The Rock of Resentment

The Rock of Resentment

He spoke of his anger, raging inside, and his feelings about his family, his childhood, the place where he was at now, and what he struggles with.  His eyes flashed, his voice strong, energized as he shared what was deep in his heart, the pain, and the success.

“And, I’ve found a place to put all that, all my resentment,” he said, tears welling up, his voice quavering.  

It was his Resentment Rock.  

“I give it all to the rock, every day, so I can sleep at night, so I have a place for all this,” he said.

“And, this morning, it broke.  It’s in two pieces now.”

Silence filled the room, everyone feeling the tension as the rock broke, imagining that moment in his life.

Someone in the group asked him how he felt now, now that the rock of resentment has broken.

“Oh, I’m free. The pressure is off, the tension is gone.”

“Relief, I guess.  Yeah, relief.  All that resentment that was inside of me, and now, inside the rock, is gone.  It went away.  I just feel lighter now,” he said, one tear making its way down his young face.  

“I can move on, now.”

Later, when we had finished our conversations as a group, he talked to a woman.  She had spoken in our group about a place she was making in her garden, a place to grieve, and an offering vessel she had made.  It was a place where people could come to pray, and leave an object, a symbol of their loss, their grieving.  It was a place of honoring one’s grief, and the memories of good times, and hard times. It was a place to honor what goes on, deep in our hearts.

“Could you put this there?” he asked.  “I want you to take the rock, and put it there, so I can let it be.  I need a place to leave the rock, a place for all my resentment to be.”

He took the two pieces of the rock out of his pocket, showing us how the two pieces fit, jagged edge to jagged edge.   He let me hold them.  The rocks felt heavy, my fingers sensing the burdens they contained.  

His hands trembled, as he put the two pieces in her hand. A large whoosh of air escaped from his chest.

“It’s time to let all that go, and move on with my life,” he whispered, tears soaking into my shirt. 

6/30/12

A Walk Into The Light

I tried to walk in his shoes today, the hour we sat together. He told me of his drug use, his life in chaos, and, finally, at 48, wanting to get a career, a real job. His past is a dark story, lonely and filled with monsters. Today, he was willing to name his monsters and throw them out of his closet, and lighten his load in life.

He took me into his world, and we went deeper than purgatory, farther than Dante was willing to go. He brought his whip out, and lashed out at himself for all the things in his life that he thought he’d done wrong at, and how he was living up to so many people’s expectations that he was a loser. Being homeless, having his family leave him, going to prison, and nearly dying from heroin a few weeks ago. It was an impressive list.

I took the whip out of his hands, and asked him to stop bleeding all over my floor. He was here, working on getting his life together, working his plan to get on his feet, and being clean and sober. He didn’t need to punch himself in the face or bring out the Japanese ritual suicide daggers to convince me he was sincere. There was enough pain in his eyes to last a lifetime, and then some.

Finally, he cried, and the blood flow eased off. He actually laughed, and slowly started listing some of his strengths, some of his good relationships, and his dreams for a better life.

We lit the candle of spirituality and of inherent goodness, and, finally, the concept of loving one’s self for the amazing talents and abilities that every person has. Some of the many years of accumulated self hatred lifted off his shoulders, and he mentioned some of the things he loves in life: his kids, his grandkids, his favorite place in the woods, where there is peace and tranquility, and where his soul can breathe in the fresh air.

The fragile flame of spiritual healing flickered, and then melted enough of the hard wax in his heart so that it could burn brighter, and start warming his soul a bit.

He knew his toolbox was pretty sparse, yet just in knowing that, I knew he’d soon find some more tools, and become the good carpenter in his life that he needed to be. He was ready to pour the foundation and get on with building a better life.

He left in a better mood, with purpose and determination. He left some of the poisons in his life on the floor, mixed with the blood of self doubt and shame and guilt. Some of the puss in his wounds had oozed out, and a little bit of healing was going on. Time was on his side, and I think he’ll be all right.

My new brother knows now what he is hungry for, and he knows where the nourishment and the healing salve and the ways of clean living are in his world. He knows there is a team of support for him, and energy he can draw from as he moves into the world of the clean and the sober and the healing. And, the heroin needle is retired now, and the meth pipe a thing of the past. And, the whip of self abuse and self hatred is about ready to be tossed in the trash.

For me, in the silence of the room where we sat, and where he had cried, I celebrated his transition and his moving forward. I celebrated his courage to change, and his willingness now, to ask for help, and to change his life. I think now that he does not believe he is alone in his walk, and that he needs to walk with others and find his way.

May, 2011

Gratitude

Its been a bit over a year. Now, the workouts at the Y are no big deal. I walk up and down stairs without gasping for breath, and I can walk a couple of miles with not even a thought. I feel healthy, strong, even vibrant, with 25 pounds of lard now gone, and still fitting in my much smaller jeans.

The memories of my heart attack last February are still around, and I still take my regimen of pills twice a day. Mealtime is a place to ponder how I will nourish my body, and bring new nutrients into my amazing body, rather than a time to wallow in processed food, sugar and fat.

Today, I had to crank up the exercise bike and increase the weight size I was lifting, just to give myself a challenge, raise the heart rate a bit, and give my body a reason to break a sweat. Its nice to be “too successful” at this exercise stuff and be needing to “raise the bar” every couple of weeks.

I’ve actually worn out gym shoes, and the sweatshirt I wear to the Y as a symbol of my commitment to working out, is getting a bit frayed around the edges.

There’s been some amazing conversations with other people this year, where we talk about our recent heart attacks, the hospital care, and our cardiologists. We survivors become reverent as we talk and compare notes, sharing that special knowledge of how precious life is, and how quickly one can come so very close to dying.

We share that zeal for each day that we wake up and feel good, feet on the floor and full of energy. Being alive is not taken for granted. Having a healthy heart is a gift, and oxygen is our drug of choice.

I celebrate the small things now, like coffee with my wife in the morning, or the first daffodil of spring, or finding something really healthy and tasty to add to the menu.
We’ve done things this year that we’ve been thinking of putting off, but time is precious now. Life can be short, and life is to be enjoyed, each moment savored.

At the grocery store, I took a shortcut the other day and ended up in an unfamiliar aisle. Everything on the shelves was fat and sugar. I realized I hadn’t shopped in that aisle for over a year, and hadn’t missed it in the least. I shop around the edges of the store now, excited about finding great produce, or some nonfat yogurt, or some tasty new cereal.

I check out the vegetarian items on the menu at restaurants, and I’m not afraid to ask for substitutes for the fried, salty and sugary stuff that is the usual fare for meals.

And, I see other folks doing the same, and I’m finding more healthy stuff in the stores and in the restaurants. And, when the Y is crowded after work, part of me is happy that there’s actually a wait for the treadmills, or the leg press machine.

I spend a lot of time with friends now, taking in the chance meetings at the grocery store or on the sidewalk. I make it a point to connect with them, and share their joy in their creativity, their work, their passions.

Idle chitchat has become insufferable, and I rarely turn on the TV, finding instead that the evening is much better spent with my guitar, my writing, or enjoying a good book with a cat on my lap, and a mug of tea.

I’ve started mentoring a young man in prison, my Sunday afternoons well spent in his company, as he struggles to find his place in the world, and to learn how to socialize with a father figure who hasn’t beaten him, verbally abused him, or left him lost and frustrated with life’s possibilities. He’s teaching me a lot about courage and determination, and the excitement of learning that anything is possible in this life, if only we have the guts to take a step forward.

Gratitude. My gratitude is everywhere in my life. Every experience, every sunrise, every glass of wine shared with my wife in the kitchen as we talk about our days, every amazing experience that comes into my life is a precious gift. I take nothing for granted, and I am so very thankful.