Discord motivates the morning walk. I’ve been wronged, I mutter to myself and feel the heat rising in my body. Heat and I march around the corner, up the asphalt path, through the neighborhood. Heat and I interchange words, thoughts, feelings, convicted to our anger.
We pass through the alley and approach the cottonwood-lined canal, step up to the opening in the old wire fence. Tip-toe through the silty, muddy bottom and back up, following the trail. Trail leads us through lifeless gray shale that manages to host a few spiney shrubs. Heat and I still reciprocating our infinity loop of wrath.
We approach the first ridge, where we have a look-around. Snow-covered mesa east, desert hills north, skyline west, and red sandstone cliffs south, where the trail takes us. Heat and I still attached to the perceived wrong. We reanalyze the event and Heat swells. We rationalize and justify rage. We ascend the crest, turn east, where we notice …
Grandmother Tree
We stop in our tracks. A wakefulness descends. Heat melts away. I sit under Grandmother Tree on a bed of pine needles. A balmy breeze encircles my face, and early morning sunrays sprinkle into my eyes.
Grandmother Tree embalms me with wisdom, her wisdom. I am soothed by her strength, her tenacity.
I melt into her. Tears swell.
Grandmother Tree ever so softly says this:
We fear and avoid Anger, so we don’t listen to its call… we let it sit around, it builds up steam, becomes rancid, and like rancid butter becomes a destructive force.
This is what gives Anger a bad name.
In the beginning, Anger looks out for us. It rightly informs of an injustice and simply desires resolution by asserting what is wrong and what is needed to right that wrong.
Listen to your Anger. What does Anger want you to assert?
