We all have angels, passed on relatives, friends, hanging around. For that reason, it makes no sense to fume, rage, pout and swear. Moody blue Tantrums make us SUCH bad company!
Working in the garden, I caught myself being irritated. I was mad at the worker who'd abandoned the garden job. Now, I was struggling with 100 boulders left in the path by an airhead, homeless man who chosen roaming the city like a talking dog, sleeping in trashcans --- over working for me. Cursing the day I met him, I finally walked two pails of compost over this rock pile, down the side alley and onto this bed where first year morninglories and nasturtiums were going to bloom.I don't like rage so to dissipate it, I tried to take responsibility. I didn't pay him enough money, the fellow I jokingly called CHARLIE MANSON to my pals (so much that I'd accidentally call him 'Charlie?' to his face and he'd respond 'WILL is the name---). I didn't like him enough to flatter him ---and being an ARIES, he'd lost interest in the low pay and lousy food if there was no flattery.
Inside, washing my hands, a wave of depression hit. I did deep nose breathing. No help. I tried to golden key the rage. That's when you change your mental viewpoint. You look on the bright side. You do a Polyanna. The Master Jules called it 'assuming the pose,' like fake it til you make it.
I told myself I was so LUCKY to have this big garden, an old cottage and very cheap rent! I had landscaped the former rented cottage in one month. No space for a single tomato plant after thirty days of putting my potted treasures in the ground. Now, I had 8000 square feet to fill. LUCKY ME,' I told myself The gloom did not lift. "WOW am I happy. Oh boy, am I enjoying this wonderful house and this big yard." Gloom tilted His head, saw my mouth moving but didn't let loose his bulldog teeth from my heart.
This is when you do several things fast. You pray 'God, take this depression away". You bargain. "I know there are people in Russia without food, and people in Chile and Iraq and Iran without houses and families and there are people who've had floods, and landslides and typhoons. I'm here in LA, got a garden and a working Honda, my grievances are small time."
That's one approach. You're 'hondling' God to let go. You're saying that you're sorry for being so arrogant as to be irritated and you apologize for expecting Life to be a Rose Garden. You know there are others who have zilch. This is something that Baby boomers do a lot because when we wouldn't eat our spinach, our parents (it was a generational thing) told us that people in China didn't have any spinach. A lie, Chinese eat nothing but --- I've since learned. But I was told frequently that I should be so grateful and guilty that WE had spinach on our table that we ATE it. That whole guilt headtrip was done to me. So now I'm guilty that my being ticked off had maybe insulted God. OK. I apologize for being ticked. Please lift my depression and my irritation. (Pause.) God didn't. He was playing with big marbles today.
Once God saw me cooperating this way and had lifted a funk, under miraculous circumstances. The BF and I were returning from a beach resort in his Ferrari. He would return to his family, I to mine. It was February. "Oh, it's your birthday," he suddenly remembered. "Yes." "I'll give you a sweater." While my lips smiled and said thank you very much, if I'd had a brick I'd have lobbed it. I went from anger to shocked funk to an immense, sorrowing black hole. The BF drove the beautiful Red Lugo Ferrari smoothly. I hondled God. "It's ok. Whatever. Just replace this sorrow with anything else."
In one second, it was like a lightning bolt hit me. I was filled with joy. Think the happiest moment of your life and magnify it a few times. Like sun coming from behind a cloud, or an Exedrin kicking in.
The BF drove a few more miles. I looked over and actually said ---'a sweater would be nice but you know what? I'd rather have a Honda.' He said agreeably 'sure,' and patted my hand. And that's how I got my Honda.
Today's depression was not going to be moved off with such ease. I tried to think, -- had I eaten any babies the night before? I actually believe that lamb chops and veal, (the two infant animals that suffer most, being taken from nurturing mothers, then kept alive in horrific circumstances until slaughter,) produced a screeching sorrow in me the day after. I had long since quit chops. But I had eaten two small beef tacos the night before. Shotgun suicide as I'd researched Mad Cow disease, written an article on how pervasive the disease is in America, how it passes for Alzheimers, posted it at there. There's no article better on the subject. I know several people coming down with mysterious shakes and tremors right now, (first year symptom ) and know several who died of 'Alzheimers' only the docs won't do autopsies as they'd have to burn down the room afterwards. Eating beef is like playing Russian Roulette. My way around madcow was I'd avoid eating nerves. The active virus is in the brain tissue and nerves. Eating a beef brain would be like putting a loaded Luger to your lips. But two little tacos off the hip? Waves of rage, irritation and sorrow fluttered and flailed within me. I might as well have eaten the whole damn cow. Who knows, maybe it was a mad cow! The one raving mad cow in the valley and my butcher had him!
Suddenly, I began to laugh at that idea. Then, I began to feel I was even amusing God. Or ghosts or angels, or whoever was out there in the void watching this ridiculous human beef about rocks and tacos. How could anyone fail to be amused at my hondling God and talking aloud to myself. The things one goes around muttering can be funny. There's no one to hear them most of the time, but that doesn't mean SOMEBODY isn't entertained. God, or, my dead relatives. MUSES, maybe. We artists know that muses are out there as they talk to us. Sometimes they aren't talking is all. They're listening instead. And they may not like what they listen to. Did you ever think of that? That your Aunt, Grandma and Grandpa are just above your head tied to you by love and you're bitching all the time? KRIKEY!
I know that I flinch bigtime when I watch TV. The dysfunctional families, the bleating, whining drama, the fighting, the people getting ready to kill one another. I don't watch scenes where people bicker. It's repugnant. I always wonder why writers write that stuff. So, imagine our poor, fond angels having to listen to us living relations go on and on with one another, whining, petulant, angry at workers who leave. Angry at the rocks in the path. If I were a channel I'd turn me off!
That made me laugh and as I wandered around laughing at myself, I noticed that the depression did not return, nor the irritation. I thought 'Wow. Possible new tactic, here. Entertaining angels. Giving amusement to the air."
So, as I ran about, I began to talk aloud to the cats and to Puck Puck the chicken and everything going on seemed funny and what I said to the animals cracked me up. (I shouldn't live alone. I'm wasted on me. ) But maybe angels were amused. Maybe my dead grandmother's ghost had a laugh or two. Or maybe the concept is that angels stay away in droves when we're automatic and testy and we lose our auric protection. Maybe when we amuse the universe, angels simply come back. Auric protection returns.
Funks are heavy, ugly things but Archimedes once said that one could even lift even a planet the size of earth, if you had a fulcrum, a place to place your lever. And the lever needed a very pointed edge to slip under where the planet rested. If you could just get that slender, steel lever in one millimeter and shove it the next and the next after that, you could lift a whole planet. A laugh is that sharp lever. That's the tip I pass on.
When your own black holes beckon, play to that void of empty seats you can't see into. Talk to yourself, but really to them. No one in any theatre is alone. Not if there are angels.
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