Damn forgiveness; I Embrace Anger

There is a moat about my castle and in it a monster which swims in the lagoon of my subconscious. I know only that he must be truly evil for the water is brackish and obscures my vision.

Our mind creates boogey men who guard the gate of our unconscious mind . When we choose to face the “monster” we do not go in alone. As in the story of Shadrack, Meshack and Abendigo, Christ energy walks into the “fire” with us. .

I sit in seclusion and journal the story of my life. As I do so I am beginning to face the raw energy of my anger, the absolute paralyzing fear I have carried toward men. I see now that even as a child I wore large rose colored glasses. Back then they tilted sideways on my too small face and, fitted like a race horse, blinded my peripheral vision. Those glasses were part and parcel of my pretense as I wobbled in shoes too big, 3 inch heels unstable. In my gaudy gown and too many beads I stood regally, fooled by my own disguise.

As a wee child I learned that the love of a man is not safe. I allowed that conviction to draw me into a marriage which proved my theory over and over again yet the rose colored glasses saw all as beautiful . I did not read the signs, nor did I ask the simple questions.

The gauzy gown slipped from my shoulders but the glasses remained firmly in place. While I wasted my years in pretense my body shouted to me to look within before my outer structure collapsed under the weight of my denials.

It was a day of great courage when I took off those rose tinted glasses. When I did so it was terrifying; I could now see clearly into the brackish waters of the moat which had surrounded my castle of pretense. I was forced to look into the forbidden lagoon of the soul. I had fed the monster and given him power over my life. In return he had guarded all entrances. I had thought myself safe.

How do I walk back into history without those rose colored glasses? Can I look without offering excuses, without hasty forgiveness? For now, I must place on hold the process of forgiveness that I might experience, without shame or guilt, all the emotion that is my privilege and my responsibility. It is a wobbly experience, akin to wearing trifocals for the first time. I feel unsteady and must adjust to this light, to the experience of emotions that feel like the force of thunder raging within my being. With the glasses ripped from my face I gasp in horror as I look at the abuse I experienced as a child. I had thought it only a dream for in each experience I had rushed from reality and slipped onto the other side.

In the brackish waters of my unconscious mind the monster of anger swam relentlessly, keeping at bay the reality of my danger. I was terrified to tear off those awful rose colored glasses and to look at truth with unblinking eyes. I would be devoured by the emotions of rage. The monster was certainly my anger which strove to keep me safe. In the world of make belief he personified danger but in the world of reality I could have made him my friend.

As the glasses slipped precariously on my face I was given my fist vision of the monster and my first infusion of anger. With a voice that did not befit the princess of the pretend castle I bellowed my rage to the wind. In fantasy I kick boxed with every man who had battered me with his misogamy. I threw in a few cheap shots amazed at the joy that bubbled up. I did not know anger could be pretty instead of petty. I did not know I could experience anger and be polished and polite. I did not know it could be expressed without judgment or harm to another. I had not known that I could discharge the energy of the monster in a manner of discretion with a certain delicate pleasure which was oh so very healing…and satisfying.

I shall allow myself for a moment to experience anger toward those men who allowed themselves to be vehicle for such acts of violence. At this moment I shall not forgive them; I cannot forgive them and live. I must experience all the raw emotion that is my reality and my truth. Platitudes do not matter in this moment, the pain can no longer be dissociated; I will stay splintered if I do not embrace anger, do not lift the monster from the lagoon and allow it to show me its power. I will never be whole until I feel in all its ugly fury the searing pain of rejection, of abandonment, of being made less and of being made an object of sport.

I am no longer the little queen, wobbling in my mother's high heels. The glasses are gone. I can no longer lie to myself that all was forgiven, that I felt no anger. Forgiveness cannot be serviced by a spirit which feels nothing. As the raw energy of my emotions is brought to my conscious awareness, as my cognitive mind accepts what my cellular memory held secret for so long I shall move to the secret caverns of my inner world. There I shall remove from their chains each emotion that had been held captive for oh so very long. In doing so I shall dismiss the monster from that moat and find the deep waters clear and sweet.

I must take umbrage with the philosophy that calls for forgiveness before sorting through the stories that are piled behind the locked doors of my mind. Pain, unacknowledged, goes within creating a deeper and deeper pit of sorrow. Tears not cried outwardly drop into our heart and there create a cavern as certainly as the droplets of water in an underground cave. From that cavern the echo of despair becomes background noise for every waking moment.

The monster of the deep lagoon had shown me that anger is pain we can no longer bear to hold. There is love in anger; self love that was taken from us the first time we were punished for expressing the depths of our feelings.

Used with discretion and wisdom, anger is my bodyguard. It is more real than any of my silly dreams; it is my friend, my power. When I have given voice to the “monster”, when I have used anger with discernment and carried it with love I will not have dishonored another but rather will have honored myself.

Forgiveness steals silently, inexorable into my being leaving a vapor trail of peace.

By Gloria Davis