By Debbie Lynn
My ego shuttered as I rolled my eyes in an arrogant way, then my so-called “Zen” persona shattered.
Blatant thoughts of malice rippled through my mind and out the mouth—no excuses. I lost it. Admittedly, it was inevitable. I am human and can only absorb so much. The toxic intolerance was too heavy, too cruel and verbally violent. I will spare you the details, and it isn’t what I am writing about—it was my reaction that made my heart ache.
I spoke my mind, in the moment, and it was brutal.
Then it happened; he called me out, he called me a fake. I often talk about rising above the noise of mean and inexcusable people, so why couldn’t I walk my talk this time? I had to go into deep reflection. I wasn’t about to pin it on childhood trauma, or the perpetrator, and I really didn’t want to become a victim, but I did.
Triggers—oh the triggers. Sitting with anger, I found a little place inside that still needed some attention and love. And It wasn’t the expression of my emotions I was upset with (because I know better) it was the fact that I was called to the mat as a fake. A fake.
A fake? Wow… I am a fake. Okay, I said. I vow to make this word a soft stone, caress it in my hand and figure out the origin of my rage.
My typical M.O. is jovial, well-rounded sensibility and fairly calm. It takes a lot to push my buttons, so what happened? Honest anger welled up within my belly, hearing the nasty tone accompanied by the rant of impossible meanness. I didn’t even ask (in the moment) what drives a person to have so much hatred? I am still angry. More reflection.
“When you hate the haters, you become one. Meditate on that.” – Timber Hawkeye
So, I did.
Boom! There it is. Yes, I am a fake. I was hating the hater and felt horrible. This isn’t about opinion—right or wrong—it was the fact that my ego stood sentinel over something that didn’t need protection. It needed love, and nothing would be solved by the same violent outbursts and certainly not using the very thing I was angry about.
We all know that holding in our emotions is dangerous, but there are healthy ways to revive the peace within, from the war within, and move on.
I could have looked at this soul with compassion, knowing he knows not what he speaks and that he will, in the end, have his own set of circumstances to deal with eventually. I could have looked into the eyes and perhaps seen the wounds he holds that manifest into hatred. I could have…
More OM. I kept the wheel spinning in my head, recounting the interaction and replaying the words. Soon, the guilt, the anger, and the misguided thoughts became my teacher. I will never pardon verbal violence. Hatred is an ugly pill to swallow, yet I know in my heart, there is nothing fair about life and we all drink the Kool-aid. So, this person is a not-so-gentle reminder that we (the whole human race) have a lot of work to do.
Now I, “the fake” will resume to my happy bubble and carry-on.
I said my apologies without any expectations that I would be heard or acknowledged. It was a true, sincere and personal endeavor, never to be held with conditions. And to him, I could see…it really didn’t matter. Such is life. But my act of redemption was for my own validity. Shake it off. Get rid of the questions that hung in the mind and find a bit of solace in the fact that could have resolve.
I am a fake. I am a sensible, loving, kinda Zen, human fake.
Editor: Dana Gornall
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