Wind on the Hills
The wind flows through the tall grass
like a hand ruffling the green fur
of a large benevolent beast.
She sails along the edge of the field
in her little red car, furious
with him, furious with the savagery
abroad on the earth, furious
with the job that leaches her energy
and feeds her nothing but a paycheck.
At first she doesn’t see the tall grass
and the wind flowing through it
like a hand stroking fur.
Then she sees the benevolent beast
and she stops the car
she gets out of the car
and she gives herself to its power
Today the subject is anger. There's righteous anger, helpless anger, blind anger. There are lots of ways to be mad.
Yesterday I was in a cold fury. Someone who is in the habit of insulting me took one step too far. My boundary cracked.
One of the habits I was taught in sobriety is restraint of tongue and pen. Live and let live, let go and let God.
But that doesn't make me a doormat for someone's grubby shoes. I'm encouraged to speak my truth and stand up for my beliefs.
So I took a while to pray. I consulted a trusted mentor. And then I began to write.
As if it were a beast, I unleashed my anger.
As both a Christian and a recovering alcoholic, I know that anger is the wind that snuffs out the candle in the mind.
And so, when it was all said and done to my satisfaction, I went back and erased, by choice removing the excess, leaving only the cold bare skeleton.
I said what I had to say and no more. There's freedom in that kind of restraint.
Then I consulted my mentor once more.
And I sent that anger out. It has flown out of my mind to the one who inspired it.
I live in a valley among these hills. Today I have peace.