He said that thing that pissed me off again.
He said it in a way that had me twist and reel,
Tightening my mind’s playful tendrils into a death-grip
Around his words,
Searching for My Case,
Finding the approach that would cut most deeply,
Have him on his knees in recognition that
He was wrong, and
I am right.

And somehow,
as my mind becomes the perfect judge and jury,
I am certain that these contortions,
When perfectly executed,
Will bring me satisfaction.

This is how we die every day.

Honing our righteousness,
Alchemizing our upset into a sticky brew,
Drinking deeply of our bitterness,
Holding the flavor on our tongue,
Whipping the stories back at them,
Lashing them with our pain.

This is the fight to be right.
And we will always suffer.
And we will always fall.

He said that thing that pissed me off again.
I felt the initial blow of rage and pain rip through my system,
And breathed bigger,
Deeper,
Fuller,
So I might make space for all this intensity.

I knew that this pain was familiar,
Even though I could not pinpoint where it began.
I knew I would survive,
Even though I could not pinpoint when it would end.
So I held it gently,
Allowed my mind’s playful tendrils to relax the grip of knowing,
And comforted the parts of me that felt hurt,
Angry,
So deeply sad.

And somehow,
As my mind relaxed its fight to be right,
To contort in ways that felt certain,
I felt my sovereignty,
My undefended heart.

This is how we lead everyday.

Honing our presence,
Alchemizing our desperation into freedom,
Drinking deeply of our courage,
Holding the flavor on our tongue,
Relaxing back into curiosity,
Reaching out to them with clarity.

This is the quest to be free.
And we will always open.
And we will always rise.