Embodying Soul: A Return to Wholeness
Section 3: Chapters 18 & 19
Dear reader: Anger is my favorite emotion. He wasn’t always; I’ve certainly had to learn how to communicate with him. But I have found this emotion to be the holder of my power and my voice. Without him, I would just be another cog in the wheel, when what I really came to do is question and tip hierarchies, and build something better in their place.
In this Soul Realm/Earth Realm chapter pairing, you will see both how my soul views Anger, as well as how it manifested for me in a time of need.
Enjoy!
Chapter 18: Anger the Ambassador
It is now late morning, a quiet, meditative time in the Soul Realm. The River of Forgetting’s roar has settled into a rush. Birds, their bellies bulging with seeds and nuts, snooze along the precipice’s edge. My soul friend and I, too, have been resting beneath the leafy trees. But suddenly Rasa taps my shoulder and says, “Sëri, you must see this. I think your ego may be in trouble.” A red plastic cameralike object is pressed up against her face. The words “3D Viewfinder” are printed between the two lenses. Inserted into the top of the object is a disk with dozens of images embedded in film around its edge, and as she presses a black lever on the side, the disk rotates the images.
She hands the object to me. Carefully bringing it up to my eyes, I see myself in the boardroom in a chair, looking like shrunken Alice in Alice in Wonderland.
My ego is a young adult. I find her beautiful. Her caramel hair, all one length, touches her shoulders and is parted down the middle, with the sides swept away from her blue eyes and held in place with clips. She wears a taupe suit that fits her nicely and a pair of low-heeled shoes. Her nails are unpainted, and her face is lightly made up with blush, eyeliner, and mascara. She looks like a young businesswoman, if a bit out of her comfort zone.
“What am I looking for?” I ask, for this scene seems ordinary as far as Earth Realm experiences go.
“Keep clicking. You’ll see,” advises Rasa.
As I click, the images move forward and back in time. “Wait — how is this happening since I have not yet jumped into the River of Forgetting?”
My soul mate laughs and remarks, “Well, you both have and you haven’t. Remember that time is only an Earth Realm construct. Here in the Soul Realm we can drop into any space and time, because we exist outside of space and time. Everything happens in the present, and as such we have access to it.”
“That makes sense,” I answer, chuckling, “though explaining that to a human might be like a butterfly explaining its access to a third dimension to an ant!” I return my attention to the images, clicking until I find what Rasa wanted me to see, a scene in which my ego’s face reflects confusion mixed with sadness, disappointment, and fear. Around the table are men and women at least ten years older, whose intentions toward my ego do not seem good. On the table in front of my ego sits a stapled agreement, which I read.
“Why, she cannot sign that,” I say. “Signing something means that you agree with it, and she does not agree with that. They cannot force her to sign, can they?”
I turn to Rasa, who shakes her head and explains, “She does not know, at this point, what they can and cannot make her do. She is so accustomed to trusting Authority, and this is such an uncomfortable predicament, that Fear is encouraging her to sign just to get out of there.”
“But that would be unfair! Look, Curiosa is in there with her. She will help her get away, surely,” I say.
“Curiosa is more focused on everyone’s facial expressions than on getting your ego out,” asserts Rasa.
“What about the Robe of Authority? Has she grown into it yet?” I ask.
“No, but if she can speak up for herself here it would certainly further that growth,” explains Rasa.
“I will send her a message for no,” I say decisively.
Rasa replies somberly, “Your bodily sensation will not work in there this day. Body heat will not be powerful enough, and it would take too long. I have an idea that may be risky but could work.”
“Life is nothing without taking some risks. What do you have in mind?” I ask.
Rasa explains, “On your behalf, you could send in Anger. He is, after all, the emotion most interested in justice and fairness. With your guiding influence, and his natural instincts, he can help her say no.”
I think about it. Anger, like all the emotions, has a clear purpose in human life. Situations like this one, where good intentions, goodwill, or even a good heart cannot triumph, are where he shines brightest. “Yes, please call Anger to me,” I request.
“Certainly,” Rasa says, and whistles loudly. Instantly, out of the center of our calm space the wind picks up, the trees rustle, and all the small birds fly away. Then Anger, the dragon emotion, the most feared and ruthless of all the emotions, cuts diagonally across the sky, riding tendrils of his own blinding rage.
We wave and holler to calm him down. Nothing works. I stare directly into his flaming eyes. Feeling eyes upon him, Anger shakes his head from side to side and squirms in midair. He lasers in on me, unafraid and loving. He tilts his head, and a look of cautious recognition spreads over his face. I extend my arms out and open my palms to him.
First he breathes fire in an attempt to frighten me away. Then, when that doesn’t work, he teeters between curiosity and avoidance. As time passes, his claws retreat, his skin softens from blistered red to blush rose. He flies down, tumbling through the air like a kite set loose, and finally curls up at my bare feet.
I pet his scaly, scorched skin. I kneel down next to him and whisper in his ear. “I need to send you as an ambassador to the Earth Realm. Go nice and easy — try not to frighten my ego. Just get her safely out of an unfair situation. This is what I want you to say . . .”
After I finish, Anger lifts his eyes to mine. He says gruffly, “I’ll do it, Serene,” as puffs of smoke come from his nostrils.
“Thank you, Anger,” I say, and tuck the ViewFinder disk, labeled with the correct Earth Realm date and time, securely beneath one of his scales.
As we watch Anger fly off toward the Earth Realm, I wonder about the danger of the fire power he carries, and I ask Rasa about this.
“He’s young yet,” she replies. “Left to his own devices he is hazardous, most surely. But when taken seriously and not dismissed too readily, Anger can inspire organization, collaboration, and connection, all of which are needed to create change and awakenings in the Earth Realm. Look closely, Sëri, and you will discover that Anger has often been the initial spark of energy and focus behind great works of art, music, and healing. Often, a single dose of Anger’s fire is what lies behind great human acts of courage, creativity, and curiosity. And one day, when he is fully integrated and understood, his distilled passion will be employed in the making of compassion for yourself and others. Then you will fully realize his power, and let him illuminate what festers yet in darkness.”
“The fire itself,” I say, thinking aloud, “is a neutral power, and not at all a danger to those who carry it. How it is channeled and directed is what humans must be mindful about.”
“As an advocate for Anger, Sëri, this explanation alone could help reduce some of the stigmas he suffers from,” Rasa says.
Chapter 19: Inflammation
After one week of my four weeks’ notice, my supervisor, Jane, popped her head into my work cubby and said, “Follow me, please.” I felt like I was in trouble but didn’t know what for. Since my move to California, Shame had assured that I’d kept about as low a profile in the workplace as possible without actually disappearing. Curiosa followed behind as we wound our way up a spiral staircase to the second floor then into a windowless conference room, where several men and women, all in suits, stared up from their papers, not smiling.
Had I made another Great Mistake? I wondered. I gulped and slipped into a high-backed leather chair close to the door, with Curiosa beside me. My fingernails were unpainted, and I felt Shame redden my face as I compared them to those of the women around the table with fresh, bright polish.
Curiosa sniffed at a stapled two-page document before us, then Jane said, “Keri, there are a few things we need done before you leave. And we’d like you to sign this agreement.”
I scanned the faces around the table for clues about what was happening. Jane’s smile was tight, nothing like I’d seen on her before. The rest offered only neutral facades that revealed nothing.
I read the document, and saw that at the bottom of the first page was a typed pledge stating that before leaving I would complete the projects on which I had been working. Was this reasonable? Did they not trust me? Did they not understand that whether or not I signed papers I would always do my best work? What would happen if I signed the agreement and didn’t follow through? I wondered.
Then I turned to the second page and saw a pledge that I would reimburse the company for the moving expenses it had incurred. How could they make me agree to that when they never even gave me the job they’d promised me? I thought. As part of my transfer, I had been guaranteed a data analyst position in which I would be working more with the back end of the business and less with client relations. Yet I was still just an administrator, doing nothing other than what I had done in Minneapolis. This wasn’t fair!
Someone handed me a heavy-duty roller pen.
“Do what they say!” squealed Fear.
A disembodied, genderless voice said, “Sign it, please.”
At that moment, a powerful energy awoke inside me. Up until then, I had lived small, trying not to cause trouble. I had been strictly adhering to the trade agreement between the world’s authority figures and me: I follow their rules and expectations, and they provide positive feedback. Yes, I was quitting, but I had given four weeks’ notice to ensure a smooth transition. But as they careened straight toward me for no apparent reason, I deemed our agreement null and void and ripped it up. Fuck them, I thought.
“Hey, young lady! Watch your language!” berated every voice inside me, from my parents to my teachers and coaches — and even God.
But then Anger hissed, “They don’t control you. They can’t control your future. Look closer, Keri, they’re not what they pretend to be.”
I scanned the room again, staring directly into each pair of eyes around the table until they looked down or away. With this new illumination provided by Anger, I could see behind the masks they wore, down to the naked human desperation they tried every day to hide behind their suits, ties, and fancy shoes. And for the first time in my life it wasn’t me who seemed desperate. For the first time in my life, I felt my own power and the source behind it. Clarity and understanding that I had not yet gained in this lifetime dawned on me about the roles we play and how, beneath our confident exteriors, we are not always as comfortable and secure as we may appear.
Calmly I listened as Anger continued, “Do not give away your power. You — the great winds that the ancient ones travel on. You — the roar of the crashing waterfalls and the wise rocks breaking it underneath. Never forget who you are.”
“But who am I?” I asked.
“You are Serene Voyager. Your home is in the Soul Realm. How many times — just in this lifetime alone — have you walked the same paths of safety, acquiescence, always fearful of angering or inconveniencing anyone? Yet you wanted to choose your own adventure. You cannot do that if you continue to give away your power.”
“Well, I don’t indeed want to upset or inconvenience anyone,” I argued.
“They are already angered and inconvenienced,” Anger hissed. “Do not give them permission to follow you into your future. They cannot control you unless you let them. You hold the power.”
“But it’s not how I was raised,” I insisted.
“What, that be-nice-at-all-costs crap? That midwestern stoicism and passive- aggressiveness? Those qualities do not reflect your true self anymore. They are designed to preserve the status quo, not create change,” Anger asserted.
“But isn’t it nice to be nice?” I countered.
“Not at the expense of your power, Keri,” Anger replied.
I felt something flame up from within me. I sat up a little straighter, pulled my shoulders back, narrowed my eyes, and breathed deeply. I set the pen down. “No. I won’t sign this,” I said, with my voice full and calm. I don’t recall anyone replying, perhaps being as surprised as I was. I made no apology, offered no excuse or explanation, only leaving the room along with their precious document, unsigned.
I wound my way back down to my basement cubby, followed by Curiosa and, drained, collapsed into my swivel chair and took a long drink of soda. I replayed the horror scene. I thought of those powerful people who could still influence my future, and how I had defied them.
“What the fuck just happened?” Fear screamed, his tie askew and fresh burn holes riddling his pinstripe suit. He brushed himself off, mumbling, “I don’t understand this. I don’t ever lose control!”
“Those are powerful people you’re messing around with, girl. People who can destroy your future,” added Shame.
“Oh, why didn’t I just sign?” I asked, feeling very exposed. I put my head in my hands and cried tears of embarrassment over what I had just done, and tears of fear for the unknown awaiting me in Portland.
For many years, I would not associate this memory with a new empowerment and increased self-respect but with humiliation and self-loathing. I would quickly forget about the rush of exhilaration that had come from taking a fiery risk on behalf of myself. I would once again forget who I was. But as with every forgetting, it marked the start of another, later, remembering of my power and who I am.
***
Once in Portland, I hoped my old job would fade into the rearview mirror of my life, as Minneapolis once had, and Fargo before that. After all, I had completed all my projects, contract or no contract. When I had sat down for my exit interview, and the human resources representative didn’t bring up anything about my moving expenses or the unsigned contract, I had sighed with relief. But that relief was short-lived. Soon threatening letters on fancy stationery signed by the president were forwarded to my new address, demanding I repay my Minnesota-to-California moving expenses of about $10,000 and saying that if I did not reimburse the company, the company would liquidate my 401K in which I’d saved a grand total of about $2,000. I didn’t know if the company could do that, but regardless, a simple trip to the mailbox became a dreaded daily duty that I soon delegated to Todd.
I never wrote a letter in response or sent a check. Todd and I had confidence, courage, and determination in spades, but we didn’t have money. So even if I had wanted to repay them I couldn’t have. No matter how hard we tried, job doors were not swinging open for us in Portland. One month turned to two then to three. Our bank accounts groaned and yielded to credit accounts. Once, when driving home together, the gas light blinked on. We pulled into a gas station, and swiped three credit cards — all maxed out. So we did what any reasonable person would do. We got down on our hands and knees and searched for loose change under the mats, in the cup holders, on the dashboard, in the glove compartment; coming up with a dollar or two, we sheepishly poured it into the attendant’s cupped hands who pumped some gas in our tank, and drove home in silent embarrassment.
Eventually, the letters demanding repayment of my moving expenses stopped coming. I asked for and received a glowing recommendation from Kathy, my Minneapolis supervisor who had originally hired me. And when I checked, my 401(k) was safe and sound.
Back in fifth grade, a friend with whom I was playing catch suddenly burst out laughing, saying I didn’t know my own strength. I ran home crying because I believed this not to be a compliment about my strong throw but an insult directed at my intelligence. When my mom explained the expression to me, I felt pride and made up with my friend. I realize now that my friend was right — I didn’t know my own strength, not for a very long time. But this face-down in the boardroom with people I would normally never have defied helped me begin to know that strength.
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