The Underdog

 

I have often thought that the Underdog Archetype should be higher up on any list of such energies. The Underdog is that ordinary person doing extraordinary things. The Underdog comes from behind and through steadfast endurance could still possibly take the prize. He/she may not be the best at what he/she does, but each one deserves to be recognized as a winner in their own right. And probably more important, we all recognize that individual because we often find him/her within ourselves.

How many times do we, in our lives, stop and whisper something like, “Why am I doing this, no one cares or even understands.” Yet, for whatever reason, we care enough to continue and often do simply because it is important to our own person and how we see ourselves and our place in the world which we inhabit. That is the energy of the Underdog, often the doings of an unsung hero. Someone who is simply an anonymous blip on the radar of others.

On the same token, we often identify with such energy. Because there are only so many positions at the top of the heap, most of us either accept, or resign ourselves, to going unnoticed. We may wish it were different, but we usually know better and proceed according to our own dictates regardless. If the only reason for doing a thing was public recognition of that, very little would ever get accomplished. And, we do recognize that experience in those around us.

Nowhere was that more apparent than on the American Idol finale last night. Kris Allen won. Did America get it wrong? I don’t think so. Yes, Adam Lambert was definitely the powerhouse vocalist throughout this past season. He also had the flash and sparkle of an already established artist on many levels. He moved onstage with Kiss and Queen as though he’d been doing it for years, while Kris Allen looked bewildered and star-struck to be standing that close to that much fame and glitter.

That did not, however, stop him from performing and making himself and his talent heard. There were a few times when he simply grinned and I thought that he knew he was going to be upstaged and didn’t care because he was there and partaking in a once in a lifetime experience. He was game despite the odds. And that  is definitely the energy of the Underdog. That willingness to go ahead and simply do what one does because it is there to do. And incredibly satisfying just in the doing of it.

American Idol is a singing competition. But, more important, it is the giving of an opportunity to someone who might not otherwise receive such a chance. Placed in the hands of a voting audience that identifies with the Underdog energy, it becomes much clearer that that audience still holds tight to the American Dream and its promise to each and every one of its citizens, no matter how tattered or faded that dream might have become. Not only that, but will put out the energy necessary to see that dream come true for one of its own.

Adam Lambert is an already proven star. Kris Allen is a hopeful. And I happen to like what that says about us as a country and a nation. I like the fact that it says we have certain ideals that we adhere to. That we recognize steadfastness and enduring effort and will reward it. That doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy and support the glamour and sparkle that occurs on occasion. But, we are also more than willing to give our support to the Underdog because we recognize that he deserves the chance to prove himself over time.

It can be and is painful to find oneself in the Underdog position. Yet, for the very reason I stated earlier, most of us are in that place. What does that really mean? It means that we have a choice to continue, or simply let go and admit defeat. We may think that giving up and quitting only affects our own personal space. That isn’t true. It affects our world and the way it functions. Our despair and depression reaches out and touches everyone we come in contact with.

And on the same token, our willingness to continue despite whatever obstacles or odds are encountered, gives hope and strength to anyone we happen to interact with. It might very well be the only ray of hope one or more of them finds in his/her daily existence. And, I think, that is the reason we voted for Kris Allen. We all want that chance, some form of that opportunity, so we gave it to another individual just because we could.

That in turn says something incredible about us. I think it says that we have heart, as well as soul.

About Bravery

In response to Claudette’s Weekly Writing Challenge #6: Bravery

#71. I am a coward. A coward is one who does not put him/herself in a place of possible danger, be that physically, mentally, or emotionally. I am terrified of heights, and I avoid them. Although I know that it is possible to overcome such fears, I make no attempt to do so on this one. I prefer to simply steer clear of high places. Which makes my life a bit difficult at times. I love the mountains and travel. Flying is an incredibly difficult thing for me to do, and I haven’t done it in years and may never do it again.

A very long time ago, I read something in a work of fiction that has stayed with me, even though I forget the title of the novel and its author. It was about being grateful for being a coward. In the book, one of the characters was facing into an extremely difficult situation and came to the conclusion that a coward is lucky to be so, because all a coward needs is courage. Courage is the ability to proceed, even knowing that the outcome is not favorable.

Sometimes when a coward hesitates to act, he/she may only be gathering courage. Acknowledging the very real fear or, even present danger. A coward always knows when he/she is being a coward. They might side-step that reality with excuses and false reasoning, but they do know. And we all have those moments of hesitation, sometimes they last too long and the opportunity is lost.

In the book, the character reasoned that only a coward needs courage and that each time he/she becomes aware of that tendency toward cowardice, what is really happening is that the individual is giving self the opportunity to choose to be courageous. Sometimes we are, sometimes we are not.

#72. I have been courageous in the past. I flew to Las Vegas and back four years ago. I flew to San Francisco and back alone, about 11 years ago. I drove through the mountains several times because if one is on a road trip and heading for Montana, one must drive through the mountains. So, although I can and do admit that I am a coward, I know that I can and have been courageous enough to overcome my fears and could do that again.

Back to the story. The character reasoned that brave people don’t need courage, they have their bravery. Bravery is the willingness to fight, no matter the odds, and do so with the conviction of ones beliefs, so one simply heads into the fray believing that one will win because one is in the right. In other words, standing up and acting is more important than the outcome, or the possible danger involved.

#73. I am brave. For me, personally, one of the bravest things any individual can do is to break their silence. Speak aloud the things that have not been said, especially when the topic has been forbidden, write about ones personal truths, and thereby, take a stand against whatever comes of it. I do that on a daily basis, each time I write.

I am exploring those things that I was taught were off-limits. Putting my need to understand first, regardless of the consequences. That is one of the reasons I can so easily admit to my cowardice. It’s real, it’s my personal truth, and it doesn’t change over time. It is who I am. Yes, I have tested those truths. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. That just makes me human.

But, I also know that there are certain topics and issues that I will not back down from, or walk away, without first saying whatever I think needs to be said. Or, write whatever words need to be written. And ironically enough, I don’t see that as bravery, I see it as a solid piece of who I am and what I know I will always stand up for.

#74. I am and will always be a student. In the story, as the character made his/her way through all of this pondering about bravery, cowardice, and courage, I applauded the reasoning, and for me, the explanation. So much so, that it became a cornerstone of my existence. It was there when I first began to write and scared myself silly at some of the things that I was writing about. It is still there today, as I worry about how well this blog will be received and if these words will be heard and understood. And it has been there every time I hear that voice in my head that says, “What will people think?”

#75. If I live my life always worried about what others might, or might not think, I will never move again. That would be complete and utter cowardice. Although I am a coward about heights, I am also aiming at wholeness. That in turn means, I am a brave coward, sometimes in desperate need of courage.

About Heart Day

 

It’s Valentine’s Day, today. As if anyone needs to be reminded. One can’t step inside a store without being hit with the colors pink, red, and white. I think there are two things I appreciate about Valentine’s Day. Those would be that it’s only one day, 24 hours, and then all that chocolate goes on sale. Chocolate remains chocolate no matter the color it is wrapped inside of.

You may have already guessed it. I’m not a fan. I try very hard to not even think about the day itself. So why am I writing about it? Maybe because I’ve kept silent all of these years and have realized that avoidance only means that I get hit twice as hard every year when I can’t sidestep the inevitable.

And before anyone says it, this is not sour grapes from a little old lady who finds herself alone. I am quite content with my lot because I myself have chosen it. That is not to say I don’t enjoy some companionship, I do. But, I have to admit, that with each year that goes by, the standards go up, not down. I have a great deal to offer and expect reciprocal dividends. That could be defined as choosy, and I would have to agree. Why waste my time and effort on being bored or worse?

So, if its not sour grapes, what is it about this day that rankles? The first thing that comes to mind is that anyone who needs a specific day to remember the one, or ones, that they love, might be better off seeking out a different definition for that word. One that includes the ideas of constancy, continuity, and enduring over time. One that also includes the idea that the love alone is the only gift that really counts or has any meaning. And although the candy, flowers, and jewelry are nice, if one needs them to know that one is loved, one is in deep do-do.

Another reason for my out of season bah-humbug attitude is the expectations such a day creates, and often deflates, leaving in their stead self-doubts and tons of depression and insecurity. I would wager to guess that more individuals are made inescapably aware of their loneliness by this day, than its opposite promises, even though we all understand that this is commercialism at its extreme.

Last week, I went shopping with my sister. Of course, we had to walk through the aisles, strategically placed I might add, filled to overflowing with red cellophane, heart shaped boxes, and pink teddy bears. I found myself telling my sister that the really and truly best shopping day of the year is the one after Valentine’s Day when all that chocolate goes down to half price or less. That got me a side glance that spoke volumes.

I’m pretty sure her thoughts were along the lines of the sour grapes I mentioned above. What she doesn’t know perhaps, is that although I was married for twenty years, I seldom received gifts or cards on that one day a year when I should have rightfully expected to. What’s more, the occasional ones I did receive were obviously hasty last minute grabs that had nothing to do with the person I was and am. The cards were always oversized and included awful syrupy poetry that had nothing to do with the real life we were living and never included even one apology for the physical and emotional abuse that became a routine experience within that life.

What’s more, if I did receive a box of chocolates, they weren’t the kind I really prefer and usually came with a direct quote, “If you can possibly keep it down to one a day, you shouldn’t gain too much more weight.” Ah, love. And he actually thought that was what he was displaying. He is extremely fortunate that I was more concerned with being gracious back then, than in letting him wear his ‘love’ for all the world to see. That certainly wouldn’t occur now.

I guess what I am trying to say is that if love is not given on a regular basis, why make it a one day affair? Doesn’t that make love nothing more than an obligation, or worse, a joke? I would have much preferred an eagerness to sit down and quietly converse, actually speaking of the things and feelings that were important to both, or either of us. I would have much preferred a helping hand in the kitchen or with the kids rather than the judgments of how poorly I was doing as a wife, mother, and human being.

And yes, I know that all these things have been said before. Probably by far more women then men. Yet, every year, I find that I must face this 24 hours and am tired of being silent about it. What it does to people who yearn for even one person to remember them on this day, and we all yearn for that. Wouldn’t it be nice if instead of dithering about which one of the teddy bears is the ‘right’ one, several people purchased five of them and then sent them randomly to unknown names found in the phone book?

That kind of gift, without rhyme or reason, could go a long way toward making a better world. A happier, and perhaps more loving one. As it is, tomorrow will be the biggest sale of the year on chocolate. That’s something to look forward to. What’s more, I’ll know exactly who purchased it, for what reason, and why she gave it to me.

Letting It All Go

 

Have you ever noticed how easy it is to let go of some things? Yet, almost impossible to let go of others? Take personal disciplines, for example. If you’ve been doing it for years and the discipline has become second nature to engage in, one can feel lost and completely out of sorts when that discipline is skipped even one time and for completely valid reasons. On the other hand, a newly chosen discipline, even when it is working excellently and gaining whatever goal it was intended to facilitate, can slip through our fingers faster than a greased substance of any kind.

A diet and weight loss is one such discipline. There is an incredible amount of energy used to sustain such a discipline because it must be done each day without let up. It is an ongoing thing and one that begs to be let go of on almost every day, sometimes every moment of every day. It is just plain hard work. Even when it has been wildly successful.

Thirty years ago, I went on a food plan and joined a weight loss program. No one was more startled or amazed than myself when I actually hit my goal weight. It took over a year, and each day was a battle against old habits and temptations that occurred at least three times a day. I managed to maintain the loss for almost three years, give or take a few pounds here and there. But then something happened. My dog died.

I know that sounds like a flimsy excuse at best, but I came apart in pieces. The dog was my emotional support and he was suddenly gone. I cried, of course, but then found that I couldn’t stop crying. And eventually I reverted back to my primary coping mechanism which was eating. Carbohydrates are heavy, heavy enough to hold down and suppress ones emotions. I stopped crying eventually, but the food program had gone out the window along with the scale and all the other paraphernalia, mainly the mind set and willingness necessary to continue.

Now, it’s thirty some years later and I have lived long enough to see just the opposite occur. I have made a lot of changes in my life and attitudes, and my daily living experiences over the past two years. I have put on several new disciplines which I partake in on a daily basis. And whallah, as I have found emotional satisfaction, spiritual and mental growth, the weight has simply melted away without any particular effort on my part.

Ah, but I am back at that place where the temptation is strong to let go of all of it. To let it slip on occasion, here and there, and I do know the danger and recognize all of the symptoms. Strangely enough, it isn’t any easier being happy, then it was being thin. Actually, it’s even harder at the moment, because I am both happy and almost thin to boot. Talk about a sudden greased slide appearing at ones feet without any fore warning or indications of its presence.

There are a few things that are helping me sustain both the contentment and the weight loss. One of them is the very real mental image of where I was to begin with. It isn’t hard to remember that not all that long ago, I was a couch potato, sitting in the living room, watching American Idol, reading non-stop, sometimes during the commercials, lol. That’s not a place I want to go back to, ever.

Yes, I got something very important from that reality. It got me up and out of the chair, and eventually even out of the books I was constantly reading. It propelled me into this place in which I now exist and don’t want to lose. But there are other things that also help me to stay in this place. My own strong desire to continue my own journey, if for no other reason than to see where it will all take me. I’m not done yet, and it would be such a shame to leave this new path and all of its promise, for what? An easy chair?

There are all of the new friends I have made. If I let go of this place, I would have to let go of them as well. And they have so much to teach me, and I have so much to give in return. It wouldn’t just hurt me, but others, and that is something I try to avoid at all cost.

But the most important thing that keeps me from letting go and sliding down that greased chute is my journal. It keeps me aware and alert. Let’s me know what I am really thinking and feeling. Allows me to actually see the danger I am in. And that danger is very real. My physical health depends on my maintaining the weight loss through control of my diet. My spiritual and emotional health and well being depends on my continued efforts to maintain these new disciplines I have put into place. And by the way, I didn’t actually know or define them as such when I put them in place.

My journal however, carried that message and made sure I finally comprehended it. And its blank pages keep asking a very simple but complex question. Why would I choose to give this all up? To once again become a couch potato? Because its so much easier to be a couch potato. A couch potato who wouldn’t be aware of that greased chute until she hit the bottom with a horrendous thud and probably a completely broken existence. Ah, now there’s a very real mental image.

Reality is, I would have to give up my very best friend in order to really let go of any or all of this new life I have created. That would be me, me and the journal that keeps me aware and alert with a desire to continue.

What Did You Say?

We all know there is a difference between hearing and listening. We can hear a thing many times before we  understand what is being said. When we actually listen, we hear on a different level. I believe that people who write on a regular basis, are better listeners, at least that has been my experience. One of the reasons I began writing was because I had a desire to be heard, really listened to. The biggest surprise in that, was that I actually began to hear what I myself was saying. The main purpose of this blog is to encourage others to do the same, and for the same reason.

As a consequence of that, I take time to visit different blogs and read them. I know that my desire to be heard is far from unique. Anyone who writes for whatever reason, shares that same desire on some level. So, I have a tendency to leave comments to let the individual know I heard what was said. And yes, I go back to see if they heard me, and am glad when that is the reality. It is also why I encourage people who keep a journal to go back and read what they have written. Because if one doesn’t truly listen, one may never learn, or understand, what is being said, especially by ones own person.

I’ve already discussed how easy it is to dismiss or ignore the thoughts in our own heads. That can readily extend to the words we write. If we are in the habit of not hearing our own words when they are spoken, we may go through the motions of putting them on paper and not be paying attention. Our thrust may be toward being heard, more so than to listen. There must be a balance in all things. A giving and receiving, and nowhere is that more important than with our self. One of the simplest exercises to do to discover just how little, or how much balance, we own in that arena, is to write ten times, “I am a writer”, on a piece of paper. Write it with a pen, preferably a pen with dark ink in it. And while you are doing that little exercise, listen to what is going on in your head. Do it right now, I’m more than willing to wait.

Did you hear the Censor kick in? “How dare you say that sort of thing?” Maybe the Editor, or the Lady With White Gloves, come to inspect the job you are doing? “You might want to put a number in front of each of those statements so you don’t lose count,” or, “You didn’t cross the T in the word writer, and your lines aren’t particularly straight, or very readable.” Maybe the Drill Sargeant, “Listen buster, she said ten times, why are you just sitting there, move it, move it!” Mommy Dearest, “Oh honey, this is all sort of silly don’t you think? Why frustrate yourself so, why not go take a nice nap and when you get up, you’ll feel so much better and we can go shopping. There’s this darling little blue dress…” How about the Older Brother, or Sister, “Listen, you idiot, you can’t be a writer, you don’t have anything worthwhile saying, nothing anyone would want to hear, anyway.” And so on, and so forth.

I have done this exercise many times, and never once have I been able to complete all ten statements without hearing the voice/s of resistance rise up, trying to stop me from completing it. It’s such a simple little exercise, but it gets really difficult, real fast, even for those of us who have been writing for years. That repetitive action of repeating those words, again and again, is a lot like carving it in stone, isn’t it? Making some sort of life-long commitment that can’t be walked away from, or ignored. It’s a statement of fact, no question about it, and it doesn’t leave room for questions. Lots of room for resistance, though, which often comes in the form of questions.

At the beginning of this article, I spoke of the difference between hearing and listening. We can choose to do both at any time. Be aware, however, that the choice of either one or the other, is definitely a choice. If we only hear the drone of the words, the tone of the voice, we are apt to never really get the message. If we make an effort to listen to the words, what they are saying, the message can be interpreted far more easily and with a lot less time. Especially when that message is coming from inside of you. It might make you cry or laugh, hug yourself in glee, or throw your hands in the air with total exasperation, but it can and will change whatever step you are in the process of taking. It will alter the barometer of the feelings with which you proceed, thereby altering any and all outcomes.

How much do you listen to those varied voices in your head? Are they so familiar that you don’t even hear the words anymore? Just shrug your shoulders, let the Pessimist tell you, “that’s just how it is, and its not worth doing anything about, cause things are never going to change anyway?” Maybe it’s time to cultivate some new ones. How about the Staunch Supporter, “Hey, you are doing just fine, I really love what you are saying,” or that Best Friend, “Wow, that was fun, wasn’t it? When can we do it again?” Maybe a bit of the Wild Child, “If you say it this way, you’ll have em running, lol,” or Little Brother or Sister, “ahhh, you know that he can’t say anything without using way too many words and I like your stuff way better.” I think those all sound somewhat like that Best Rainy Day Friend we all need to sit alongside of us, that one who leans in, doesn’t ask, “What did you say?” But, says instead, “Boy, I hear you on that one. What you wanna do about it, and when do we start?”

9/11 A Loss of Innocence

This is my journal entry from earlier this morning:

Anniversary of 9/11 today. Just writing out those numbers brings back the memory of that morning, turning on the TV, and watching in stricken horror as that plane curved around and aimed itself at the tower and then hit it. How the film was replayed again and again until the majority of viewers were dealing with some form of shock or trauma as the images penetrated to an untold depth that still remains all of these years later. I remember sitting alone, tears rolling down my face, trying to comprehend what I was seeing, trying also to push away the reality at the same time. Not wanting to know that the world I knew had just been altered irrevocably.

Far too wounded to reach out to anyone, I sat there lost in reaction, for at least an hour. Tuning out the voices of the commentators, watching that looping film clip over and over again, finally knowing that the outcome wouldn’t change, and no one would say that it was a hoax of some sick Orson Welles wannabe. It was real, it was true, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same.

The Nation, of which I was a citizen, had lost it’s innocence, had entered into a grief process that would shake it to its core. We would slowly work our way through the stages of grief: denial, anger, blame, bargaining, and eventually a re-commitment to life. Would we ever truly heal or recover? And all those individuals, family members who must pick up the pieces of shattered lives, how would they fair? And the numbers just kept mounting.

The depth of my own personal reaction came days later, as I was driving down the highway, to run some errand. I looked out my windshield and saw a plane in the sky and immediately ducked my head and began to pull over to the side of the road in fear. Then remembered that I had heard that airplanes would once again be allowed to fly. Couldn’t help but wonder how many thousands of others had a similar response to that first glimpse of silver moving through blue, a common ordinary image that had now been changed, perhaps forever.

We have gone on, as we must. But a moment of silence, an allowance for memory to honor those who were lost, and those who experienced that loss, seems an absolute necessity this morning. Nothing else will do.

Didn’t have any idea about what I would write this morning, but it certainly wasn’t the above. Yet, as soon as I typed in those numbers, I was flung back in time to that first moment of awareness. My first response was to struggle against it, but then decided to go with whatever was going on. I did. And I’m glad that I did. Although a painful thing more times than not, a loss of innocence isn’t necessarily a bad thing. That is not to say that 9/11 wasn’t an absolutely devastating and horrible experience. It was, is, in untold ways that may still be occurring, in the dark silence of our inner workings. It certainly is doing that within my own person.

But innocence is ignorance, a lack of knowledge and experience. To consciously and deliberately give it up is one thing, to have it ripped away by unknown hands is quite another. Yet, the consequence to both is the same. A new form of knowing and understanding. With that new understanding of how the world really works, we are given the opportunity to either destroy or create a different world and environment. One that is either based in compassion born of worked through resolution, or hatred, and the corresponding actions that stem from one or the other.

Which one have you chosen?

 

How We Know What We Know

There are two primary ways in which we come to know whatever we know. These two avenues often seem like a two-way highway with occasional entrance and exit ramps where we can rest, maybe even loiter for an hour or two, but then get back on the highway, always careful when we choose to pass other vehicles in our path (at least one hopes this is done with care).

The first of these two paths is Objective Avenue. It is a step-by-step manner of building our knowing, taking exit 1, then 2, then 3, and finally arriving at our destination 4, where we know what we set out to know, or understand. It is the process of Logic, where one thing leads to the next and is not distracted by the greenery and mountainous landscape of Feelings. Logic could be seen as a teeming metropolis, overcrowded, even exciting, always filled with further movement, and even more logic. Pure Logic can be a very heady business, but it definitely snubs all those other avenues where the main thoroughfare is Subjective Lane.

Subjective Lane is the second path to knowing, and as its name suggests, it is far more relaxed, meanders through, often loiters at points of interest, sometimes even failing to arrive at any hoped for destination. That’s because it is built on a mountain called Association, where we travel, guided only by the map of our senses: imagery, taste, touch, hearing, etc. But don’t let Subjective Lane fool you into thinking you’re on vacation. It is teeming with even more life than Objective Avenue, hidden behind such things as Memory Hill, Dreams of Another Life, Smells That Wrinkle the Nose, and all such places. It might be a lazy back country lane, but it often abruptly turns into a graveled surface that kicks up dust, and obliterates the ability to see clearly.

The trick is to know that both of these paths lead directly, or otherwise, to the place we call Knowing, or Understanding. That’s the place the majority of us truly want to be. These two paths are forever entwined, braided in and through one another, usually open to further suggestions from both. Have you ever heard someone say, “Well, I didn’t so much think it, as see it, feel it, you know?” There are those who believe that thinking and feeling are the same, interchangeable. They aren’t. One is a step-by-step thought process, the other is linked directly to our senses and the associations that those senses create when stimulated.

Both paths are essential because they utilize and inform one another. Sometimes they do that by arguing with one another, and can even get into a knock down, dragged out brawl, that leaves the individual exhausted and sorely in need of a rest from both. Other times, one knows a thing is true, can see the Logic of it all because one has Subjectively lived through an experience that validates, underlines the reality of that truth. The opposite is also real, there are those experiences that suddenly make us aware of the Logic within the situation, the ‘rightness’ of the thing itself.

Now for the reason behind this little travelogue. Language is a function of the Logic aspect of our brain. However, most times we don’t think in words, we see the thought in images provided by our Senses, Association. To interpret, and more important, to express it, we must use Language, thus Logic. And around and around she goes, constantly. If that were not so, we wouldn’t be breathing, reading this, or trying to understand it. We’d be dead, no more than roadkill.

When we write on a regular basis, we place ourselves within easy reach, and actually on both of those Avenues mentioned above. And both of those Avenues readily respond guiding us through major traffic jams, and delivering us to our appointed destination. Not each and every time, but each and every time brings us closer to where we want to be and definitely facilitates our eventually getting there. It could be seen as the difference between hitting red stop lights at each intersection, and getting the green light all the way through downtown traffic. Which do you prefer?

Most of us prefer one of those Avenues to the other, at the risk of losing a more fully comprehended understanding. Those who stick with Subjective Lane, risk getting tied up in knots and possible insanity. Those who perfer the Interstate action of Objective Avenue, risk becoming completely detached from the color, vibrancy, and smell of real life, drifting toward some form of parallel to it, but not ever really understanding it, or living it. Again, which do you prefer?

Do you diss your feelings? Say they aren’t important? Shake your head at anything logical because it doesn’t take real ‘life’ into account? Writing allows you to explore both while using both, even after putting down the pen, or shutting off the computer. It actually is a simple bridge between the two and often leads to a clearer map with well appointed markings for direction. Yes, we all make wrong turns at one time or another, but if you’ve been writing, you also have the ability to go back, read, and find out just where you made that right, instead of left turn, and put yourself back on the track called Knowing. It is always your choice.

Anger As Energy Flow

        I have done my part, and whatever happens, will simply happen. But it will only happen at my choosing. That knowledge alone, is worth the few tears I shed.  ___quoted from last post

After years of words that were not understood, or worse, misunderstood, I have learned to choose my words carefully. That sentence:  But it will only happen at my choosing, was written deliberately and with thought. For many years, I held my anger deep inside because it was inappropriate, unseemly, foolish, or just plain wrong. Or so I had been taught. And in turn, I thought I was all those things because I felt them. It took me years to fully understand that feelings are feelings, a barometer to let me know what the temperature is in my environment at any given moment. A simple gage, that allows me to access the information I need to be able to choose how I want to respond inside of that situation. Obviously, as a child, I jumped to the conclusion that if anger spoken was wrong, bad, or not okay, then silence would be the only way to deal with it.

Although a childish, therefore only partial solution, it still remains one of my choices. A good one in the appropriate situation, even as an adult. Let me explain. Anger is an energy flow provided by the system to allow for action. It is not bad, good, and hardly indifferent. It is simply the energy we need to either stand and fight, or to flee and save further action for another day. As an energy flow, it can be either destructive or constructive, used to end the threat that caused it, or build, create something new in its stead. And that is where the matter of choice comes forward. I can either choose to scream as insanely as the idiot who is pissing me off, or I can walk away and conserve the energy for something more creative in the future. Why waste the energy, especially at my age, when it comes as a priceless commodity? Ahhhh, the things I have learned by keeping a journal.

Pain is a threat to the system. As such it produces anger, the energy flow to combat the threat in whatever manner we choose. In my last blog, I wrote about a deep wound that I had uncovered, and allowed myself to revisit on the page, and in private. I even stated that I was consciously aware that it was only a first step in the process I have been learning by writing regularly. I woke up yesterday morning with a depth of anger that might easily match that of Mt. Vesuvius on her best days. Acting on it, was out of the question. It meant that I might very well explode at everyone and everything that crossed my path. Although satisfying in the moment perhaps, releasing the steam, could do damage to me and to others as well.

I acknowledged the anger, but then went on with the day I had already planned that centered around several different creative outlets. I didn’t bury it, simply put it on a shelf where I could easily see and even use it for other purposes. And I did just that. I changed the look of this blog space to one of my original design. Not the one I ultimately want here, because that one will take more time and effort, but an inter-um image that tells me this is now my space. I chatted with a friend, and even took a nap. I read some things in a very good book, which has a great deal of information (synchronistically speaking) about the hard work that must take place after uncovering buried memories and the very real emotional storm they produce.

Before I went to bed, I had a telephone conversation with a friend. At the end of the conversation I told her I needed to go write a poem that was waiting for me to find it. She laughed and said two words that became the poem I wrote in the following half hour. It is one of the better pieces I have written in a long time. And it includes some of the images and feelings from that original unspeakable pain. It is actually a love poem, addressed to someone very important to me. For me, it was the best use of that anger energy I had encountered that morning. Not destructive, or explosive, but contained, controlled, and ultimately, far more satisfying than any other choice I could or would have made.

There was a time when I would have written down those angry feelings in graphic detail. That does work. However, I knew intuitively, also based in past experience, that that can backfire as well. Sometimes the writing is like poking at the anger, watching it to see what happens, releasing some of its fumes into the air I breathe. Other times it can be an incredibly soothing release and answer for pent up emotions that have no other place to live and would become destructive if left inside. That again, is a matter of choice to be engaged in by the individual in individual circumstances, learned through experience, and the growing of discernment. Sorry, it all takes time.

What do you do with your anger? Let it possess you, corrode you from the inside out? Do you confront it and how? By letting it drip from your lips, or explode like uncontrollable and flammable chemicals that are corrosive to your own and others’ environments? Do you struggle with it, like I have done, or throw up your hands in defeat and let it fly wherever, or bury it in the hopes that it might not hurt anyone, but especially you? These are just questions you might want to investigate on paper with pen. Until next time…