The morning after the election.
anger – Page 2
Indignation is our friend, if we’re keen on bringing our best self to the party.
By indignation I mean “self-righteous condemnation fueled by anger.”
Something is wrong, and we’re pissed about it. From a fly in our soup, to the actions of others so brutal you wonder whether humankind deserves to survive.
My behavior too often suggests that I believe that indignation is necessary to convey my passionate resistance to what I find abhorrent, or undesirable, and sometimes just contrary to my whim.
I know better. I’m right there with those who say the purpose of life is to be happy and reduce the suffering of others. I know in spades that indignation is a distraction to that end. I know, I feel, I experience that it robs me of my peace of mind, abuses my body, and can lead me to spit nastiness at others. I’m a devotee of spiritual practices that help tremendously to calm my mind. And while I’m not nearly the walking hand-grenade I have been, there are moments I’ll find myself pounding the steering wheel while silently yelling at the cretin who, years ago, did that thoughtless thing I can’t quite remember but have yet to forgive. If I catch my face in the rearview mirror, I see just about the ugliest person on earth, which shuts me up quick. Read More
Even with tears in their eyes, the gods have been smiling for weeks at the Great Mess triggered by our choice of president. That’s what gods do when they recognize that we, in our sleep, have created for ourselves an opportunity bordering on demand to address the question: Who will I be or die trying?
Yes, we’re in for some gruesome times. Military occupation of Manhattan if that’s what it takes to get Saturday Night Live off the air? Who would bet the farm against it? Our problem isn’t that Trump is malevolent. He’s far more dangerous than that. He’s absent. The way a drug addict is absent. The way a sociopath is absent. The way “A stiff prick knows no conscience” is absent. And that absence, that absence of humility, sincerity, empathy, that absence of even a sense of humor, has become a void of integrity in which some of our culture’s nastiest instincts are flourishing.
Even we who know this may wonder why it might cause the gods to smile.
The Big Picture. Knowing that a nation lives, not by its material achievements, but in its masterpieces of men and women. Having witnessed since forever how threats of profound harm are reminders that commitments have virtually no value until they are aligned with action. Recognizing that Trump is Santa Claus for anyone whose answer to the “Who will I be…?” question is: “Bring my very best self to whatever life presents.” This is among the big enchiladas of human aspiration. And the fact that Trump (unbeknownst to him, of course) can help us achieve it––just tickles the gods no end.
My Other Website
"The push to change the words “nigger” and “injun” in Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, because the so-called offensive nature of those terms might limit today’s readership and appreciation of that literary classic, is a wonderful opportunity to reflect on how we avoid taking responsibility for our feelings––and therefore miss the chance to become more awake, more whole, more useful friends to one another."
The Essay: The Gold in Niggers and Injuns
