Rage Farm

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Lately, I have been getting in touch with my rage, the newest visitor who can't seem to take a hint no matter how many times I tell him to go away, I'm really busy right now. I wish I could say that I have been getting in touch with really cool long lost friends with good publishing connections or my ability to manifest a million dollars while eating glazed donuts. But no. After years of being nice and sweet and agreeable in order to keep the peace, win friends and influence people, bloody hell is breaking loose.

Imagine this: I'm sitting there innocently trying to get my way or demurely control something or pleasantly nail down the future and it doesn't go the way I think it could or should and then SUDDENLY I have 3 heads that are all on fire spinning simultaneously. 

It's really not convenient.  Not at all. 

Though I must confess, going into a rage, like getting shit faced or caught up in a violent storm feels REALLY REALLY GOOD for about .0002 seconds. And then it doesn't feel good at all. It feels like coming to after a terrible blackout. In the aftermath of a tornado. With your head on fire.

I wish I could just go to a Rage Farm for a couple of months and get it all out of my system, returning only when I feel nice and sweet and clean again. But it's not happening that way. 

It's happening in the middle of one of the best years of my life. It's happening 17 years sober. It's happening in the midst of doing some work on myself I thought would be a little easier to swallow. I thought I knew about riding out roller coasters of emotion but those must have been the kiddie rides. Rage seems to bubble up from a deeper level, a hot molten core attached to getting to know who I really am underneath the person I thought I was.

I'd like to figure out exactly how to circumvent or dispel this stage of my development but I haven't yet. Other than my sponsor's totally horrible, unhelpful, no-good suggestion that she repeats every time I ask her what to do: "Go sit down and feel your feelings and let them pass through," she says.

"But what do I DO?"  I ask, confused.

"That is doing something," she says.

I want a more concrete answer, one that clearly shows how'll I get from A to B. A= homicidal maniac and B= cool, calm, collected 40 year old woman you might even mistake for Mother Teresa. Sitting with my rage just seems like a terrible idea. Sit next to the ax-murderer on the bus? Sit next to the terrorist on the plane? No, I want to run like hell. But my rage keeps chasing me down, winning. What do you do when the person you're trying to outrun lives inside your self? 

I have to fight differently I guess, and I'm afraid that means not fighting at all. I'm afraid it means learning to sit with my inner Kali so I can learn what she wants me to know. And as long as that doesn't mean ending up with the same necklace of 50 human heads she has, maybe I'm ready to learn. 

Valley HaggardComment