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Anger

MARTIN_John_Great_Day_of_His_Wrath

(John Martin: The Great Day of His Wrath-1853)

 

It feels larger than life as it rips through my body.

my heart beasts fast

my mind is turned off.

can my anger move the cement stair where I slammed my toe, even when I kick it again in retribution?

can it fix the plasma screen I broke when I saw that laughing face that I hate?

can it bring back the window I shattered to make a point to my brother as he ran off against my will?

will it repair the wooden screen door I slammed? Will it unfracture my finger that was in the frame as I slammed it? Will my anger take away my tears of shame and pain as I hide in the backyard, bleeding?

My anger is tiny, impotent. My anger cannot (move, fix, bring back, repair) DO any thing to change the world around me…save one thing:

It can show me where I need to work harder to understand others. Because when I am angry in that red hot way, that kick the box, slam the door, throw the glass way, I can be certain that I am not trying to understand anything except myself. The world will not move for my anger. If anything, it will stand stronger against me, to show me in the starkest way, where I am turning against the flow. Note to self: my anger is the smallest, least functional representation of my ability.

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(painting by H. Goltzius)

Something has been bugging me about my last post. It was in the part where I was talking about making decisions based on clarity and love and some stuff like that. This posting came right after the fight in which I blamed my partner for making my life miserable by saying everything is my fault. (Don’t loose the classic irony there.)

I have been reading stuff all my life about making these great choices based in love and clarity and saving the world one blissful choice at a time. I have a self-help book addiction. I love to make a foamy latte on a rainy day and read all about how to be a better person. It’s so great to bring a really nice self help book to the beach and get really good at getting ready to make the right choices for my life. Unfortunately, often when I’m faced with the choice on making the clarified, light n’ love filled decision, I’m being attacked. Or, I should say, I feel like I’m being attacked. Who can make loving decisions when they feel like they are being attacked?

My stomach hurts (demon babies), my heart is pounding (preparing me to fight my attacker or to run away–sending all the blood [read oxygen: what I need to think properly] away from my brain), I’m in a cold sweat (who knows what that’s about?)

All because my girlfriend asked me if I forgot to turn the dryer on.

Of course I didn’t forget! Jeez! Why do you always have to assume the worst! my brain shouts, now fully depleted of oxygen. But my biceps are poppin’. My calves are rippin’. I am ready for fightin’ or fleein.’ Neither of which work particularly well in this situation, by the way.

Where is Eckhart Tolle when you need him? And why does admitting that I made a mistake make me feel like I’m going to die? And how can I make good decisions when I’m about to die?

I’ll need to consult my books…

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