Reconciliation with self and others.

The Canadian Geese arrived this morning. Two pair. They bring a certain perspective, a compliment to an easy Saturday morning. They prompt laughter with their sudden flapping of wings and loud honks. Its a welcome relief after 4 days of strife.

Pema Chodron, the Buddhist nun who resides in Nova Scotia, arrives in my email box weekly. Her foundation sends out weekly quotes from her numerous books and lectures. I like them. They arrive offering a whisper of advise. They provide a moment to give pause, to stop the chatter, stop the urgency, stop the god-almighty  "to-do" lists. Reading the passages, I am reminded to just breathe, and for the time it takes to read the passage and reflect upon it, I am invited to rearrange my thought patterns, rearrange the chaos, rearrange the angst, the unbalance. Return to calm.

This week: "When you’re like a keg of dynamite about to go off, patience means just slowing down at that point—just pausing—instead of immediately acting on your usual, habitual response. You refrain from acting, you stop talking to yourself, and then you connect with the soft spot. But at the same time you are completely and totally honest with yourself about what you are feeling. You’re not suppressing anything; patience has nothing to do with suppression. In fact, it has everything to do with a gentle, honest relationship with yourself."



Timing is perfect, naturally. How is it that energetic patterns set up like this? How is it that we create our own realities? Tuesday night, out of nowhere, an argument spiraled out of reason. Rage flowed out of me, relentless, driving. I was triggered by his cluelessness, his endless distraction, aversion to intimacy, aversion to connection. He was impatient. Highly irritated that I was demanding that he engage in conversation. I grew super impatient by his impatience. We were two kegs of dynamite smoldering, edgy. Wednesday night the fuse ignites again, but this time explodes. Triggered, at wits end, intolerant and desperate to pierce the armor I beat him with a wicker basket, luckily it was the thing closest at hand, the container for the gold fish food. In a blinding light of rage the basket shattered, wicker flew everywhere, the dogs were aroused and the bonehead was barking and pulling at PT's shirtsleeve. He griped my wrists. Restrained, contained. Some clarity returned and I could see the destruction strewn across the floor. I was still seething, but able to stop shouting. A cold disdain, a fierce declaration of my perspective and demands.


Thursday I'm shaken. Can't reconcile my rage with my public persona - "ms. restorative justice." I'm anxious. I'm ashamed. I tell my colleague, "ms. delightful." She is compassionate. Doesn't condone my violence, but acknowledges my feelings. It helps to share it. In the evening, I want to talk with PT but I'm afraid. What can I say? I am a hypocrite. I espouse Buddhist ideology. I am paid to help others to repair their harm. I need to repair my harm. Is it repairable? Am I potentially dangerous? Will I escalate more next time? Will he? What if he harbors resentment (why wouldn't he?). What if he is triggered while drunk? It could be very dangerous. 


Breathing. Reminded that there is no way out. Only through. It's hard to get him to agree to talk with me. He's wary. Suspect. We have sparks, outbursts. I retreat promising to return when calm. I try again. Ask permission to talk. Impatience. The message is, "get on with it!"  I speak of my wrong doing, my pain, my shame. Conversation goes on for a couple of hours. Difficult, tense. Push to be heard, work to hear. We move through. Glimmers of love, of hope. We sleep, peacefully. Friday in the morning there is residue, unfinished hostility. He takes in out on my little dog, the punk. I intervene, "do not abuse the dog!" "do not take your anger toward me out on the dog!" "Patience," I command!


Break through. It finally comes. We return to knowing one another. Peaceful, open, connected. Full circle to this morning. The geese have arrived. We are honest. Gentle. At home. We start again. We start again.