October 6, 2016

Rage Against the Zen

I read something several weeks ago that has been rattling around in my brain ever since.

Joanna from A Cup of Jo shared this zen parable from a children's book called Zen Shorts:

Two traveling monks reached a town where there was a young woman waiting to step out of her sedan chair. The rains had made deep puddles and she couldn’t step across without spoiling her silken robes. She stood there, looking very cross and impatient. She was scolding her attendants. They had nowhere to place the packages they held for her, so they couldn’t help her across the puddle.
The younger monk noticed the woman, said nothing, and walked by. The older monk quickly picked her up and put her on his back, transported her across the water, and put her down on the other side. She didn’t thank the older monk; she just shoved him out of the way and departed.
As they continued on their way, the young monk was brooding and preoccupied. After several hours, unable to hold his silence, he spoke out. “That woman back there was very selfish and rude, but you picked her up on your back and carried her! Then, she didn’t even thank you!”
“I set the woman down hours ago,” the older monk replied. “Why are you still carrying her?”

You guys... I'm currently standing at the metaphorical base of this people tower:

Let me introduce you to a few!

There's the guy I watched deliberately throw garbage on the floor at the art museum during the annual Color Party.  Garbage.  On the floor.  In a MUSEUM.

The Color Party was in April.  Still annoyed.

And then there's the old lady who lived in the apartment below me when I was 25ish.  She called the police on my several times because she claimed I was too noisy.  I wasn't.

She's probably dead now.  So I can almost let that one go soon.

A bus driver that almost ran me off of the road last night.

About 50 different co-workers due to 50 different interactions that left me with an internal dialogue that went something like this:

And something about being pregnant, listening to Beyonce's Lemonade album on a loop, and watching the last season of Game of Thrones has dialed up my already hot temper to eleventy. When it comes to fight or flight I am always ready for fight.  I walk down the streets of Old Town willing someone to start some shit with me just so I can have an excuse. 

You guys... this is bad because I am pregnant.  And even when I wasn't pregnant, I wasn't really very tough.  I'm all talk.

So I'm trying to learn to let it go.

Like Tuesday night when I saw this on the front porch of our building:

Instead of having a rage meltdown, I calmly carried it 15 feet, put it in the garbage, and then went about my life.  

Well I did take a photo of it and send it to my husband, but I still count it as a win.

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