Category Archives: Abraham-Hicks
I never threw temper tantrums as a child (although I did go through a period of holding my breath for no apparent reason). From all reports I was a nauseatingly good boy from the moment I popped out. These days, however, I find that I’m not always so well-behaved. Every now and then I get really honked off about some situation or circumstance that I don’t like and that feels like it’s been going on way too long. As often as not, it’s some all too-familiar, pesky perceived gap between where I am and where I’d rather be.
It doesn’t feel good and my seeming inability to make it feel better only makes me feel worse. It may not seem particularly evolved or enlightened to punch out my pillow or pound the shower stall walls, but I have to admit . . . sometimes it’s a huge improvement over the sinkhole I seem to slide into so easily.
Nevertheless, rather than continuing to beat my fist–or head–against the wall, I decided to ask The Shower Team if maybe, just maybe . . . getting mad sometimes means getting better—or if perhaps there are times when it’s better to feel pissed than pitiful?
We would so much rather see you get angry than sad. We would much rather see you yell and kick and scream and stomp your feet and shake your fists—even at us—than to see you pull the covers over your head or hide your face in your hands or beat yourself up. The reason for this is because anger always feels better to you than despair or depression or discouragement. And we want to see you feeling better and better, because as you allow yourself to feel your way up the emotional scale from despair or disempowerment and depression to rage or to blame or to anger or frustration, then you are at least moving in the right direction—toward empowerment.
When you feel desperate or discouraged or sorrowful, you also tend to feel stuck there in a place where you have very little control. You feel helpless. You feel lost. These are all illusions, but in that state you believe there really is very little you can do. When you allow yourself to move up from there to anger, you feel energy moving again. You want to act even if it’s just to hit someone or to yell or scream . . . And although we would not recommend hitting someone and would hope for you to continue that emotional journey from anger to even better feeling states, we would still much prefer to see you throw a hissy fit about where you stand in relation to your desires because that is one of the most powerful indicators that you are recognizing that things are supposed to be better than you’re currently letting them be.
In this feeling of anger you are acutely noticing the difference between what your desires have called you to and where you are holding yourself. We don’t blame you one bit for being pissed. In fact, we celebrate your hissy fit . . . we applaud your tantrums . . . and we would offer to you that if you will recognize the power of the desire behind that anger, and turn your attention toward increasingly better feeling thoughts that channel that power, you will eventually begin to see the faster progress that you want.
We recognize that sometimes feeling good is not so much an option, because it’s too far from where you are. It’s like trying to spot bliss before you’re even in the same time zone. Sometimes feeling better doesn’t mean feeling “good”. Sometimes it means feeling sad when you were feeling despair. Sometimes it means feeling cautious optimism when you were feeling rather hopeless. Sometimes it means feeling anger when you were feeling helplessly depressed.
Allow your anger to lead you to action, but make it action that continues to move you up that emotional scale, from rage and anger to frustration and irritation to impatience to resolve and determination to calm hopefulness and so on and so on.
Recognize that anger is often experienced as a powerful form of relief and therefore, can be a powerful step in a more positive direction. Recognize and appreciate that fact rather than judging yourself for your anger. Recognize and appreciate the guidance that you are receiving and simply continue to turn in the direction of what brings you relief—even if it leaves those observing you shaking their heads and wagging their fingers.
When you can’t help noticing that you are not where you want to be and you KNOW that you are supposed to be feeling better than you are—and when the only other options you can find or feel are discouragement or depression, we would respectfully suggest that you get royally pissed—and get the ball rolling back in a better feeling direction.
Maybe it’s not the warmest and fuzziest approach to feeling better, but I can sure vouch for the preferability of punching a pillow over self-flagellation. Nearly every single time that I’ve allowed myself to get angry about something in my life that doesn’t feel good . . . I’ve noticed myself starting to feel better.
So far, I haven’t turned into a rageaholic. I’m pretty sure I’m still mostly a good boy. But it’s nice to know I have options when I get sick and tired of being sick and tired. It’s at least a slightly more empowering thought. And that leaves me feeling freer to be me, even when that me is honked off.
I have a tendency to tip toe away from questions about catastrophes because it seems as though no matter what you say, the answers have a way of honking someone off. Few questions are more highly charged than ones that ask “Why?” about situations such as the recent destruction and loss experienced in Haiti.
Few things leave us more paralyzed with grief or mobilized by sympathy than the seemingly senseless suffering of those affected by such events. And few events that we observe shake our faith to its foundations more than the ones we can’t find any truly comforting explanation for.
But, the question was recently brought to me about this situation in particular and more specifically, about how we can come to any sort of peace as we witness and participate in the devastation of it all. So in the spirit of humble willingness to receive whatever answers might be available, I took the question about how we are to respond to tragedy to The Team . . .
We offer our response to this question all the while recognizing that the response we offer is not the one you think you want to hear because the response you ‘think’ you want to hear to any question you tend to ask about this or any other event that you perceive as tragic or catastrophic, is one that gives you a reason for its occurrence, an explanation of why or how such bad things happen, particularly to the children and other innocent ‘victims’ that you are observing in their pain and struggle.
We understand the difficulty of observing such pain and heartache. We understand the pain of witnessing such pain—and the desire that such observing gives birth to for peace . . . for understanding . . . for comfort . . . for hope. The powerful desire for things to be better is an understandable and appropriate outcome of such observation. And yet, we must also say to you that what you think you really want to hear—which is an explanation for why such things occur–is really not what serves you.
You think that such an explanation will somehow help you make sense of what seems senseless. You think that by making sense of what seems senseless, you can then persuade yourselves that through this understanding, through this figuring it out of why such calamities occur, you will somehow be able to prevent them from occurring to you. You think this understanding will protect you and those you love, will in some way render you immune to such unforeseen and unpredictable and uncontrollable events.
And we must then reply by saying there is no such assurance. In fact there is nothing you can ‘figure out’ that will provide the safety that you seek from anything you call “tragedy” or even “trouble”. And you may then respond by saying something like “Aha! I knew it! We are all mere pawns . . . mere puppets . . . helpless bugs waiting to be swatted or squashed or stomped on–or in this case, trapped beneath the rubble and the ruins . . .” You will conclude that all is lost or that the Universe is in fact the frequently cruel and random place that you’ve always suspected it might be.
Some of you will search those ruins for causes and effects, trying to unearth the sins or crimes or bad judgment that brought all structure crashing down around those at the scene. Some of you will wage campaigns of condemnation, blaming this or that or him or her or us or them . . . anything to put some distance there between the ones who’ve fallen and the ones still standing.
And we say, none of this will do you any good in the long run—not in the way that you wish. We say, as hard as it may be for you to hear, it doesn’t matter why or how it happened, and all your hard work to devise a theory or hypothesis will get you nowhere that feels good for very long as you stand in your here and now, reaching for a way to find relief.
So, you say, what can we do? If answers are not the answer, then what is? And once again we give to you what we are always giving you—a reminder of who you really are—and what that means in this as in any situation that you find yourselves living and observing. In this extreme, intense, and troubling situation you can choose the view you hold—and it is in that choosing that you’ll find the power that you seek. It is in the choosing of that view that you will feel again the freedom that seems lost but that is always yours, the freedom to decide what it is you’re seeing, what you’re thinking—and therefore what you are believing.
You can survey a scene such as the one that recently unfolded and you can choose to sink into the holes left in the Earth, lose yourselves among the ruins, despair at the destruction that’s bombarding you in unrelenting images from nearly every source—and conclude as so many do, that you inhabit an unkind, unjust world where all that you can do is be ever vigilant, ever watching, ever waiting for the other shoe—or building—to collapse on you. You can, with unquestionable justification, choose to weep and wail, to shake your fists or to throw yourselves into the work of trying to prevent such cataclysms from coming near you.
On the other hand, you can also choose to search your world for all the ready reasons, all the available proof that well being still abounds. You can choose to be aware of all the places, pockets, corners, continents of your world that continue thriving. You can even search the scene in question, the scene of such destruction, and find ample evidence of life that will not be denied, of survival and success, of the heroic human spirit that prevails no matter what conditions may befall it.
You can choose to give because it’s in your heart to give. You can choose to care because it’s in your heart to care. You can choose to cry because you feel the love connecting you to every man and woman, child and beast who shares the thriving planet you call home, in spite of all your widely fueled fears about how endangered it—and all of you—may be.
You can choose to remember that what you call death is never the tragedy you believe, no matter when or to whom it comes. You can choose to recognize that the beauty and the value and the quality of a life is never measured by its duration, except by those who see no other way or who must somehow face a loss they do not wish to face.
In other words, our response to this occurrence that so understandably overwhelms you is no different than the one we offer to you, regardless of how large or small the situation that gives birth to your asking: you can choose. And while it’s true that you can’t choose every circumstance or situation or dilemma that approaches you, you are never as powerless as you tend to feel, never as lost as you often think, and never as alone as your sorrow would suggest.
Take another look at what you’re looking at. Look for the hope that always hides behind the fear. Look for the faith that digs you out from under any rubble. Look for the freedom that is waiting for your attention, waiting to ring true that moment that you’re willing to just stop, and look—and listen. The answer may not be the answers that you think you need . . . but you always have available to you a peace that you can choose and in the choosing of it—an answer that will never fail to bring you back to the comfort that your heart desires.
Nothing seems to point out the contrast between the physical and Nonphysical view of human experience more than questions about the reasons for our pain. I note that contrast even in much less extreme situations than this . . . in fact, in situations that seem awfully petty compare to ones like this.
Nothing humbles us—brings us to our knees—more than monumental suffering that we can’t attach to any reasonable cause. I hear—or see—these words flowing from a place I call my connection to Source, taking form on the page or the computer screen, and I wonder about them as much as anyone.
I wonder if somewhere in that humility that is part of what rises up in us in response to these events, is the wisdom that is spoken of so clearly here—and that can somehow take us out of the shadows and the tears and back into the light that always waits to lead us home.