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Sunday, July 23, 2006

anger

7/22/2006 11:06:19 AM


There is too much anger in me; I cannot contain it anymore and afterwards I often regret in aches and dreams. I call out in my sleep because I have been victimised in some dreams, and in others I feel my heart beating loudly and carelessly, so hard as it usually does, and I put the words in my mind into my mouth and shout them very loud; I can hear myself. I am angry with more things than I often care to say, and soon it wells up like it often does in a man, and I become violent and destructive.


Yesterday I attempted to prophesy to myself, to forthtell the condition of my heart so that my mind will understand and know the root cause of my distresses. I decded to do that, because last night at my cell group meeting with my church mates, I shared two passages of the Bible with my friend Pat, and both times it turned out to specifically answer or confirm something that she has been wondering about for some time now, something life-changing. I often do this. Not by my own strength, for things of the spirit can only be borne of the Spirit. But I find myself often having dreams and visions, and I know somehow what they mean, like Joseph did when he interpreted Pharoah's dreams. I often find myself ministering to others with verses from the Bible, and they are often prophetic in forthtelling and foretelling, and not usual cliched encouragements. This is my gift, and I will not be ashamed of it, no matter how hard it is not to be.


After last night's conversation with Pat I went home and said to myself, if God can speak through me to other people, He can do the same to me, through me: I become both the steward and the vessel. And I prophesied this to me: stop caring so much about gaining the favour of men, and start working for only God Himself. We know that men are faulty masters, that there will always be wrongs just as many as there are rights, if not more. In the end, everybody hurts me, and it is my own fault for letting that happen. But God is a perfect master, he has no slaves in His house, only well-loved children - all of us, and His cause is noble and a better cause than we are. In serving men, which I do for a living, I have mistakenly allowed my esteem to come from them, which will never come to pass, because men will never care as much as God does. This is why we have so many insecure people in this world, who have such low self-esteem they do the silly things we all know. I have faltered in not realising this deviation in me till now, and now I know that I have faltered, meaning, we always know this truth, but we sometimes point the boat in the wrong way and still steer ahead as always, not knowing we are off-course a few degrees, till a few metres after, or perhaps far lost.


What am I angry about? I could list them out in an effort at release, for they have been within me, I refuse to share them often because I do not want people to be affected by my negativity, neither do I want to be a self-serving person who crowds conversations with complaints, everytime, and lose my friends in doing that. We all used to have these people in our lives; if they are still in yours, it is time to remove them, amputation for gangrene. But repression is a wasted effort, because in the end it comes out worse. I am behaving like a man, who retreats to his cave to mull over things instead of sharing them daily like women do, and in the end when it is said, it is many moons after, and it is explosive. I cannot help it; while I am an open book on my blog, everything else is closed and I have far more beneath this public persona. I am a keeper of secrets. I am extremes.


Not everything that is true needs to be said.


7/23/2006 9:12:55 PM

I had a dream when I was almost waking up, today. In the cinematic frame of my dream-mind, the screen was visually divided into two, left and right. On the right side, I saw Lin in Shantaram, running towards a fire, like a replica of the one that happened in the Bombay slum, where the slum-dwellers banded together to create a fire-break, to save the slum and the people, their people. On the left of the screen, I saw a man setting a place on fire, a pyromaniac. He was consumed with his desire to burn, and the adrenaline within him kept him going at it, very successfully. I know that adrenaline, it is called anger. I have that kind of anger, the kind that makes my heart beat hard and fast, fuels my words and actions and makes everything double-time. I think fast and I act fast with that brand of adrenaline.


Waking up, I heard a voice next to my heart saying: 'Anger is destructive. Do you want to be the one with the passionate ability to destroy a place, or do you want to be the one that saves those in the fire who are dying?'


I would have wept if I not for the fact that I was too tired to do that. I am angry because I am a victim, but I am a victim because I am angry. In both instances I can change things, but how exactly, I haven't yet found out, save for what is written here.


Breathing deeply does not help, it gets interpreted as a clenched jaw, or a black face, a distant countenance. Crying instead of shouting does not help, it is not any more professional as conversation should be. Perhaps Xanax, but it is a junkie's solution, I should avoid forming that. I should complain to Father God, my secrets keeper, my best friend, but I find myself silent many times, like the best friend who sits with you over tea, and loves your company as you do his, even without saying a word, you feel each other's presence. I think, I am going to just see how every tomorrow goes when it comes, and try my best not to create any more regrets.

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