anger

It is important for me to write the things I learn... mull them around in my mind until they present in some well-enough defined way that I might put them down in a permanent (relatively speaking) space. On paper, in ether. Having just returned from the Venerable's second installment of "Becoming Your Own Therapist," I feel hopeful and joyous. Eating an amazing Trader Joe's salad and sitting in my quickly warming, cozy safe space, I feel happy. Content. The books and writing and project around me spark excitement. Perhaps a more accurate phrase would be, they assist me in sparking my own excitement.

Tonight we spent a lot of time talking about "ego grasping." Samshara. Suffering. Pain, anger, grief, jealousy, resentment, low self-esteem. Attachment.
As I am presently wrestling quite vigorously with these very sufferings, I am inclined to write about them each.
As anger perhaps appears to be the most disconcerting to me, I'll start there.
As I sat in meditation this evening, though only briefly, I noticed and found humor in the habits of my mind.
"My, you think a lot about what other people might think of you, don't you?"
"You say "I can't" and "I don't know how" and "its impossible" an awful lot, eh?"

Anger has often seemed impossible. Like a mysterious force that comes and goes as it pleases, strongarming me into being an asshole or being just plain miserable. Forcing me to act like a loose cannon! Forcing me, in turn, to feel shame and guilt at having behaved like, or perhaps just wanting to behave like an animal. What an unreasonable bastard anger is. And so powerful. So effective in taking me hostage.

Right?

Powerful.

I remember quite clearly, as it was likely one of the pivotal moments in my development, thinking about anger at age 12 or 13. I recall thinking that I have the same blinding, rageful, muscular, vengeful anger in me that my father has in him. The same qualities that cause him to be brutal, destructive, miserable, blind... are the same qualities that are in me. I'm unsure why I came to this realization, as I had not faced any particular "wake-up call" with regards to my own anger. But I knew that this was something we shared. That force within him was the same force within me. (Perhaps it's the same force that's within us all. But it did not appear to be the case)
Upon making this assessment I very pointedly decided that my anger must stop. It must go away, it must never be let out- not really let out. I must put it down, put it away, and never feed it.
I must never be like my father. And in order to do this, I must not be angry.

And, I always felt that I did a fairly good job. I pushed my propensity for anger deep inside, suppressed it, eliminated it in many cases. I greatly narrowed the scope of things that triggered my anger, and I constructed a much longer fuse than I believed I naturally had. I did this by no other means than making a very certain choice.

As I grew older, I continued to believe that I was doing a good job of controlling my anger. I believed that the anger I was capable of was so vicious, so devastating, that it would annihilate every living thing near me like an atom bomb- shaking the earth to it's very core.

In some ways it's true. I can count the times that I have been "truly angry," in that blinding, vicious way, on one hand. In these moments I have considered things like murder. These moments are always triggered by very particular things (namely, someone I love dearly being egregiously injured in an evil manner).

But on the other hand... there is too much judgement and irritation and annoyance for me to count. It's daily. Continual. It even happens in my dreams. I am aware that this "lesser anger" is triggered by ridiculously stupid things. Even starting a vehicle is practically enough to make me a complete douchebag. I come out of my skin when people won't stay in one lane or use their turn signal or drive "too slow" (which is typically faster than the speed limit). It burns vast amounts of my energy and is completely absurd. I am aware of this and yet feel powerless to stop it.
My own dogmas trigger blinding anger- I've written about it numerous times before. The "ignorance" of other people (which I'm coming to realize is actually my own ignorance at how to handle my emotions and formulate compassionate thoughts).
Jealousy ignites a deep gasoline well of anger, but we will tackle that shortcoming later.

People have, at several times in my life, perceived me to be "an angry person." And it has shocked me every time.
I've had more than one client tell me that they think I probably have "a vicious temper" and have "a problem with anger," "like them." I've calmly marveled at their assessment, taking a moment to wonder if this was really true. I concluded time and time again that it wasn't... perhaps it was that deep-seated potential for rage they were seeing in me...
I settled on describing it as "it's very easy to irritate me, but actually very difficult to make me angry."

And I think that this is true. But I also think (now) that maybe that doesn't necessarily matter. Maybe anger is anger. Maybe 1000 small angers is just as big as one big anger. Maybe it does the same thing to your insides- only with a chisel instead of a jackhammer.

My ex-girlfriend had a different conception of anger. She often thought I was angry when I would have described myself as merely annoyed, or frustrated, or tired, or even hurt. Because of her experiences, the things I displayed looked very much like very scary anger to her. She described me on more than one occasion as "angry all the time."

And again, the assessment shocked me. I furrowed my brow and tried to dismiss it out of hand... but had no choice but to consider it.

Was I angry all the time?
Had I failed? Had my disavowing of anger failed miserably?

In some ways I guess it did. Perhaps it did destroy my relationship like an atom bomb... even if that explosion was catalyzed by the specific interaction of (us) two elements. It was no less of an explosion. And I was no less than half of it.

My anger is there. It is quite present.
I delight is shit-talking and bitching with co-workers behind the backs of other co-workers. We say miserable things to make ourselves feel better. We make our selves (who we truly, deeply are) miserable and we think it makes us feel better. The more we feed it the hungrier it gets.
I am not without anger, certainly.

But I am also not my father. I am able to practice compassion. I try, even though it is a daily struggle, to nurture my relationships and present myself as someone people might want as a partner/friend/co-worker/mentor/student. I try not to destroy the beings around me. I try to look honestly, introspectively, at myself.
This is not my father. My father's anger is one of the things (maybe the biggest thing?) that prevented this.

I am intrigued and excited my the idea that these "negative emotions," all these sufferings, are optional. That they are not natural and not needed. They are extras. Embellishments that we add out of habit. It is possible to be without them. To actually be *rid* of anger... of jealousy, low self-esteem, grief, depression... suffering.
I like this completely bizarre, foreign concept.
I tell people that the things they believe will be what is true for them. The things they tell themselves create what they feel is "reality."

I believe I don't have to feel anger.

Ever.