And as I looked into Christopher’s eyes, my eyes locked into his and hundreds of years of brutal torture unmasked itself. I could hear the ignorant whisper “black” echoing deep in my ear, a bullet whirring, whizzing and then careening with a dull thud.
Looking deeply, I saw pain, torture, and hunger; I felt fear, neglect, and abandonment; and I heard dogs barking and screams … screams so loud, terrifying, and wrenching that I could hardly keep the tears from welling up in my eyes. I could see it. I could feel it. I could hear it.
And as I looked into Christopher’s eyes, I saw his face change and cloud over, and the faces of all his ancestors took shape and I saw them looking back at me. I saw them lynched and hanging from trees, and I saw that they had continued to live in all who came after them, and I knew in that instant that we, the white people, had learned nothing, I realized that we could never really understand all that had taken place.
And as I looked into Christopher’s eyes, my heart became heavy with the knowledge that all the Southern whispers, “black,” carry on the torture and pain. I realized in that moment that I would not have been the peaceful activists I so admire and study. I would not have been Martin Luther King, Jr., Maya Angelou, Thich Nhat Hanh, Gandhi, or Chief Seattle. No, I would have been Malcolm X, and I would have been carrying a sub-machine gun. I would have been filled with rage. I would have been screaming from mountaintops. I would have been rioting, and I would have been killed. But, it would have proved nothing.
No, through the teachings of the little Vietnamese monk, I have learned that I already am all of these people, and more; that we are all connected, that fear breeds terror, and that compassion breeds understanding.
And as I looked into Christopher’s eyes, I saw that only through nonviolent and compassionate seeing, eating, and walking are we able to teach others. That it is only by looking deeply, becoming mindful, and seeing the connectedness of all things that we come to understand and to help others understand. And as I looked into Christopher’s eyes, these things came to rest in my heart.
Maybe by looking deeper into Christopher’s eyes I would be able to see what preceded the violence, fear, and horror, be able to look back to the beginning -- before the white man took matters into his own hands and thought he had the right to own another man.
And maybe by looking even deeper into Christopher’s eyes I would understand that when the ignorant person whispers the word “black” it is out of an ignorance and fear so deep that it is still unknown to them, still a secret to them.
I now see all these things, as I look into Christopher’s eyes.