fold. And as he would have no assurance to fall back on of his own good intentions, the pain would be compounded by unawareness and ignorance many times over. The horror of the man's state of consciousness, so close to the level of death that even shame was not a consideration any longer, lingered with me for a long time after.

And there is no avoiding the fact of our responsibility for our own consciousness and actions. The Metta Sutta simply says: Kammasakka. The translation? "All beings are owners of their own karma."