I discovered this pretty painted pebble among several others
yesterday on top of a big rock in the middle of our river
along which I was walking my pups.
After admiring, then inspecting, weighing and holding each and every pebble,
I chose this particularly pleasingly round and rather surprisingly heavy one,
despite, or maybe because of the unpleasant feeling state it evokes.
Does rage go with age?
Seems like the older I get the more enraged I feel.
Trump's serial sexual abuse of women revealed only this afternoon, is only the very tip of the iceberg. "Trump's basket of deplorables" not having yet renounced their indecent, braggadocious, obnoxious, outrageous and terribly dangerous nominee, no doubt, sits right below that tip, and amidst all those that cried out for Pence to have won the VP debate, what a joke. No, what a shock that so much of mainstream media along with so many Americans will choose style over substance, in regard to politics, not hairstyles!
I am outraged!
So for now, I am holding my rage, weighing it, exploring it, looking at it and most importantly not prematurely dismissing, much less avoiding this rather challenging emotion. I have been tempted for this whole past year to rage against this narcissist emboldened to run for our highest office. I held back because "when they go low, we go high." I held back because the mere mention of the name seems to fuel this insanity. I held back in disbelief of what was unfolding. Giving rage it's rightful place is a challenge, I believe not just for me. Eventually, I hope to place this emotion too at the feet of the Buddha, at the feet of pure awareness, where this too shall pass, with a laugh.
