It started this morning with the smoothie. An odd assortment of things went into the magic bullet, the last of the frozen red raspberries, a half of an avocado, a few heaping tablespoons of vanilla yogurt, a scant handful of granola, a scoop of Vega chocolate protein powder, the last dribble of cranberry juice at the bottom of the bottle, some water. I was fully expecting a brownish green concoction. What emerged from the bullet was this,
mounded in the glass and begging to be eaten with a spoon. The gorgeous delicious pink was strength of red making its presence known amongst the otherwise muted assemblage of brown and green.
The full moon has been working on me the past few days. Fitful nights of sleep with dreams full of anger and anxiety. This morning I couldn’t shake disturbing dreams of being thwarted, the sense of anger lurking behind my otherwise accommodating way. It kept pushing through, kept wanting me to see it, where it lives in me even when I think it doesn’t. This is so humbling, so painful when it happens. Typically, I can hide from Anger by letting tears of sadness dominate. But when the tightness in my chest, the insistent unwanted memories, and the unexplainable anxiety appears, I know Anger is close. And I need to face it.
What is that expression that describes so succinctly, a feeling of anger? That I am ‘seeing red’?
Sitting on the meditation stool at the pond today was cathartic. Sounds of wind, trickling water, and a visible presence of life under the surface of the water had both me and Nora paying attention. I took in the beauty of the ripples on the surface,
and eventually was re-directed to the shore where Nora was beckoning for her aquatic companion to surface.
It was hard not to see the red there.
I’ve passed this abandoned vessel every time I walk this path, aware in a ‘oh, there is a decaying red boat at the edge of the pond’ kind of way that doesn’t really register the physical reality of what is there. But today it draws me in.
The red is so red! It is peeling and beautiful and I see abstract paintings and bursts of anger at the same time.
I walk further down the path with Nora, aching to settle back into the stability of green and brown again.
The fact is, it isn’t any one specific thing that has brought me to this place. It is so many things. It is a litany of things. It is a history of things that have been systematically buried for too long. I have simply reached a tipping point. I realize it doesn’t serve to isolate any one thing and vent in that direction. I realize that seeing red right now is just a state of mind I need to respect, and find a way to release with some semblance of grace if I can. I approach the giant purple mushroom that has been there for weeks now. I bring the camera lens down close, and snap. It is a grotesque photo, like a brain spilling blood. Somehow the red in the purple dominates in the picture and I am revolted by it, immediately delete it. Continue walking in the balm of brown and green. My eye is caught by a log I am about to step over. The bark is gone and the smooth surface of wood is presenting me with its beauty, and now all I can see is art again, snapping one close up after another. I cross over the log, lookand smile, there it is again.
Red. A beautiful expression of some aspect of the wood releasing something.
And with it, I release my red too.