I have Anger Issues.

I have anger issues.

I also teach yoga. 

This is quite a challenging combination of life situations to try and navigate.

Because sometimes, I feel like, if I am teaching a practice that deals in how to be more mindful (which is really the point of yoga, the physical component is just a side benefit), then I really aught to have my own mindfulness in check, right?

Wrong. 

If anything, being a mindfulness teacher has brought my anger issues to a head, forcing me to deal with this issue so that I don’t bring in into my teaching….”Got Dammit Linda, WTF is up with your Warrior I  Linda, that looks like Sh#t!” lol not really, my anger issues are rarely triggered by students who are struggling with a posture. 

No.  My anger issues are primarily triggered by stupidity…and passive-aggressive behavior.  And the dumber society gets, and the wiser (and more arrogant, and less tolerant) I get, the more difficult I  find it to refrain from calling people out on their shit. 

And this is really starting to get me into trouble.  Because people don’t like to be called out on their shit.  And they especially don’t like to be called out on their shit in the form and manner that usually ends up coming forth when i am having a moment.  Because i don't have any tact, and i especially don't have any tact when i am caught up in the clutches of the emotion itself. 

And, even though the anger might be justified, if i allow myself to react with emotion, rather than respond with emotional intelligence, then i LOSE.  It goes something like this: I feel triggered, and then, rather than work through this trigger by (1) inquiring as to why I feel triggered, and then (2) allowing myself to feel this in my body, and then (3) deciding whether a responses is needed/warranted, I tend to just get triggered, and then I FIRE.  Boom.  And then I risk losing a client, or a potential business opportunity, or a friend, or a lover.  Not that my anger issues have ever lost me a lover, but it could happen.  And thank then gawds that the 15 year old Sun understands and loves his momma, and just lets my momentary lapses into anger slide right off his back. He teaches me a lot.  He teaches me not to take things so personally...that my anger issues are MY ISSUES, and not HIS.  What a valuable reminder i have in this child. 

So even if whatever it was that triggered me was indeed stupid, passive aggressive, inconsiderate, mean, etc. etc., etc., reactions are NEVER productive.  Ever.  Like even if I am “RIGHT,” if I end up losing my sh#t on someone, then I immediately become WRONG.  And even if that person deserves to get a “what for” from me (which of course they usually do), it never feels good afterwards, really.  I mean, I may get a momentary wave of relief from offloading the anger onto the target of my anger, but then the guilt starts to take over.

In the final analysis, I do understand that my anger, this potent emotion, can be a powerful ally in my journey towards wholeness.  Because the anger is not really the *thing*; the anger “protects me” from feeling or dealing with whatever what is underneath the anger.  Which for me, is usually something related to: fear of rejection, abandonment, death.  So, when I feel angry, or triggered by someone else’s bad behavior, the moment I feel the seething sensation start building behind my eyes and working its way down through the rest of my body, I have a split-second opportunity to take a nice deep exhale (step 1), allow the feeling to resonate in my own body (step 2), inquire as to WHY this particular issue is triggering me, why i am feeling threatened (step 3), and then, and only then, decide whether I need to have a dialogue with the perpetrator (step 4).

And much of the time, I am learning that some battles, MOST battles, are just not worth fighting. 

Exhale.  

"YOU’RE SO PRETTY, MAUREEN!” - 082518

These were the words heard as I was leaving the gym last Wednesday, headed to Ecstatic Dance (aka "Dance Church").  I had just done my sauna/steam routine, and was on my way to go dance it out.  My makeup was done, my third eye was decorated, my shoulders were back, and my head was held high.

As I passed the front desk, Wendy, the front desk manager, someone whom I have seen thousands of times before (well, not thousands, but lots and lots) said “You’re so pretty, Maureen!”

Wow. 

I don’t think I have every really heard that in my life, at least not said with such CONVICTION!  

I mean, lets face it: there are the pretty people in life, and then there are the “beautiful” people…you know the ones...the ones where you can see their beauty, more from the inside-out, rather than the outside-in.  Feel me?

And I have always been the latter.  Which, for the most part, I am ok with…I mean, we can't all be gorgeous beauties, right?  Let's face it ppl, there are more average looking ppl than there are those whom we would call “objectively” pretty. That's why is called "average".

And I know, I know, none of this is cool to say because beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?  How DARE I objectify beauty.  Besides, women "shouldn't worry" about such a trivial detail, right? I mean, there are so many many many things more important than one’s looks, like intelligence, kindness, compassion, style, even. 

But I am here to tell you, as a 50 year old woman: I don’t know ONE WOMAN in my life who doesn’t want to feel *pretty*.  And if you think that I am WRONG, I provide you with exhibit A:

Exhibit A: The cosmetics industry is a billion dollar industry…and growing everyday.

Let me try to put this another way: you know those ppl in your life who post their selfies on whatever social media - this is someone who the world finds OBJECTIVELY pretty - and you read down the list of comments: “Beautiful”  or “gorgeous” or “stunning” etc. etc. etc. and so on...and on and on the list goes (no i'm not bitter about this).  You know the ppl, I bet you could count 3 – 5 of those folks right now.  

Those aren’t the comments that I get when I post a selfie.  Mkay?

And I am NOT writing this blog to get a whole bunch of comments that say, “Oh but Maureen, you’re pretty too!”  or “We are ALL pretty in our own unique way”.  Nope, please keep those thoughts to yourself.  Because it’s not what I am after in this blog.  Not to mention, its no boon being objectively pretty.  You may get a pass on some things, but not life itself.  And that song lyric in "Lucid Dreams" by Juice Wrld (i have a 15 year old) that goes: "Who knew evil girls have the prettiest face?" OK the grammar is off, but you get the sentiment.  And even Kanye West said a long time ago "The prettiest people do the ugliest things."  BTW, I really did think twice about quoting Mr. West on this blog, as i know there are a slew of you out there who are currently on the "Anti Kanye train" but if you have been current on my social medias lately, you will see that i truly have less and less f#cks to give about other ppls. opinions of me.  It's something i'm working on.  So sue me.  It's a good lyric.  

All I wanted folks to get from this blog, is how good it made me feel that someone was recognizing my TRUE BEAUTY!  It was shining from the inside-out and somebody noticed!  And they said something!  And for the rest of the night, at dance church, I felt prettier, at 50 years old, than perhaps I have felt my entire lifetime!  

We all want to feel pretty, and it has less to do with our features, than how we hold ourselves, how much we are willing to work on ourselves, so that ppl can see that shine!  I have been working hard on myself lately, peeling off the layers of programming one painful layer at a time…mostly because I really do get that – I have this ONE lifetime, which could end at ANY TIME…and I still got shit to do, feel me?

So the next time you look at a girl, a woman, a sister-friend and she looks beautiful to you, tell her!  No - its not the ONLY thing that matters, its not even the “MOST IMPORTANT* thing. 

But is sure does feel good.   

:o)

MY VISIT TO THE CAPE COAST (AKA *SLAVE* COAST) CASTLE AND DUNGEONS.

That is a really weighty title, i know.  But not a fraction as weighty as experiencing the tour of the castle where prisoners were held captive, until the next ship had returned from delivering the last human cargo across the Atlantic sea.  Standing in the same exact place as where so much human suffering took place, so many unspeakable crimes towards humanity...man's inhumanity to his fellow man is one of the biggest mysteries in this lifetime for me.  What drives us to commit such atrocities?  Is it greed?  Or something far more sinister than that i have yet to put my finger on...perhaps i never will.

I have been back from Ghana for a month now, and it has taken me this long to put pen to paper on this blog.  I knew this blog was going to be a difficult one to write, perhaps the most difficult blog i have written.  But i also know its one of the most important blogs i have written, if i can translate my own experiences in a way that touches another human being, in the direction of more compassion.  Which is really what we are missing in human relationships these days...just more compassion.  More kindness.  More empathy.  More pure love.

It would be my wish that everyone get to experience what i did in Ghana, West Africa, a country where a substantial number of Black America's ancestors hail from, situated as it is on the coast of the Atlantic ocean.  It is here now that i visit, walking within the walls of a structure where hundreds upon thousands upon millions of enslaved people BEGAN their slow journey into the depths of "hell on earth".

I no longer have anything to complain about.  Ever.  E.V.E.R.

Cape Coast Castle

But i will.  Complain again, whine again, worry again.  Because l have been perfecting these mentally destabilizing iterations inside my own head for so long that the grooves are deep, and the process of de-programming myself from these forms of "extreme thinking" (that's a lovely euphemism for depression and anxiety, isn't it?!?) is just that: a process.  But perhaps this time when i am in mid-whine, i will have built up enough stabilizing mindfulness to bring a fresh perspective to my thoughts, to my ruminations, to my negative thought patterns: and that is this:  I really do have it within my own personal power to make any of my grandest dreams come true. 

I am free.

Holy shit, right?!?  Sweet freedom.

Cape Coast Castle

Cape Coast Castle

The tour of Cape Coast Castle, which is the name of the massive white structure sitting at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, began with our tour guide, a slight, older man with a thick Ghanaian accent atop his firm English grip,  suggesting to us that anything we have previously been "taught" about slavery, or "learned" about the transatlantic slave trade will stand meek and pale against the experience of being in the place itself.  A place where, over a period spanning several hundred years, human beings held other human beings captive in underground dungeons for weeks upon months, waiting for the ship to return and transfer this human cargo across the Atlantic ocean to various destinations in the west (with island stops along the way).  While held in captivity, these human beings were treated with such disdain and reckless disregard for their shared humanity, it's as if the captors really did not see these human beings as human at all; worse than the way in which farm animals are abused by us: branded first, then chained together and shoved into small rooms that held 300 bodies each, eating, peeing, bleeding, shitting, all in the same dark place.

The tour guide pointed out the shallow canals that ran through the middle of each floor and then to the outer edges of each room; the human waste drainage system, where, until the waste eventually drained out, it stood there, festering smelling, rotting. There was very little light or fresh air in these dungeons, some people were rendered blind by this experience, while others perished from all form of malady from the unsanitary conditions in which they were kept.  And of course, from all manner of brutality that happened here: torture, rape, murder. 

The men and women were kept kept in separate dungeons, and you can *see* how dark it was - only a small square of light carved out at the very top of the tall dungeon walls.

I couldn't help but to imagine how any human being could survive the levels of mental anguish which the captives were subject to, levels that just kept going deeper and deeper: first, the original capture, then the branding, then the dungeon, spending unknown weeks underground without natural light, eating, pissing, shitting and bleeding all in the same place, not knowing what would happen NEXT, but thinking to oneself: surely things cannot get any worse than this...and then - the middle passage.  And, having endured the dungeons and the horrific trip across the Atlantic, not having any idea what was going to happen next (remember there was also a language barrier), but thinking to oneself, surely things cannot get any worse than THIS, and then, being *sold* into a life of servitude at the hands of a cruel and sadistic slave owner. One cannot help but to think that the captives who were brave enough to jump overboard during the middle passage fared better than those who *survived*.  I certainly cannot see myself being so brave...no, not this nervous nellie.  Had i been "lucky" enough to have survived the dungeons, i would have convinced myself that "surely things cannot get any worse than this" to only later wish i had made the wiser choice and jumped while i had the chance.

Governor's Quarters

Governor's quarters

Once the prisoners were captured, the men and women were separated, branded, and placed in separate dungeons.  Each dungeon had several (3 - 4) adjoining rooms, and in each room, no larger than say 40' x 40', 300 prisoners were kept, shacked together with no light.  These conditions stood in stark contrast to the conditions in which the captors were housed, just above the dungeons.  Pictured to the left is the room that the "Governor" (top brass) stayed; large, open and airy with plentiful windows for the the light to get in.  Another interesting juxtaposition the tour guide pointed out was that of the church.  Just outside the doors of the church was a door in the ground.  Open the doors and just below were the prisoners.  So, after praising the lord, one could walk outside his house of worship and check on his property.  Just to make sure it was *safe*. Where were the prisoners going to go?  There was no escape, and the unlucky prisoner who *acted up* or presented difficulty in any way was separated out and kept in a smaller dungeon, where they were eventually meant to perish, and then be thrown out to sea.

Towards the end of the tour, we were shown "The Door of No Return" which was just that: once the prisoners were led out that door and onto the slave ships, they would NEVER return home again.  The guide told us of an effort to   "re-name" this door as "The Door of Return", as relatives of these people taken from their homeland start to return and repatriate Mother Africa.

"DOOR OF RETURN"

The final part of the tour took us to a lovely light-filled room, where on display were clay casts, busts representing faces of the men and women who were enslaved, mistreated, tortured and murdered.  The anguish on these faces is palpable.

On our way out was this plaque on the side of the wall:

"MAY HUMANITY NEVER AGAIN PERPETRATE SUCH INJUSTICE AGAINST HUMANITY.  WE, THE LIVING, VOW TO UPHOLD THIS."