“God damn me!” I thought to myself today.
We had such a splendid fight today, Chris and I, and I was so right! Oh, I was so sure of it, too, sitting in my studio, mulling over what he said and what his problem was and how he screwed up and how he really needs to grow up!
Oh I was angry. That should have been a tip, it should have been a sign. But it was not. Because I was right.
I was right when we were having dinner, too. Not angry anymore, but still full of confidence in my judgements and assertions and, as we talked, Chris and I, the anger begun to creep back in and … and this time I noticed. I noticed that something was off. This time, when Chris asked: “why are you getting so angry?” I stopped.
I stopped. The anger rolled in my belly. It hurt. It hurt and I wanted to throw it out, to scream it, to act it. Held, contained, it clawed at my stomach, it pounded at my head, inside. But I held it, I contained it.
I did not want to, oh God I did not want to! It would have been so much easier, so infinitely easier to shield myself with righteousness, with denial, with blame and accusations.
But I held it. I contained it. And I looked.
I looked to see where it came from, why it happened, what it was.
Why? Why did I go through this pain, why did I deny myself the relief of unconsciousness? The bliss of ignorance? Honestly I don’t know.
There is no “why”. I simply must see. I simply must be aware. What is in me, what arises must be seen clearly. It must be acknowledged for what it is. It cannot be hidden. It cannot be pushed aside. It cannot be left unattended.
Because this is what I am.