I am a peaceful woman. It has been a process, a growth, a learning these days gone by, and each day I get closer. Each day I remind myself… patience. Each day I practice… love. Each day I remember… the greatest gift is to forgive.
Have I been here before? Back when? Back before my days were filled with breath and yoga and affirmation and prayer?
I don’t think so.
I recall anger with my sisters, the meaningless, monotonous sibling tug and pull that ends in tears and yelling and inevitably an I love you.
I remember anger in young adulthood, irritation over a perceived wrong, frustration over my lack of control. He said, she said, ever the same.
And I have felt anger as a woman, hormone-fueled indignant rage whose catalysts, unsurprisingly, today I find hard to recall.
But, this anger?
No. This anger is new. This anger for what has been taken and not given, this anger - it roils and boils like a tornado inside as my heart, my soul, my very being threaten to implode with its might. This anger, it is beyond comprehension, beyond description. How can this be?
My own words, they fail me.
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise...
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise. - Maya Angelou