Sometimes, maybe often, we feel levels of rage that seem as though they might consume us – or others. I know that desert. I have been angry: at others, but probably far more frequently, at myself.
The shadow-side of me has a tendency to become interior, sullen, removed, resentful, cynical, caustic, and not-so-pleasant to be around.
But when I come out of/reveal my shadows, even if only tentatively, I am often more silent and reflective than raging. Clearly, I’m a huge advocate for voice, for volume, for roaring; but I’m grateful for their opposite, as well. It’s restful, somehow. I can hold on to my rage and allow myself the desert-expansiveness to feel it, to let it burn me with its heat, to consider what it might mean, where it might be leading me, how I might need to/want to change.
My rage becomes quiet. And there is a solace there.
When I cannot find the words
and when I will not;
when solitude is my only offering
and silence takes up its lodgings
in my soul;
when anger is my invocation
and breaking my benediction,
O God,
hear my prayer.(Jan Richardson, In Wisdom’s Path)
Rage as silence. Silence as prayer. Prayer as desert. May it be so.
For your reflection:
- Where do you rage? How? Are others even aware of all you are feeling? Or do you self-inflict your silence?
- Could chosen silence, a desert-like place to feel all your anger, all its heat, be something good, restful, healing for you?
- How do you respond to “anger as invocation / breaking as benediction” and prayer as a space in which we can speak – and are heard?
- Can prayer be a desert? Wild beauty? Expansive space in which to silently speak?
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{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
Rage tends to be internalized for me. I don’t let others see what I don’t want them too. Unfortunately, then I wonder why they see the “me” they see. I am getting past this stage in my life – I hope.
Chosen silence – to rage, to feel the heat – is definitely a place of healing. If we do not feel the rage, the heat, how are we to acknowledge what is going on? Whether we feel this in a roaring way or in silence, it helps move us through the rage.
“Anger as invocation” scares me. “Breaking as benediction” does not. How does that sound for contradictory this morning? Prayer is definitely a place where we can speak – with words, with actions, with silence – and be heard. The bigger issue is are we hearing the response.
And yes, prayer can, and is, a desert. Definitely wild beauty in prayer. Also, there is a trust there that has to be felt as one journeys into the desert, not knowing where nourishment is coming from. This same blind trust has to be used in prayer, knowing you are heard even if you don’t think you are.
.-= Nicki´s last blog ..Carriage House Cafe, Ithaca – Review =-.
I’m curious, Nicki, about “anger as invocation” being harder for you than “breaking as benediction.” It doesn’t surprise me…as I think most of us feel better (in a wacky sort of way) about being broken than about being angry. But I wonder…
I wonder if perhaps it’s our constant default to being broken (in not so-good ways) that creates the internalized rage in the first place. And if I can understand my anger as prayer? As the deepest expression of my heart? As what is heard, honored, and even answered? That’s water in the desert.
That makes so much sense, Ronna. I also wonder if it is because being broken implies we can fix something in most cases. Anger is not fixable.
.-= Nicki´s last blog ..Carriage House Cafe, Ithaca – Review =-.
It’s the whole “fix-it” thing that often gets us into trouble, I think…and brings the internalized rage. Anger is anger. And it’s OK. And, in many cases, anger is what leads us to other places we need to go…like a following a path through the desert and finding an oasis. Thanks, Nicki.
Your post just made me realize something: I rarely feel rage. I don’t know what this is all about. Maybe motherhood has softened me. Maybe things are going pretty well and there isn’t much about which to feel angry. Maybe I am not wired to feel rage somehow. I do feel emotion and plenty of it. My days are stuffed with existential highs and lows. But they never seem to manifest in the form of rage. Now I am wondering why… Thanks for making me think about this.
Mmmm, Aidan. My first response to your comment was to wonder with you as to why there’s no rage. And then, upon more reflection, I was just grateful for the space in which you currently find yourself. There is something so beautiful about space/time that is NOT desert-like; rather an oasis of goodness, hope, and (mostly) satisfaction. Here’s what I know about you (all through virtual contexts): you are honest, you are authentic, you know & tell your truth. If you know and feel rage, you’ll express it. If you don’t, you’ll express all other things. Thanks for expressing all that you have here, Aidan.
makes me think of my favorite part of the poem “cartographies of silence” by adrienne rich:
Silence can be a plan
rigorously executed
the blueprint of a life
It is a presence
it has a history a form
Do not confuse it
with any kind of absence
.-= whollyjeanne´s last blog ..diving in, at last =-.
So lovely. No. Silence is no kind of absence. Rather, it is a FULL, FULL space; the absence of absence, really. ‘Appreciate this so much, Jeanne.
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