Last night my daughter and I had the most amazing and intense conversation. She is the only person in the world I can really have that kind of painfully deep conversation with. She knew me when…
When everything angered me. When everything was about racism, sexism, exploitation and privilege. When I say everything… I mean every experience. I could find the ism and injustice in everything and everyone. And she allowed me to curse, scream and allow the beast out.
Because the beast that resides in ME….
is not nice beast
she is not a weak beast
she is not a meek beast
she is not a quiet beast
she is not a silent beast
she is not a sweet beast
she is not a loving beast
she is not a spiritual beast
she is not a kind beast
she IS a nasty beast
she IS vicious beast
she IS loud and she IS strong and she IS a force…. She’s A lion. She’s A warrior.
But apparently in my attempts to not awaken the beast some people in my life, in the world, in the community have no idea that this beast even exists. They’ve come to know the namaste beast. The and so it is beast. The come and I will love you and hold you beast.
In fact what I realized and said yesterday to her is that 90% of the people in my life have no idea who I really am. They don’t know me.
What am I talking about?
I feel… No I know that when you meet me one of two things might happen. You either love me or you dislike me.
On more than one occasion I have been accused of being arrogant like that’s a bad thing. The perception and assumption in that first impression some people might get is that I’m full of myself. (And honestly I’m not going to worry about their assumptions. That’s their stuff to work through.) I happen to confident and I like that about me.
Then on the other side there are the people who are like bees to honey… they want to be near me… they want to be nurtured by me… they love who I am to them and what I symbolize. They love what I give and provide for them and I love giving all of that.
What I don’t love is that lately and by lately I’m talking about the last 10 years… people are confused and think they can speak to me anyway they wish. Some folks think that they can speak to me disrespectfully or condescendingly and that I must sit back and take it.
This is what my daughter and I were talking about. How it has taken me years to master the art of communication and listening in a loving and respectful way. I work very hard at not exploding at people, speaking from a place of love and honoring people where they are. Yo!!!! I work hard. It is a daily practice.
Emphasis on the words loving and respectful.
There are some people who believe it is their right to speak to anyone anyway they want and I’m here to tell you — you cannot and will not speak to me anyway you wish. I’m going to need you to respect me in the same way that I respect you. And that goes for everyone. It is not your right!
This post is for anyone and everyone in my life.
Where is this all coming from?
What is at the root of this post?
I’m reading my last journal and looking at the entry four days before my 44th birthday and this is what I wrote:
Wednesday, July 22, 2015—My intention for today is to write through the rage and anger. Today I moved in the world so frustrated. I was filled with so much frustration and anger. I was so annoyed so off-center. I wasn’t happy and it showed. It showed all over my face, in my mannerisms, in my walk and it filled my spirit. I didn’t want to be around anyone and everything around me annoyed me. People and their bullshit. Sometimes I wish motherfuckers would just check their shit at the door. Don’t bring that shit here. Leave it. Or take it back wherever it came from. My intention for today is to use all of this in my writing and write from a place of that power… that powerful masculine side of me. I give myself permission to be angry and be “that dude!” END OF ENTRY
Wow. That entry even shocked me! In my journals I can be me in the most free complete way. But what shocked me the most was my connecting anger to masculinity. As if only men have the right to be angry. And as a woman if I show my anger or let that beast out I would be seen as a lunatic.
This is what I am meditating on today.
Today I have given myself permission to allow the beast out!
And so it is!
The Writer and The Story 
Kudos, Alicia, on being one with your anger.
The patriarchy denies women our anger
and men are denied their tenderness (boys don’t cry).
Anger that is not expressed gets stagnant
and causes a lot of physical, emotional, psychic damage.
I am learning that underneath my anger
there lies a deep love
my anger protects that love from bruises
and often builds a dam preventing tears.
I am learning that I get angry
at those who have been most injured
who lie to me; who steal from me
who cross my boundaries and diss me;
whose behavior injures me in some way.
I am learning to see them as sick and suffering
and treat them soothing and tenderly
as if they were on their dying bed.
I am learning to detach with love
for they are not doing this to me
this is what they do
a scorpio bites, a snake devours.
I am learning that it has nothing to do with me
for I am a loving and lovable creature
and they are sick and suffering
and, like Daniel and the lion,
I am learning to ignore the roaring
and address their wound.
I am learning that expressing that love
(by then, there’s no need for anger)
dredges from my inward most depths
a richer truth
a bridge to connect
rather than alienate.
It is the work of a lifetime
undoing the socialization from a previous life
that produced the baby factories
and the war machine.
We are locked, women and men
in a senseless state of unfeeling
half dead zombies
run over by emotions we don’t understand
and suppress because we are afraid to experience.
Thank you, my sister,
for touching on this topic
so close and dear to my heart.
Thank you for doing your work
acknowledging your anger
allowing yourself to be
and expressing your feelings.
It encourages, it invites me
to do the same.
It reminds me of
and supports my own process.
A Black man was on his cell phone
at a Senior community dining hall
talking loud and earnestly across the room
on his cell phone
about what is wrong with Black women.
The only Black and only male at a table of six,
ignoring his immediate company.
His alienation was most severe
yet, I recognized it as my own.
He wasn’t ignoring and bypassing me
He was sick and suffering
from not being able to connect.
I tapped him on his arm
and offered him a handshake.
He got off the phone quickly
as I asked him if he was new.
The whole table followed suit
and engaged him in dialogue.
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