Truly Powerful People (477)

477.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I am meditating on rage. Call it fire in the belly or call it “enough already.” This is not a meditation on simple anger; it is an internal forest fire. It is nature cleaning away the debris, opening channels of blocked energy, and making way for new life.

Rage, at first might look destructive – the forest fire rages out of control – and the aftermath of this rage is nutrient for the soul, rejuvenation of a landscape, and the long-term health of an ecosystem. The fire serves a purpose. The rage is an energy released. It is the fire of alchemy. It is a natural cycle.

I am not talking about road rage – people snapping because they feel so powerless that they explode – that is not the rage, I mean. My meditation is on the ferocity of love, the mother bear protecting her cub. The rage I am pondering assumes power is already at the center, it is the forge and hammer. It is the love of self sufficient to say, “This is the line and you will not cross it.” It is the love of self to say, “This will not stand.”

Where is our rage? Where is your rage?

I recently watched an interview Bill Moyers did with Thomas Frank about money in politics. The question implicit throughout the interview: where is our rage? What happened to the people in these United States that we now so willingly participate in the rape and pillage of our political system? Rather than rise in our rage like a fire and burn away the clutter and abuse, we took a seat, turned on our televisions and asked for more. We sighed, “Oh, Well,” when our supreme court sold our political souls in the Citizens United ruling. We tuned into Fox News or MSNBC and divided ourselves, turning our impotence on each other. It’s an old strategy of control called the giddy masses: If the people turn their rage on each other they will cease to focus it where it will do any good.

I was a little kid in the 60’s and my first memories are of a neighborhood with no fences. There was one big backyard commons where people talked and watched over other people’s children. There was rage stomping around the adult’s conversations – and their love had teeth. I had the sense that my parents cared for their neighbors and I know the neighbors certainly cared for me (literally). It seemed to me that we were in something together; agreement was not a requirement of the community; disagreement was catalyst for conversation and action. I’m certainly romanticizing a childhood memory. There were 4 billion less people on the planet so perhaps it was easier to talk to your neighbor – though that equation makes no sense. People are spatially closer and communally farther apart.

It leaves me wondering where’s the rage? What happened to our self-respect?

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