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Our next meeting is Sunday, July 27th, at 12 pm EST: 9 am PST.
This month’s theme is releasing anger.
I'd love to have you in the circle.
𖦹
Anger destroys us.
It sets fire to our forests, hoping for fruit.
When anger is our familiar keeper, we bludgeon our blessings, curse our comrades, and harm our hearts.
Possessed by this wandering force, we become blind to the nectar holding us together.
I remember vividly at 14 (my angriest year) pushing away with venom anyone able to help me. I didn’t realize anger is a hungry forager searching for peace, brandishing a knife in the dark.
Anger is dangerous to our light.
But we misunderstand anger.
Most people are unsure of:
What it is
Where it comes from
How it works
How to heal it
If we cradle our anger and reconfigure its algebra, we find a source of dazzling power—unlimited in scope and endless in flow.
When we heal our anger, we find our strength not in the scale of our reaction but in the scale of our peace.
A stone does not shake in a storm; it simply witnesses.
If we reshape our anger and follow it like a canary in a coal mine, we’ll find what it can teach us.
We find what anger is—a guard dog.
But what is it guarding?
That tender secret is the doorway to our heart’s birdsong.
1. Frightened of what is
Anger isn’t strength; it’s fear holding a sword.
We must accept our need for power as a weakness in itself.
Anger is a resistance to what is—poking a fire to keep it burning, but our constant meddling smothers its flame. Everything needs space to breathe—time to burn.
Our resistance to the whims of nature cast us out into a field of barrenness. Our tired muscles can’t wait another day, and our anger is no replacement for real strength.
Real strength is in feeling our anger and realizing it masks a childlike fear.
We release anger by noticing we are frightened.
How do we release fear? This is a huge question; we can only scratch its surface today.
(We’ll work more directly with anger and its fear during our next Community Healing Hour on July 27th. Upgrade to paid to join us and access subconscious healing audios.)
2. Pain of yesterday
Now that we know anger shields us from fear, we need to understand what fear shields us from.
Fear is largely here to keep sadness securely within our palace walls.
So, how do we release this cascade of plucked undertows?
We release fear by feeling our sorrow. Here’s how it happens.
We only fear a pain we have known.
We flinch as the ball flies towards us because we have taken the hit too many times. The menacing truth is that our flinching lowers our lance at the worst possible moment, opening us up to another fated blow.
But the present holds nothing for certain.
Our prophecies of pain are rooted in a pain we have yet to settle—a pain we carry in our hearts forged in the crucible of the past, calcifying the nocturnal flower of the present, and consuming the future like a curl of fire.
This pain we carry is sorrow. A sorrow protected by fear. A fear protected by anger.
3. Shine a light
We release the painful sorrow of another time by permitting ourselves to be strong in our feeling, weak in our fighting, and clear in our plump, luminous medicine—a big, miraculous medicine of holding our sorrow without the big-armed hubris of fixing.
This is a lithe strength—the tawny cooing of a butterfly between calamities.
To heal anger, shine a light on your tangled chains twisting in your fight to stop what’s turning.
Stand still and let the links breathe. File the moment and take on the wisdom of sunshine melting ice in subtle drippings.
This means we honor our anger without taking its orders, notice the fear and sorrow it guards without losing our emotional footing, and simmer into the witness of this coiling silver.
The Moment
What remains is a presence free of yesterday's sorrow, tomorrow's fear, and today’s snapping anger. Only the logos of pure being remains, glowing in the sun and compelling our highest instincts.
The outcome of healing is being able to perceive reality and respond without the burdens of our past. This means knowing what we want and what’s wrong without the blemished influence of old wounds.
The result is that we live life in the present instead of fighting our curdling memory.
We occupy a present of radiant reality, picking up treasures and polishing jewels because we can see their glimmer. We are free of familiar poison and alive in this resplendent moment.
(?)
A question to consider and write about:
What sorrow is your anger/fear protecting you from? What would happen if you stopped fighting and started feeling? (If even for a moment in private reprieve.)
(!)
An experiment to try:
Sit with your anger for a few moments and cease all effort. Just hold that sharp soldier. It’s likely felt in your head, throat, or chest—a desire to battle cry and pound your chest, making your corner of the room known.
Gently be with this feeling and notice the soft, subtle, quiet sorrow that lives beneath it. It will be more in your solar plexus or stomach. It can be subtle and soft in comparison to the anger. (The sorrow may be felt beneath a layer of fear. Feel this too.)
The anger is your guard dog—the sorrow your protected child.
When we face our sorrow and heal our wounds, anger becomes a soldier in a garden instead of a gardener at war.
When we begin to feel our truthful pain, we find our greatest hope in its healing: love. And from this love comes our sprawling dazzlement.
Then we can move through the world with fearless ease. The rain doesn’t wash away our buttress but waters our roses. All that remains is not the soldier, the guard dog, or the garden—what remains is YOU.
Free. Clear. Light. Open. Safe. Now.
How did this practice go for you? What came through? What shut down?
Reply to this email and let me know.
We’ll troubleshoot and unpack more during our next gathering on the 27th.
I’m looking forward to seeing you there.
Warmly,
Lucas