There are moments in our lives when we feel the fire of rage.
All is in a fog, all is unclear, all is distorted. Yet in the center of that rage, we believe that there is clarity, that we know what the right course of action is.
We confirm our truth.
We allow our preconceptions to build on perception and solidify. It becomes tangible. To us, there is a kind of beauty in that anger. We lust for it.
Like a flower, it seems to have bloomed from some place righteous, some place justified. And those who will be the victims of our rage will receive their just reward.
Yet after, what does it make? How was it of benefit? Did the flame burn truth into the brow of our enemy?
Most often, anger burns the one who wields it, like one who lit a match and held it too long. Scorched fingers.
Patience douses the fire with water.
Sit in the center of the flame and watch it. Let it burn but do not feed it.
Sit in the center and whisper the sacred syllable, Hung.
Watch it transform.
Watch you transform.
Give it space.
Rest in Mind.