45 minutes of Kundalini yoga for the fourth chakra, the navel chakra, ending with five minutes of a simple arm movement and "Har" breath. Roll the "r". The teacher said this movement, practiced daily, can relieve inner anger and resentments and set the mind to neutral. Neutral sounds good. Good for the engine, that pause before switching gears.
Recently, I got worked up over a sponge. I neglected to wring it out enough and it subsequently left a puddle in addition to the original countertop puddle. From there, I steamed over the knock-overs and drops of seemingly everything I put my hands on or around, walked or brushed by. The small African man statue fell face down, a remote control slipped off the couch arm, the toothbrush cap took a dive, a nugget of dry dog food careened from the cup to a chair edge to the floor somewhere.
After the nth time, when a sock didn't make the trip from the dryer to the hamper, I gritted my teeth and said, "Arrrr, christ" as i semi slammed the dryer door.
Saying and doing this was kind of a quick relief, but hearing it was not. The sock landed in the shape of a mocking grin. Its thickness felt good in my hand when I picked it up and placed it in the patiently waiting, open-mouthed hamper. The innocent sock belongs to the M. Too late for innocence though. I managed to catch another tiny wave of frustration about it landing on the floor, at faulty dryer construction (there should be a catching device). The frustration flickered at M for not laundering his own socks, which seeped into a questioning of the need to cover feet and ankles, finally at M for having feet and ankles. The gall. The anger wave glopped back at me and my inability to move things from one thing to another...then at things. Why are there things? Why can't the things leave me alone and move themselves? Why am I always doing the things? What is wrong with me?
Oh cripes. This doesn't last long but it lasts enough. The feeling and then the response to the feeling, the thoughts of the feeling. The feelings about the feelings. The thought about the thoughts.
As a child, a girl child, any expression of anger was frowned upon. The tamping down only fueled me more. I made my desires to be listened to, comforted, soothed, and reassured loud and then louder. "Stop being a pepper pot. You should see how you look," my mother said. "Your making an ugly face. Stop your noise."
These words did not help. Neither did her other tactic, to ignore me. Hey, there were six of us. Left to my own limited devices I slammed my little fists against my little hips. The rhythm was helpful to some inside place. Sometimes that solo was enough. Other times I lay down while keeping the hip beat going, adding heel kicks on the ground, earth, cement, bricks or paved driveways all giving a a different flavor, and then screaming, I was a one girl band of badness. I tired myself out, no applause.
Recently, I set out to walk home from work and crossed paths with a gentleman holding a book, with the front cover "Anger Management for Dummies". Thoughts crisscrossed my mind: good for him -- that's brave, letting us all know you are a dummy -- hey, I could use that book -- i am a dummy, wouldn't you like to be a dummy too. All together it made me smile.
Today I spilled a container of peppercorns in my kitchen, in my concrete floored kitchen in our open concept loft. Cripper crappers, I said, which made me laugh. And I went about the business of capturing those spirited balls rolling about. I will find them for weeks I am certain. Behind and under all kinds of things, including my feet.
In my growing up house, pepper lived in a white china pepper shaker on the shelf of the dining room hutch with the tea cups. I don't remember it ever running out. I did know it came from a tin, red, black and white that twirled around in the lazy Susan kitchen cabinet. McCormick's (I looked it up). The pepper was black. The peppercorns on my floor are black, pink, white, orange and green. Up close, they are little pockmarked planets.
Did you know? Black pepper (Piper nigrum) is a flowering vine in the family Piperaceae, cultivated for its fruit. In its spicy history, pepper was often so valuable that it was often used as collateral or even currency.