| I decided to take a gun class, a one-day intensive that would allow me to qualify for a concealed-carry permit. I was anxious for a week leading up to the class, and I couldn't sleep the night before.
At the shooting range, I expected to mingle with a lot of right-wing gun nuts. The training program was certified by the National Rifle Association, so I imagined it would be led by someone like Charlton Heston.
Turns out, my teacher was a young man who was as graceful as a Tai Chi master, and as cool, steady and serene as any Buddhist I've ever met. For several hours, he taught me how to keep my wits about me and handle a pistol while simulating emergency self-defense scenarios.
I shot at sheets of paper printed with a human silhouette. I aimed for the heart. I aimed for the head. I hit my targets. I was glad.
Does that make me a bad Buddhist? I don't think so. It's not that I was taking pleasure in harming some imaginary person. I was glad that I was able to follow my teacher's instructions without freezing or flipping out.
A few of my Buddhist friends were uncomfortable to hear that I took the class, and even more uncomfortable to hear that I enjoyed it. I told them that the best thing I learned was how to remove the bullets safely from a handgun. Maybe that's a skill every Buddhist should learn. |
