My Disease And Better Angels
I am filled with such dis-ease.
When to speak, when to remain silent… am I listening?
I feel I am far to quick to compromise so as not to offend and ‘keep people at the table.’ A value I hold dear but it’s also an easy excuse. I know I have spoken words that closed a door that need not have ended. Sometimes we need to offend each other, but never for the sake of the offense. I catch myself consistently not listening to be changed but just hearing for an opening to convince others. I feel torn in the tension of silent vexation yearning for… better, and impatient for realization, and unsure how much that’s because I have chosen the unwise course…
I grit my teeth, I can’t let go of anger, it effects my family but they love me through it. Why am I so sure others aren’t using the eyes and ears, what conceit is that? Why must others try so hard to give me license to think that… there I go again.
How much to judge, that not all is ok, but not be a heaper of burden and shame on those I would love. But love is burden. A really big burden. One that needs to be chosen to be born.
My anger… my disease… It’s mostly a byproduct of love. But what is the end goal of its expression? Love can become jealousy and hate and oppression if it only seeks to feed itself. I see the seeds of all those things in me. I am not proud; I am not ashamed either. What conceit would imagine I’m not running around as flawed as the next person. But I better name those flaws: early and often. Because that’s what keeps the seeds from taking deeper root and fuller expression.
I struggle to love myself and the journey is reflected in my struggle to love my community and the wider world. A fragment of thought hits me at this very moment and it takes me back to Abraham Lincoln’s first inaugural address as he hoped to avoid the conflict that griped our nation.
“I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”
And as the bonds between us strain under the pressure of turmoil and division (a plight that exists in every age, let’s not allow conceit to blind us to imagine it is any better or worse now than ever) the word I wish to cling to is embrace. May my love move to be expressed as embrace. Let me speak, listen, and act as embrace. Let me abide IN the embrace.
Let us feel the way each other’s heart’s beat. Let us feel the wounds in each other’s souls. Let our hopes and dreams dance together in mid-flight. And may our fears and tremblings comfort each other in the midst of nights. For I need to be embraced, just as I would embrace you. That in mutual love and forbearance we may help each other find those better angels in each other.