Wrath Repressed, or Wrath Expressed?

Wrath is such a strong word.  Wrath is not mere irritation, but rather "violent anger; vehement exasperation; indignation; rage; fury."  I get upset when my children act like there's no sound coming out of my mouth.  I get exasperated (but not vehemently) when my husband lectures me.  I grumble and murmur when someone at work does something to undermine or disrespect me.

But I don't rage.  No wrath.  No violent anger.  No fury.

I've been thinking recently about anger and how we manifest and resolve it.  I repress.   I let it simmer, and let it pass.  For the most part, this works for me.  Or at least it works better than the alternative.  Although I deal with disputes for a living, the truth is that -- in my personal life -- I don't like contention.  I'd rather internalize the injustice, kill the unkindness with kindness, and believe that it will all come out fairly in some future grand reckoning of life.

Pondering on the topic, the words of William Blake's poem "A Poison Tree" came to mind.  Do you know this one?  What do you think, does repressing and holding onto anger yield poisonous fruit?  Perhaps for both the one growing it and the one partaking of it.  I suppose the key is not to let the tree grow in the first place?  Pull it out before it can take root?

A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole,
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.

~William Blake, 1794

Advice to Self

Today, I found myself thinking about this clipping on my bulletin board at work.  It's been hanging there for 10 years now, and I don't think I've looked at it in maybe 5.  I found it underneath other notes, quotes, and cartoons I've tacked up over the years.  

This bulletin board reminder to myself is particularly sweet, though, because of the words from the newspaper "In Memoriam" piece, and because a friend (Mariette) (a) was thoughtful enough to photocopy the article and give it to me with her handwritten note (so faded it's hard to read now); and (b) because she thought (based on what she knew of me) that these "principles of life" would resonate with me.

I'm particularly fond of #2:  "Don't take yourself or your problems too seriously.  If you do this, instead of being the 'specter at the feast,' you'll be constantly sought out even as you're passing away."  What I like is that image of a "specter at the feast."  A specter (sometimes spelled "spectre") is an apparition, a ghost.  The specter at the feast is "something or someone that spoils your enjoyment by making you remember something unpleasant."  In two words:  stop complaining.  

Here are a couple of questions for you to think about (because I'm thinking about these questions myself):  (1) Do you act like the specter at the feast of life?  Are you spoiling your own joy or the joy of others?  (2) When was the last time you were thoughtful enough to clip out an article and send it to someone because you thought that person would appreciate it or because reading it made you think of that person?  

Mariette's birthday is this week.  I haven't seen or talked to her in years, but I think I'll clip something she might like and send it along.  Maybe it will add some joy to her feast.       

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day, or to a Camel?

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?*

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

~ Sonnet 18, William Shakespeare~

*Actually, being compared to a summer's day in Phoenix, where I live, would NOT be a compliment.

The other day, I was fully engaged in the morning scramble -- getting my kids and myself dressed, fed, presentable and out the door to school and work (which deserves to qualify as an Olympic event in and of itself).  I stopped to take a breath, push my hair out of my face and look at my husband.  He shook his head, saying:  "You don't eat, you don't sleep, and you still look beautiful.  It must be grace."  Parts of that statement aren't true, but I will, nevertheless, store those words away like a camel*, and draw on them when in need of sustenance on my trek through the desert I call my life.

Animal locomotion: [Twenty consecutive images of a camel running]. Eadweard Muybridge, photographer. c1887.
Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress.

For me, there's nothing like a sincere, un-canned, unexpected, unsolicited compliment to make my day.  Do words have that power over you?  Some years ago, I read a book called The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman, and learned (no real surprise) that words of affirmation have the power to make me happy.  My husband, on the other hand, couldn't care less what I say; he only really cares about what I do (acts of service).  Anyway, it's an interesting way to think about how you can make the people you love (including your children) feel loved.

*By the way, did you know that camels don't actually store water in their humps?  They store fat, although they can go for long periods of time without water.  And, did you know that some say the word "camel" comes from an Arabic word derived from a root meaning "beauty"?  Who knew?!  Some days I do in fact feel like a beast of burden.

Happiness Delivered

My children and I love Frog and Toad.  Do you know Frog and Toad?  If you don't, you should.  Arnold Lobel wrote some wonderful stories about them back in the 1970s, and they're just as wonderful today.

Today, I'm thinking of "The Letter," which is included in Lobel's Frog and Toad Are Friends.  Here's how it goes:

Toad was sitting on his front porch.  Frog came along and said, "What is the matter, Toad? You are looking sad."  "Yes," said Toad.  "This is my sad time of day.  It is the time when I wait for the mail to come.  It always makes me very unhappy."  "Why is that?" asked Frog.  "Because I never get any mail," said Toad. "Not ever?" asked Frog.  "No, never," said Toad.  "No one has ever sent me a letter.  Every day my mailbox is empty.  That is why waiting for the mail is a sad time for me."  

 Frog and Toad sat on the porch, feeling sad together. 

Then Frog said, "I have to go home now, Toad.  There is something that I must do.  Frog hurried home.  He found a pencil and a piece of paper.  He wrote on the paper.  He put the paper in an envelope.  On the envelope he wrote "A LETTER FOR TOAD."  Frog ran out of his house.  He saw a snail that he knew. "Snail," said Frog, "please take this letter to Toad's house and put it in his mailbox."  "Sure," said the snail. "Right away."

 Then Frog ran back to Toad's house.  Toad was in bed, taking a nap.  "Toad," said Frog, "I think you should get up and wait for the mail some more."  "No," said Toad, "I am tired of waiting for the mail."  Frog looked out of the window at Toad's mailbox.  The snail was not there yet.  "Toad," said Frog, "you never know when someone may send you a letter.?  "No, no," said Toad.  "I do not think anyone will ever send me a letter."  

Frog looked out of the window.  The snail was not there yet.  "But, Toad," said Frog, "someone may send you a letter today."  "Don't be silly," said Toad.  "No one has ever sent me a letter before, and no one will send me a letter today."  

 Frog looked out of the window.  The snail was still not there.  "Frog, why do you keep looking out of the window?" asked Toad.  "Because now I am waiting for the mail," said Frog.  "But there will not be any," said Toad.  "Oh, yes there will," said Frog, "because I have sent you a letter."  "You have?" said Toad.  "What did you write in the letter?" Frog said, "I wrote 'Dear Toad, I am glad that you are my best friend.  Your best friend, Frog.'"  "Oh," said Toad, "that makes a very good letter."  

 Then Frog and Toad went out onto the front porch to wait for the mail.  They sat there, feeling happy together.  Frog and Toad waited a long time.  Four days later the snail got to Toad's house and gave him the letter from Frog.  Toad was very pleased to have it.

On Saturday, I went to check the mail, feeling (much like Toad) that I never get anything -- at least not anything worth getting.  But low and behold, there was a white and green little package from someone dear to me!  Totally unexpected.  It made my day.

So, today, I sent a little something to someone I care about.  Paying it forward.  The snail mail may take a while to deliver it, but I'm smiling at the thought of surprising someone with some happiness delivered.  Sending that package made my day.