the grudge anchor
man I was burning, a little tiff @ the homestead this morning, and it was crawling about my skull all commute, no, scrambling, rambling, rumbling, an out of control locomotive, consuming all voraciously like a black hole drilled and dropped into the center of my being, screaming, swirling inward, I suppose when things happen in the earliest of hours, pre-dawn, pre-coffee, pre-civilization they are just that raw, primitive, to the bone, no time to waste at these hours, every minute planned out until, well, that first punch of life hits and your plan splits, a swing and a hit from your blind spot, which is decidedly big at that point, and all the worse… you are right, not that it matters, does it?
I understand holding a grudge, the temptation, the salivation, the ability to relent to base animal instincts and bare your inner fangs wide, and in the moment, the adrenaline does provide the sensation, but we are not mere animals, well, at least I hope so, or strive so, the more I thought about it, the whole situation, without even needing or providing details, the more I saw my machinations for another later in the day confrontation – as wholly shallow, an unending conflagration over… nothing, nothing more than two egos like continent plates crashing into one another, regardless of motive, stance, civility or morality, this seething, pulsing seed of anger I was fertilizing all morning – for an afternoon reunion with parties injurious to the situation, ‘boy will I get them’, which turned in time, no, ‘what is the damn point you fool?’ I ask myself, as if talking myself off a cliff edge from oblivion, a hotline to my well being, ‘what is the actual point of continuing this?!’, I confess, almost a blush of embarrassment, how easily wound around an obvious finger outstretched I had become, I was in the right (most mostly), a tip of my toe in the wrong, but what did it matter either way, in the long run…
the grudge anchor, for we all have one, or maybe a dozen, and we have all thrown them deep, for various reasons (some with more merit ballast than others), I was sure as can be ready and my righteous anchor was already half an ocean fathom’s down, and plunging faster as my mind delved, then clarity of thought, the nature of an anchor is intransigence, and then your entire voyage is going nowhere, good, bad, trade winds to and fro – a no go, a stalemate, or a stale mate at home, perhaps a circle winding round the anchor point down, and there is comfort in this fort, this port, this stance, this standing still and marching about your own land, for perhaps that anchor is true and decent (even worse if it was constructed with just an alloy of ego and pure pride), no perhaps I will just apologize for my slight even if the greater slight was a mountain to my little trail hiked, I can have right on my side but not let that collide with my progress across the ocean’s wide, a sacrifice, for the sake of shipmates, for running into those lost at sea, raise the anchor and be on my way, cognizant of the history, logged in a captain’s book for keep not conflict, rather extend the laurel leaf to see what comes about, maybe nothing, maybe spite spout, so be it, let them cast anchors, let them allow their blood to boil at the behest of base instinct in the cauldron of grudge, let my path be free, let them cast anchors, not me.
(notes: this was written in one swath, stream of conscious thought…)
Shades of My Garden 