From: psc@sei.cmu.edu (Peter Capell)
Newsgroups: rec.martial-arts
Subject: Re: Rats and Stuff (dogs too)
Date: 21 Aug 92 14:38:22 GMT
Organization: Software Engineering Institute


Well, for fear of having sounded pompous and overbearing, I just wanted to
point out that it is *my belief* that in general we should seek integration
with the environment.  Potentially, I think that this "integration" can
lead to our coming up with superior responses to danger than violence, whether
we are talking about rats, dogs or humans.  I view it as my own personal
failing that I don't have a better way to think about dealing with an
attacking Rottweiler than to try to slit it from "knave to chops" as it were.
This is a terribly cruel idea, but I don't have the "spiritual confidence" to
ponder other options at this point.

Case and point with humans:  Once upon a time when I had near zero training, I
was sitting on the hopper in my parents bathroom when I heard a tremendous
disturbance outside.  I looked down from the second floor window to see what 
was going on.  To my horror and surprise, there was Mr. Vestal, our
75-year-old neighbor, standing in the middle of a gang of 5 guys, one of whom
just threw a full can of beer at full force, smacking Mr. V. square in the
back between the shoulder blades.  Clearly this was trouble and clearly I had
to intervene in whatever way I could.  Needless to say, I was terrified and
without solutions.

The only idea I could muster was that perhaps one of these midnight partiers
was a high school aquaintance, and perhaps therefore I could appeal to reason.
When I got to the street, the situation was grim.  Coincidentally, an old
friend of my brother's was visiting and had gone for a walk with his fiancee.
My brother is 6 years older than I, and his friend, Tom, was a body builder
who at his peak of development had forearms that were about the same
circumference as my waist.  But here under the streetlight, I could see that
since he had become a Methodist minister, he had toned the 'ol biceps down to
a strong, but lean profile in intervening years.  At this time, he was holding
one of the troublemakers at bay by keeping his arms outstretched with his
hands on the shoulders of the punk.  Unfortunately the punk had just enough
reach to continously pummel Tom's mouth with his jabs--all the while vomiting
forth his obscenities.  Tom's fiancee was hysterical, crying and screaming for
them to stop.  Worse still was that I noticed that two of the gang had shaved
heads, which at the time (long hair was the most prevalent style) meant that
either they were just out of the military or prison.  These were the beer can
throwers.  It was a very scary situation.

My intuition proved correct.  One of the roughians was indeed a high school
acquaintance (I'm not proud to say) with whom I had partied at least once.  He
was standing quietly off to the side with his dog.  I went to him and pleaded
with him to "get these guys out of here."  Up until that moment, he seemed to
be taking no "ownership" of this problem--quite interesting from sociological
perspective, don't you think?  Anyway, just after my plea, Mr. Vestal turns to
me, and says "...so these are your friends!" ...fear, terror, insult...
Sheez.  I was trying to save the old geezer's life afterall.  Well, next, the
one that was punching Tom started to push me.  I just dropped my hands to my
sides (and urinated in my drawers slightly) to show I would offer no
resistance.  I don't know what made him stop coming towards me, perhaps my
urine, but anyway he did.  

The whole group moved as body up the street, threatening to burn down our
houses and to return with reinforcements.  They pounded furiously on the
trunks of cars and bellowed into the night until finally they disappeared.
Tom and fiancee took Mr. Vestal into the house, and I stood alone in the dark
under the streetlight.    Moments later, another neighbor, the blustery Mr.
Wolfarth, came rushing into the light saying, "where'd those bastards go?!"
He lived closer to the action than I even, so I couldn't help wondering where
he had been up to then.  

As it turns out, the whole thing began because Mr. V. had heard the boys
swearing and had gone out to try and get them to stop--smart move Mr. V.

Anyway, here is the dilemma.  I think I did the right thing probably.  No
question about helping Mr. Vestal, but I mean I think *not* fighting was
probably the best possible scenario.  The problem is that with my MA training,
I think I would have behaved differently.  I'd have pasted that asshole.
Frankly I would have enjoyed it.  I would have enjoyed slicing his head off in
front of his friends and making them eat his ears--sorry, this is how I feel.
My anger at their behavior is profound.   Now that I am trained, my instincts
have degraded in other words.  I feel that I must return to an old mental
state, where I place the highest priority on peace.  Actually I think I still
honor that value, but I sometimes fear that my ego will get the better of me
in a similar situation one day, and that I won't do as well.  On the other
hand, perhaps I was just acting in the flow of the tao, and perhaps my actions
were at the time fully appropriate, and perhaps I will be able to do the same
in the future if only I am able to reign in my ego and tune into tao.  One
thing I am sure of, my "Ghengis Khanian" reaction is inappropriate in any case
I believe.  

Life is so weird.

To this day I wonder if Mr. V (yep, he's still among the living) thinks that I
was in it with those guys...