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Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Moderating An Implosion


Storm clouds roll menacingly by and rumble with clairvoyant ferocity. Darkened is the horizon, with redoubled potential. A clap of thunder as the lightning peels the darkness away in milliseconds of fearsome white light before the gloom returns. The climate of the soul is dark, just now, a time devoid of reason.
Descriptions of climatic conditions correspond well as comparisons for the moods that swing in and over the top of us. Just like the weather cannot be controlled, so, at times, we find control beyond us. We’re windswept with imbalance, whether by excess or vanquished emotion.
Making Sense Of The Nonsensical
How do we do it? How do we make sense of such aggregated loneliness of soul?
Sometimes there is no way, but even within a murderous moment we can find reason for logic if only we have a semblance of thought for surrender.
Dealing with anger is about wrestling with the inner idea that has us estranged to sense. Just what has happened, deeper down, to cause this reaction—to fuel this storm front of visceral rage?
It may be many things, or just one thing, though it’s possibly things far beneath our consciousness. Our conscious thought is bombarded by things in the here-and-now, but it’s the unreconciled unconscious world that’s the real threat.
The mere fact of the enquiry, the time taken to implicate possibility of unconscious awareness, helps us make space so we don’t respond in anger. The storm that actually spills, the one that strikes and damages infrastructure, is the one designing for itself its own consequences. Storms like this are not easily lived down.
Taming A Burgeoning Hurricane
There may be no one single way to stem the unabridged rage of the violent offender, or that offender within us, but it must certainly be aided by taking a step back and making a firm enquiry of the unconscious mind.
What could be there? Such unconscious thoughts—an entire world of them—exist.
In the mode and disposition of imploding, right in the midst of it, we still have the capacity to arrest the spilling stream of words and actions that may prove the end of us. It’s still not too late. If we can be mindful in the moment, knowing that surrender is the best way, we can turn our anger into tears of inadequacy, or a heartfelt confession. Better a moment of embarrassed lack than a lifetime of regret.
© 2012 S. J. Wickham.

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