soft edges

There’s something irresistible about the softness of oyster mushrooms.  I took them out of the paper bag when I got home and set them gingerly against the tea-pot.  In the rush to put away groceries and deal with various weekend things, it didn’t strike me that this is relationship between my anger and my rage. It’s impossible not to feel anger; that’s a hard-wired, deep-in-the-brain process, proportional to the level of threat.  Mainly, it’s a warning signal that I need to protect myself or someone dear to me.  Under those conditions, if I’m steady enough to be aware of it rising up from a place of ancient wisdom, my anger actually has soft edges.  And it rises with sufficient spaciousness that I can choose from an array of actions.

If I’m steady enough.

Thank you for practising,

Genju