Who Knew Anger Could Be So Gorgeous?

 

Let anger lead you by then hand.  It knows the way through the dark.  

Anger.

Those five letters carry so much OOMPH.

Anger.

Just typing them makes me wince. Anger, to me, means out of control. Unleashed. It births fear. And wanting to cower, curl up and hide. In a world where we are told to actively listen and be on our best behavior and keep peace at all costs, anger gets stuffed down. And like a vine buried deep in the earth and well fed, it strengthens its hold and eventually rules the land.

Anger is probably pretty angry at the bad rap its been saddled with since we got all touchy-feely in an I’m so perfect I can’t be angry way. But those who are more evolved than me know that anger is this: The perfect manure for growing the most beautiful, giving, loving, everlasting earthling.

A few weeks back I reconnected with Melissa. I have studied with her on and off for over 15 years. She has taught me to consciously breathe, walk on fire (like real freaking fire, not charcoal), nurture my intuition, understand the many dimensions we can access on this planet, and she lovingly stood back as I traversed this wild trail that is post Pocket Call.

Not surprisingly, because nothing that appears as a coincidence surprises me, she moved to Sonoma from the east shortly after I made the trek as part of an intact family.

I went to her for an energy session. What’s that you wonder?

Holy vibrations. Let me tell you…

An energy session is like condensing an entire spa day jacked up on steroids that Barry Bonds would lay down his last dollar to intake into 90 minutes of holy epiphanies! At least it is with her. We begin by talking and then breathing. Lots of breathing. You know that fabulously successful book, The Secret? It should have been one sentence long. One word, actually. Breathe. I turned Razzle, of Mt. Whitney fame (I SO miss her) onto Melissa. She had an energy session. When she called me afterwards she said, I was so out of my body I left the room and sat on the stairs outside her office and tried to remember how to write out a check so I could pay her. I finally told her I would mail it.

It’s that good.

After so much excavation these last several months, I was an open book for Melissa.

You’re masking anger.

I am?

Uh-huh.

I’m not angry. I’m not angry at my former spouse. I’m not angry that my Mom died. I’m grateful she lived long enough to be there for me when I most needed her. I feel BAD that my former spouse’s betrayal came to light while she was still alive. But I’m so thankful she was there to support me. I’m grateful I’m not being betrayed anymore, too.

Why?

If you knew the answer as to why what would it be?

I cannot win with a chick who can see auras and other dimensions. It’s like playing hand ball with both hands tied behind your back and the ball is a meteor.

It took about 10 minutes of breathing and quieting the mind and Ego so I could get at the real answer, but it finally happened. And when it did she said: You know, you don’t always have to know the answer to the question. You just have to be willing to admit that you have anger.

She tells me that then.

But anger is bad.

It took nearly two weeks to finally allow the need to run from the idea of anger to release itself and allow the reason for the anger to emerge.

I’m angry at me.

Did I just pay cash to realize that I’m angry at me? What has this world come to???

Let me pause here to express my gratitude to the west Marin hills for letting me dump my s…tuff all over them as I drive back and forth. For it was on one of many drives that I realized there’s a part of me (we have many moving parts) that is angry at me for marrying my former spouse. I was angry that I blew an opportunity to have happily ever after. That was the nut. But back to the energy session.

Melissa said I am masking anger. I don’t want to look at it.

So why?

You tell me why.

Oh my goodness, she never answers my questions! Yet she facilitates the answering of all my questions.

I struggled. And when it seemed I just wasn’t going to spit out the words she said them for me:

Because you’re addicted to being right.

It took two weeks of processing to get to this: I am angry because I made the wrong choice when I married my former spouse, and I was addicted to making it the right choice.

Now I know what so many will say with the best intentions: But you have The Dudes! Yes. I am over the moon that these two little morsels of deliciousness are in my life. But that doesn’t change the need for me to learn and grow, which comes from pondering my choices and understanding my motivations. As you may have read, I understand now that my choice to marry my former spouse was a choice that came from the Ego and not my soul. The lesson I needed to learn had to involve making that choice. And it’s a powerful, life-altering lesson. But the anger I felt toward myself remained.

On the thirteen curves, a fairly treacherous part of Highway 1 that winds through eucalyptus trees that shed their bark at will creating an ice rink that requires no freezing temperatures to reek havoc, I had an epiphany of the boundary sort.

I’m angry at myself for not having had boundaries in my marriage. I’m angry for not standing up for myself. I’m angry for not loving myself enough to say, Enough.

Perfect timing what it is, when my former spouse ripped my head off for forgetting to bring the Tall Dude’s medicine, I got angry. And then I GOT boundaries. I didn’t use my happy voice. I questioned whether or not that was RIGHT. And then a therapist friend said, You erected a healthy boundary. It’s not right to belittle a parent in front of their children.

Ever since I put up the hand and didn’t try to be RIGHT or proper or do what I felt others would say was the right thing to do (addicted to being right doesn’t mean I’m always needing to be right, it also means being addicted to doing what others think is right) I’ve felt respected. By me.

And that is one really huge reason why anger is good. When it’s allowed to be seen and accepted, anger inspires us to erect boundaries. Healthy, proper boundaries.

Boundaries are the foundation for self-love. And if we want to love another, we must fall in love with ourselves.

I wrote a post a long time ago about boundaries. It’s here. At the time I intuitively knew that boundaries were meant to be a procedural manual for me, not smack downs for others. Boundaries are the commitments we make with ourselves that reflect our level of self-respect, compassion for our selves and self-love. They are the pillars upon which love with another can stand up on high without teetering on the edge of plummeting to hell.

In the space of three weeks, the fear of anger has been transformed into respecting my own expression of anger as a sign that I am being pushed in a way that is not in alignment with my boundaries.

I sit here at my writing table shaking my head in wonder as to how it has taken me 49 years to figure this s…tuff out. But SO grateful that I still have it in me to be a student.

And eternally grateful that you still have it in you to read my words.

Love yourself,

Cleo

Please join a huge gathering of us on Saturday, Valentine’s Day, for a magical call – like Yoga for the Heart. It’s FREE.  And all you have to do is listen in.  And breathe.  And, I hope, discover the magic that is you even in the midst of emotional upheaval and the non-linear journey through betrayal and divorce that requires such endurance. We won’t be talking about divorce or infidelity.  We’ll be summoning love.  I promise to set you free on the loviest day of the year glowing, coupled or not.  

Register here, please:  https://cleoeverest.com/

I’ll be sending out details for calling or logging in on Friday evening.  If you are located outside of the US you can logon via browser or through a local international calling number.  

If it wasn’t so early I’d have created a special cocktail for this call.  BUT – if you register for a package of calls the one on the 25th of February happens on my birthday.  I’m thinking something with St. Germaine.  Please come play and grow with me.