A Rolling Boil
I prayed for more anger last night.
Realized I’ve denied most of it my whole life.
I never had the safety to express it, and didn’t have good examples of it when I witnessed it.
Recently I’ve discovered a new level of rage in myself, and I’m interested in keeping it.
Before now, it was maybe simmering. Mild and intermittent. Like something in a crock-pot with a loose plug that always falls out the socket; I’ve walked away from it so many times, thinking it’ll be fine-“I'm sure it’s on...”
…Then came back to something cold and undone, maybe even spoiled if it was off for too long.
Wasted.
So I prayed for long-lasting anger, literally asked for it to stay and never leave me. Let it fuel me forever. I prayed for the sorrow I repress too. Prayed to always stay in reality, where there is so much to cry and scream and kill about.
Eyes closed, I was searching for anyone in my history who had lived in reality. Some new faces came, my granny came, and my uncle too-the Black radical uncle who spent his life trying to fuel people and plug in crock pots.
I prayed for the anger to grow. I’m greedy for it after all these years. The crockpot was never enough. I belong right on the stovetop on hi-heat. I belong right over the cooking spit, threatening to bubble over.
Spirit answered and told me to be patient. I resisted. The embarrassment at what I thought were appropriate responses to this life for so many years is a strong, shameful hand around my neck.
But I accepted their words. I trust those who said them. At the altar, I sealed my prayer with the fire and the sound of the bell.
And I didn’t have to wait long.
I woke up today angry as fuck. Thank you spirit. Thank the stars.
It was a feeling in my chest that coulda almost passed for my usual morning anxiety, but hotter maybe, and much more actionable. Literally made me wanna jump up and do. Didn’t trap me like my depression or make me run from my real work like my anxiety. It truly bubbled up.
I need this feeling. Right against the flame and friends with it, my contents at a rolling boil. Or I’ll be volcanic: Black and burnt and ready to explode when the conditions are met.
This is how I wanna wake up and go to sleep every day, if it means I’m in reality.
deep river cross over|2025