I swallowed extract of grief and transformed into a creature of sadness and regret.  Finally, anger.  No… a tsunami of fury caused me to eject it from my stomach and rid myself of it.

I once had a dream in which I was told, “You must become angry to reclaim your well being.”  That was more than a year ago, and I never did it.  Or, more precisely, it never happened.

I was afraid that anger would replace my love.

Anger is not a desire for retribution nor a means to manipulate.  Anger is essentially an intense, sharp apprehension of what one truly does not want.   It must be potent and firey enough to counter elements of the situation that inspire addiction.

Anger came when I realized deep down that I did not want the situation before me.  In fact, I wanted it as far away from me as possible.  Despite the positive aspects, it was killing me, and I could feel the nausea coming on like food poisoning.  I would never eat this dish again.

Unaware of the thoughts or feelings rolling around in my mind, my six year old came to me and said, “When you feel anger, it’s a black love heart.  It’s black, but it’s still love.  When you get angry, the heart becomes black, but soon you will scratch it off, and the heart will be clear again.”