One day I woke up and there it was. This empty space where something hot and brittle used to live.
I noticed it first as my reaction times grew. All the things that used to piss me off — they were still there — coming at me. But the old familiar triggers were not being pulled. I would sit with my finger on the guard, waiting a second or even minutes.
Sometimes I never even took the shot.
Slowly, I began to wonder, “Is this what Wisdom looks like?”
I am still a strong, fierce woman. My boundaries intact. But there is a Trust in My Life which is new.
I look at Life for the lessons. Even the situations which used to make feel My Darkness are viewed with this new perspective.
Not only am I not reacting, I find myself choosing my words more carefully when I do respond. Not reacting — responding. Weighing the consequences of the next footfall. Deciding what is worth the investment of my time and energy.
I wait to see what The Universe has in mind. I am learning Her plan — the big picture which I cannot even imagine — is a much better place to be than the thumbprint view of Life I have. I know She has my back.
I no longer demand my side of the story to be told/heard/acknowledged. I cannot make other Humans understand me. See me. Love me. This is attachment to an outcome I have zero control over. Humans are who they are.
I do not seek to inflict karmic retribution or revenge. Karma has her own metered pay wall she puts the acts of the masses behind. Only she knows the formula and it’s estimated over lifetimes. Not just in the moment I am facing. I have learned to leave All. The. Things. to her creative leanings.
I am not perfect in My Lost Anger. I can still feel the static electricity of it around the edges of the vacuum now and again. Our society in this here and now likes to keep us all angry.
But I have also learned this: Life is an echo.
If I nurture those sparks of static into flames of anger and blast them out into My Now — that is exactly what I will receive back into My Life. My Anger becomes a vicious self-destructive beast who will eat me alive with no remorse.
Instead, when I feel that old pull towards the hot and brittle — the desire to fan the small bit of static energy into great flames — I stop. I wait. I keep my finger on the trigger guard.
Sometimes I don’t even take the shot.