Every time, every time. Every time I am raging, I hear these words, this song, in my head. It is a soundtrack that plays automatically, plays when my face is getting taut, my mouth tight and brow pulled in, heart speeding up, a rage waking up from where she was lying still.
It is comforting at least, to have a song, my very own raging song. Lately, I seem to be having these episodes more frequently. I have to imagine that maybe there is something here, something to learn about letting the wave crest and crash, trusting that that tumultuous surface will settle into its depth once again; it always does rest, and then rested, the rage takes on other forms of energy – creativity, even a fierce brand of appreciation for the smallest moments and acts: waking up next to my children today and not having to bolt out of bed (we’re on camp schedule, which is a little more forgiving than school), or choosing to walk by the lake in the sun even if it wasn’t as much exercise as going to the Y.
Then she wakes up again. A single spark will send her flying into flames, ready to battle and burn down the whole life they have built.
So she sings. I sing. I listen to this song in my head, she is raging, she is raging, she is running to stand still. And I know. It is stillness I am running from, and stillness that waits for me, so patient and forgiving, despite my battle.