July was an angry month. Maybe it was Mars retrograde or Sun in Cancer or Earth in freaking freakout mode but I felt like at any moment I might smash the TV, rip out its still-flickering electric heart, eat it, and turn into a crazy transformer, roaring ferociously as the the ground split open and swallowed every fragment of corruption, greed, and hatred in a flash of rainbow light.
Alas, I’m not a superhero and I don’t like hospitals, so I asked a mentor for advice instead. She said, “Anger is unprocessed grief.”
“Good grief,” I thought. “Really? Still? All I do is process. I'm tired of processing! When will it be over?!”
*sob*
Apparently life is a process. Living is processing... and there is much to process. Endless waves of joy and sorrow, e-motions that seek to move through us if we’d just let them move.
I turned off the news and I cried. For the children. For the planet. For Nia Wilson. For the talking heads I want to smash and for all the bodies I cannot save. For so much that I love.
It’s easy to get sucked into anger, but anger doesn’t release us from the pain that's causing the anger. Our freedom is in grieving. Anger only appears powerful as it churns, a whirlpool inside us, its vortex threatening to pin us to the seafloor. When we surrender to the awesome current of grief we realize that the ocean wants to deliver us back to shore. That is the power of Love. The Whole Ocean. Crack open the heart and we surf back to solid ground like Venus on a half-shell.
It's good to be alive.
As my friends, Chris & Louis, say, "Excellent and better all the time."
I'm full of hope.
Songs are coming. In the meantime here is an old performance... one I'm a little embarrassed to share, but then... it was for Hope. :)
With love,
Cygne