Monday, March 23, 2009

3:45pm (before I can relax in the soft cafe chair and read my book)

I am so angry. I am angry at Ada, sure, but it is bigger than that. My anger sometimes feels uncontainable. It flows out, or maybe more accurately seeps. That feels apt - it seeps under the door, through cracks in the foundation, around century-old windows. I am angry at everyone, irrationally annoyed. At the substitute yoga instructor for running an overly restorative class. Angry at myself for not having a fantastic plan for the time Chris has generously placed in front of me. Angry that the cafe I have escaped to has a baby in it who keeps smiling and trying to catch my eye.

I keep saying that I want to get stuff done, but I am not sure what that is really. What do I want to get done? I want the space and energy to get things done, yes. But what ACTUALLY do I want to do? I am angry at myself for not knowing.

When it flares up, it is like a burning hole in me, in my head and my heart. Ha - psychic heartburn.

That's all we have time for today. Next time let's look into that fear we've been harboring.

** * **

Two hours later

There is no way to know what is in a stranger's heart. After putting the groceries in my car I looked up to see an older couple on the corner, maybe discussing how to carry home their groceries, when one of the man's paper bag handles broke and groceries spilled on the sidewalk. The woman makes a face I have felt myself make a thousand time, and walked off, leaving him to manage the collection and transport of two brimming bags.

I immediately felt critical of the woman for leaving the man to deal with the mess. But who knows; maybe she had just told him the bag was breaking, maybe she had offered to bear more of their shared burden, maybe she really had to pee. Why should I judge her when my own heart and actions have certainly not lived up to the heretofore unexplored standard of "blameless if viewed from half a block away by strangers."

I would like to cut myself and others a little break. Others being both strangers and my loved ones.  I want to be open to more love, want to be embraced by it. Instead I push it away and embrace my anger.

 * ** * 
Rereading this I just want to hit delete. I feel anything but angry now, at 10:!5 on Sunday evening. But it is part of my experience right now, so I won't delete it. I will just let it stand with the hope that it can remind me to let the anger slip a little to make more room for love. 

1 comment:

  1. I'm sorry for your anger. And for the lady who gasped inappropriately at your belly. And I love your belly shots. And I'm sorry I've not been reading; I've been swamped.