ephesians 4:29
It's so tempting to give in to my anger. In the past the sentiment has been so gratifying to embrace that I have always just given in without giving it much thought. However, I never feel that gratification for more than a few moments before it turns into an ulcer.
So, apparently, there is still rage left inside of me that needs working out. It would seem that there is still a bit of thinking and adjusting to be done regarding the system in my head. The riding, writing and wandering have all been incredibly theraputic for me and I can't say enough about all the bliss that they consistently bring me. Having said that, I can't begin to describe how discouraging it is that a little germ of irritation can creep inside my head and rob me of a full day of cheer. I can be enjoying a great day, thinking of a long bike ride or a powerful piece of writing. And while I am lost in my happy head and looking out at a warm glow on the horizon, a dark cloud of ugly memory can creep up and ruin the view.
As I write this, I sit in a very small hotel in Malta, Montana. It's an idyllic town if you are looking for a small town that exists 223 miles from the nearest Wal Mart. The town itself is no larger than a few short streets, some great looking empty buildings and a rarely used train station. I'm not sure of the population, but I'm sure the numbers are off if they don't count the farmers and ranchers that live within a 60 mile radius. There are no cars here, only trucks. No packed sidewalks or jammed up intersections. The only places to spend your money here is at one of two bars, a few general store/pharmacies and a gas station that acts as the local grocery store. Yeah, I love the town.
The drive up from Billings is as straight as a due north road can get. There were huge portions of the 200 mile drive that didn't have a curve in them for 20 or 30 miles. There were also no towns, gas stations, fences, animals or other cars to stink up the view. Just an endless strip of asphalt that tore across the high mountain plain. I didn't want to do anything that would ruin the moment so I kept the radio off out of fear that some over produced fuck-toy would fill my car with their warbling and it would recolor my vista. I just wanted to soak up the moment by enjoying the warm breeze on my face and dreaming of a bike ride across the U.S..
Then a thought flopped on top of me. There is a booker that is fucking with me. He recently gave me a rubber check and THAT took him four weeks to get to me. The delay was strike one, the bounce was strike two. I spoke with him face to face a few days ago and he professed his innocence, begged for forgiveness and swore that it wouldn't happen again. He gave me a new check.
It bounced and now he won't take my calls. Strike three.
I'm too far into my journey to stop, turn around and hurt him really badly. I sense the rage growing with every passing mile and I start to see the visions more clearly that are so common with sociopathic tendencies. I can visualize what I need to do to inflict the most harm on him and insure that my point is made effectively. These thoughts are very dark and they come from an even darker place. It's filled with a painful history of rage, guilt, shame, envy and pity but they are powerful feelings. As powerful as any decent feeling I've ever had. These darker feelings are almost impossible to control once you get rolling and if you don't change the subject or find something positive to think about, you're doomed. Your day, your spirit and your attitude are crushed under the enormous weight of wraith and embarrassment.
I used to think that it was good to think about this stuff and to try and get it out of my head by just letting it happen. Maybe then it would just disappear. The problem with this rationale is that you think you are relieving the pressure by tapping it and letting it pour out or burn up, but in reality the process is more closely related to digging a hole. You chop away at the decent parts of your mind each time you allow them occur and the more you dig, the more space you allow it have. The next time you let it in, it has more room to fill in.
I tried to avoid thinking about it, but that only encouraged it and increased its intensity when it got in. It turned out that the best thing to do this time, was to show myself the error in the thinking and work it out. This is like trying to convince an angry drunk of something. I was actually fighting myself over the domination of my own mind. It was a very odd feeling.
As odd as it sounds, it works. I don't feel that I am avoiding anything and so I don't feel like a coward. It's actually a good thing not to turn this stuff inward on myself. I have done that and I have the scars to prove it. I do my best not to embrace these feelings and this prevents me from pouring it out of my mouth into the ears of those around me (a dark thing if you are paid public speaker on stage in front of a room full of impressional drunks). I also haven't acted on any of the feelings, which keeps a lot of people from living in pain, including myself (I hated jail and never plan on returning).
The drive north on Highway 87 and then Highway 192 is flat, barren, and picture perfect. I must have driven over 90 miles an hour at different times and most of that time I had my arm out of the window like a wing to guide me along. I felt so good that I could have closed my eyes and just fell asleep, something I must remember not to do on the bike.
Eventually the serenity dictated that I put on some music to keep my mind working forward toward a goal. I put on Leo Kotke and played everything I have of his. His music just seemed to be the perfect supplement to the present view. If you haven't heard Leo, I highly recommend it, but not until Thursday.
The darkness was crafty and it made it's presence known. It was an early struggle not to let the day be lost to it and I'm glad that I will be able to enjoy this town without the burden of wanting to run over the locals with my car.
There is a fiddle competition at the rival bar to the one where I am performing. Maybe I will check that out and exorcise the remaining demons before show time.
So, apparently, there is still rage left inside of me that needs working out. It would seem that there is still a bit of thinking and adjusting to be done regarding the system in my head. The riding, writing and wandering have all been incredibly theraputic for me and I can't say enough about all the bliss that they consistently bring me. Having said that, I can't begin to describe how discouraging it is that a little germ of irritation can creep inside my head and rob me of a full day of cheer. I can be enjoying a great day, thinking of a long bike ride or a powerful piece of writing. And while I am lost in my happy head and looking out at a warm glow on the horizon, a dark cloud of ugly memory can creep up and ruin the view.
As I write this, I sit in a very small hotel in Malta, Montana. It's an idyllic town if you are looking for a small town that exists 223 miles from the nearest Wal Mart. The town itself is no larger than a few short streets, some great looking empty buildings and a rarely used train station. I'm not sure of the population, but I'm sure the numbers are off if they don't count the farmers and ranchers that live within a 60 mile radius. There are no cars here, only trucks. No packed sidewalks or jammed up intersections. The only places to spend your money here is at one of two bars, a few general store/pharmacies and a gas station that acts as the local grocery store. Yeah, I love the town.
The drive up from Billings is as straight as a due north road can get. There were huge portions of the 200 mile drive that didn't have a curve in them for 20 or 30 miles. There were also no towns, gas stations, fences, animals or other cars to stink up the view. Just an endless strip of asphalt that tore across the high mountain plain. I didn't want to do anything that would ruin the moment so I kept the radio off out of fear that some over produced fuck-toy would fill my car with their warbling and it would recolor my vista. I just wanted to soak up the moment by enjoying the warm breeze on my face and dreaming of a bike ride across the U.S..
Then a thought flopped on top of me. There is a booker that is fucking with me. He recently gave me a rubber check and THAT took him four weeks to get to me. The delay was strike one, the bounce was strike two. I spoke with him face to face a few days ago and he professed his innocence, begged for forgiveness and swore that it wouldn't happen again. He gave me a new check.
It bounced and now he won't take my calls. Strike three.
I'm too far into my journey to stop, turn around and hurt him really badly. I sense the rage growing with every passing mile and I start to see the visions more clearly that are so common with sociopathic tendencies. I can visualize what I need to do to inflict the most harm on him and insure that my point is made effectively. These thoughts are very dark and they come from an even darker place. It's filled with a painful history of rage, guilt, shame, envy and pity but they are powerful feelings. As powerful as any decent feeling I've ever had. These darker feelings are almost impossible to control once you get rolling and if you don't change the subject or find something positive to think about, you're doomed. Your day, your spirit and your attitude are crushed under the enormous weight of wraith and embarrassment.
I used to think that it was good to think about this stuff and to try and get it out of my head by just letting it happen. Maybe then it would just disappear. The problem with this rationale is that you think you are relieving the pressure by tapping it and letting it pour out or burn up, but in reality the process is more closely related to digging a hole. You chop away at the decent parts of your mind each time you allow them occur and the more you dig, the more space you allow it have. The next time you let it in, it has more room to fill in.
I tried to avoid thinking about it, but that only encouraged it and increased its intensity when it got in. It turned out that the best thing to do this time, was to show myself the error in the thinking and work it out. This is like trying to convince an angry drunk of something. I was actually fighting myself over the domination of my own mind. It was a very odd feeling.
As odd as it sounds, it works. I don't feel that I am avoiding anything and so I don't feel like a coward. It's actually a good thing not to turn this stuff inward on myself. I have done that and I have the scars to prove it. I do my best not to embrace these feelings and this prevents me from pouring it out of my mouth into the ears of those around me (a dark thing if you are paid public speaker on stage in front of a room full of impressional drunks). I also haven't acted on any of the feelings, which keeps a lot of people from living in pain, including myself (I hated jail and never plan on returning).
The drive north on Highway 87 and then Highway 192 is flat, barren, and picture perfect. I must have driven over 90 miles an hour at different times and most of that time I had my arm out of the window like a wing to guide me along. I felt so good that I could have closed my eyes and just fell asleep, something I must remember not to do on the bike.
Eventually the serenity dictated that I put on some music to keep my mind working forward toward a goal. I put on Leo Kotke and played everything I have of his. His music just seemed to be the perfect supplement to the present view. If you haven't heard Leo, I highly recommend it, but not until Thursday.
The darkness was crafty and it made it's presence known. It was an early struggle not to let the day be lost to it and I'm glad that I will be able to enjoy this town without the burden of wanting to run over the locals with my car.
There is a fiddle competition at the rival bar to the one where I am performing. Maybe I will check that out and exorcise the remaining demons before show time.
posted by Daniel Loomis | 1:32 PM
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