I scoff. “Merl.” My tone is warning. Don’t pretend like you believe in messages from God.
“Rida is hardly the first person to think the divine spoke to her.”
“You’re right, lots of people have hallucinations.” I laugh. “Mine are more of the thunderstorm variety, but hey, who am I to judge other people’s visions?” I throw up my hands.
“I know you’ve always had issues with organized religion,” Merl says. “And I understand your grievances. Religious belief has spawned some of the worst atrocities in human history.”
“Most of them,” I argue. “More often than not, when humans do something horrendous to each other on a large scale, religion is involved. From Biblical times to 9/11 and beyond.”
“When humans are involved, so will be their beliefs. We cannot be separated from the stories we tell ourselves. Whether that’s about the nature of our reality, our existence, or our society. Rida was trying to tell a new story. And it seems like she did a pretty amazing job…”
“But you don’t believe her story, do you?”
“I believe women should have as much of a say in society as men. That patriarchy is bad for all of us and needs to be dismantled.”
“Her method, though, it…my…” I fall silent, trying to find why I have such prejudice against Rida’s movement. “It’s manipulation.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not empowering if you think affirmation comes from outside yourself.” I stumble through my thoughts trying to piece them together. “Can’t women just be worthy without a deity proclaiming it? Can’t it just be true? Why do we always have to look outside ourselves for affirmation?”
Merl doesn’t answer right away. His gaze is on the sand as we continue to walk. “I won’t point out how you’ve just made my point for me,” he says.
“Isn’t not pointing it out the same as pointing it out in this situation?” I grumble, seeing his very annoying point that change begins from within.
“It’s adjacent,” he says with a smile. “In Buddhism,” he continues, changing the subject, “there is no deity outside of ourselves.”
“There also isn’t any excuse for violence, right?”
Merl shakes his head. “No, humans can always find an excuse for violence.” I laugh and it comes out hollow. Merl smiles over at me. “The Buddhists invented kung fu, after all. The Shaolin monks’ training turns them into powerful warriors—both physically and mentally.”
“Right,” I say. “But isn’t one of the tenets nonviolence?”
“Yes,” Merl agrees. “But self-defense has always been allowed.”
“Allowed by who?” I question. “If there is no deity outside yourself, then who is allowing you to commit violence to defend yourself?”
“I guess it’s just a choice.” Merl smiles over at me.
The day has gone pink with dusk and the light makes everything gauzy and beautiful. It’s easy to stand here in this remote paradise and talk about violence. It’s easy to be separate from all that pain and suffering—to judge it from afar.
But when we are in the midst of turmoil, in the darkest depths of grief, infused with pain, there is no perspective. Violence so often calls out to us as the only option, the only answer.
And from this cotton candy beach it’s easy to judge a religion that preaches nonviolence yet develops fighting systems. “Merl,” I say, sounding tired and beaten. “What can we do?”
Merl shakes his head. “I don’t know, Sydney.” His smile seems to know something, though.
I knock my shoulder into his. “Come on. You always have the answers.”
He laughs. “I know lots of things. But how to completely reorder society, sorry, I don’t have the playbook for that.” He pauses for a moment and then continues. “Sometimes I wonder why we ever started growing our own food.”
“What?” I ask, confused. “The island is isolated, Merl, it just makes sense.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I didn’t mean us, as in Joyful Justice on this island. I meant humans. Why did we decide to start cultivating food, stop being nomadic. Why did we give up the hunter-gatherer lifestyle?”
“Oh…isn’t it easier?” I let out a short laugh. “The amount I know about the hunter-gatherer lifestyle and how we evolved into modern humans is…well…basically zero. But I know Rida believed that is when the subjugation of women began…I imagine it was a slippery slope. Not just that one morning women lost their voice.”
Merl nods. “So maybe it will be a slippery climb to get it back.”
Or maybe we just burn down the mountain…
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dan’s room is dark—the only light the blue glow of his computer monitors. He’s on the tenth floor, same as us, just down the hall in fact. A tech genius with a penchant for illegal surveillance and the skills to back up his passions, Dan has made sure that his hospital bed is surrounded by rolling desks with all his computer gear on it. He lies in the bed with his leg suspended. It is healing well, according to the doctor, even if his heart seems pretty much shattered.
“Merl!” he says, a big smile overtaking his handsome face.
“Dan.” Merl’s voice is warm and his own smile as broad.
Dan pushes back one of the rollaway desks and shifts. His suspended leg makes movement awkward, but Merl leans over and they manage to hug and even do that manly pat on the back thing. “Great to see you,” Merl says.
“You too.” Dan grins. “It’s been too long.” His gaze travels to Merl’s dogs, who followed us into the room and are now sitting behind him. “Hey guys,” Dan says. Their tails wag.
I turn on a lamp, shifting the light in the room to something normal. “Your eyes are going to give out on you,” I say.
“I have blue light blockers on my screens.” Dan grins at me—his expression all mischievous little boy.
