On Anger

There are days like today when what I feel more than anything is anger. Allowing anger to motivate -- indeed, control -- my thoughts and actions goes against what I speak about and hope to achieve within myself. This shortfall, in itself, is enervating for me; I get mad about being mad.

I grow defensive and rigid. I brace myself against anticipated assaults. I steel my gaze, my mouth draws tight and my heart hardens.

I recognize that on whatever level, I've chosen to be angered by the telemarketer, the man at the gym who's hogging the machine I want to use, the woman in traffic who is talking on her cell phone and, in her inattention, doesn't allow me to turn. It's my choice to let the dog's yapping irritate me, to get riled at the preening politician going on about the Occupy movement or a preacher on TV who's claiming things about being gay that aren't true.

I look at people and, rather than seeing each as a child of God, I dehumanize them, viewing them as a series of threats and inconveniences.

I often tweet spiritual quotes, Bible and Qu'ran verses on peace, and the like. Not long ago, I tweeted a quote from Buddha -- "You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger." While I hope this advice is useful to others, in this instance it was directed at myself. Setting up the world such that everyone and everything I encounter is a threat is the worst punishment I could levy. It's like signing up to be a victim of terrorism where I am the terrorist!

I'm convinced that many of us deal with this on an ongoing basis. We wake each morning and prepare ourselves for battle, never mind whether it's necessary or even useful on a given day. We're armed to the teeth and ready to fight.

As I sit here, in this condition, I'm aware that it's quite literally eating me alive. So I take a few breaths. That helps. I get up and close the door to the room so I am alone. This, too, helps. My dog comes and sits by me, close enough that we share warmth, but leaving me my autonomy. I feel a little heart-swell of gratitude toward her, the beginnings of what I want to feel more generally.

We know meditation helps us de-escalate. We know prayer (meditation's more assertive cousin?) is useful as well. But I have a damned hard time getting myself to sit down and do either. Fury is so much quicker, and it's seductive. It tells me I'm at odds with the world, that I'm right and the world is wrong. But this is a lie. I'm merely shadow-boxing. And the sooner I can get that through my thick head, the more solidly I'll be back on the path I wish to travel.

Step one for me? Don't simply create the sort of quiet space I just described.

The key is to quit fighting the anger. Simply let it be. The anger will melt as it loses its relevance.

Wow. Hard work.