Well this post has been kicking around in my drafts folder for well over a year now. I was unsure whether to post it. I am having a clearing out of these old banked up post at the moment (with Saturn and Jupiter now both retrograde), this one was a reflection on sadness and anger using the metaphors of stormy skies and forest fires:
We’ve had a week of storms and it never fails to impress me how often weather mirrors my mood. Is it that nature is echoing the deep internal space I find myself in? Is it that my inner life is resonating with the elements and nature? It pleases me to think so and to realise that both may be true.
I love these lovely dark afternoons after the storm has passed. You hear the distant thunder roll and rumble as it passes on for its next destination leaving behind a deepening green that is fecund and full of positive ions leeched into the surrounding vegetation. What a harsh summer had made so dried out, dusty and barren has been transformed into something soft and plumped out. This can be how it feels for the soul once it breaks open to the sadnesses held inside for so long that then falls down like rain making the soul that was once parched, full and hydrated, no longer so desiccated.
There is a completeness, filling up and satisfaction that comes as you realise that truths that you hid from have been revealed in a way which would not have been possible before the onset of the tears. It may have been years that you held the truth of these things inside your heart but with the tears they are made apparent.
Jungian analyst Clarissa Pinkola Estes writes in her myth of the Handless Maiden the tears soften the soul and keep the predator at bay. When the Devil comes to take the daughter of a miller for his own he cannot take her due to the fact she cries. I think of people I know who have allowed their souls to be hardened in resentment, who had put up defences against hurt and healing, who never would wish to be made vulnerable by tears. But I also think of the times that tears for me have hidden anger within them and then the shedding of the tears bought no relief as the real revelation had not yet been made.
Deepening the metaphor of the storm and thinking how I am still witnessing the outplaying chorus of thunder around me this afternoon of the thunderous moods of my mother that would come upon her. We knew to brace and lock down in preparation for the fury of a cleaning session which would be undertaken with a lazer beam intensity that could not be interfered with and would brook rage if it was.
I think of my own thundering around the house at times when anger that has rumbled around inside me for days and rattled the cages of my being and then burst out upon the dog. Poor little Jasper scarpering outside to the refuge of the garage, looking at me with real pain in his deep brown spaniel eyes and my tears and regret that follow as I see an old pattern repeating. Poor little darling is having to weather the storm that the landscape of my porous soul absorbed only to replay later. Jasper is now me and I have become my mother and only realise it later after he fury and the storm has passed.
Anger that is channelled in a constructive direction can enliven what was once unenergised and barren but should it become a roaring forest fire that decimates everything, much is lost and its true value was obscured while old historic anger lay claim to our soul. We may live to regret deeply words and actions that cut away good with the bad or we may awake freed from a parasitic attachment that did not serve us well if what needed to be cut away from was part of a necessary shedding.
These for me are some reflections on the metaphor of storms and feelings.