Hatred: I hate the word

For about seven weeks now I have been waking up every morning to my own complaints about life as I frustratedly, furiously, annoyingly, and sometimes passionately, write three daily pages in hopes to “get to” my genius. The one that’s supposedly buried under layers of all the bullshit I tend to think. At least that’s what I have come to find out about myself in these past weeks. I think a lot of bullshit. None of it should be taken seriously. If it is then, watch out, its sting is deadly: seriously. Thoughts can be toxic. Yes.. I rant and rave and hope hope hope to uncover some inkling of actual material, or exciting bit of inspiration that will have enough energetic juice of its own in order to propel its way to fame, fortune, and healing; because, as has been shown time and time again… I have a tendency to drop things. Some would call it failure. I chalk it up to being bored, or having more to discover, but the other morning I realized that all of the excusing is a load of.. yeah, well, you get the point. I realized quite poignantly that I hate myself.

Not exactly a good way to start ones day. In the self-loathing explosive anger I am not extremely familiar with I saw that I hate a lot more than myself. I hate.. there are a lot of things I hate, and I prefer not to re-write my lexicon of hate here. Not wanting to harm anyone in the cross-fires of my self-discovery I point my venom here. Because it has to have an outlet. Otherwise it stays inside in places I never knew existed. Dark corners of my psyche that are there for reasons only I can speculate understanding, one of those guesses being the dark allies of our bodies that stay rough and tough in order to spring out disastrously if evil in the world comes to knock on our door one day, or tap my shoulder when I am walking alone at night. We’ve seen too much already to remain innocent. I came here to write because it was either that or keep on hating. Now that its been uncovered so to speak, its lashing out at me in the most terrifying of ways. No wonder I kept it hidden for so long.

Most people that know me would likely describe me as being an uber-loving sweet person. I don’t deny them either. My true nature is this. My motto for living is love and light. Has been since I can remember. Today, I wonder if it has been that to a fault…allowing my unconscious to frolic freely in the dankness of its own darkness. I have denied the truth that there was a part of me that hated, proclaiming love for all. Love and light as my modus operandi has brought me to many dark allies, where the worst sort of suffering resides. I assumed I was needed in such tormented places in order to help bring the light. This may be true, but I am still caught in the improperly initiated whiplash of not knowing how to handle the fire i’ve been gifted.

Too many times I’ve wanted so badly for others suffering to be relieved. In this desire, ache, prayer, whatever, I would unconsciously take on that toxicity. I would get sick. Or I would make myself sick for the pain I felt, just wanting it all to go away. I get sick and a good eye swelling sob session is usually needed to really let go of those other peoples pain I didn’t remember asking to hold in order for the aliment to miraculously heal in a matter of moments. But it hasn’t all found its healing. I am sick with my own suffering, having my own existential chronic condition that’s been tearing my soul apart for years. And its probably taught me the most useful things I know. Sure, I would do nearly anything in my power to find relief from this suffering. I hate that we have not been taught the ways to deal with such things. Each left to their own childlike devices when there are elders for a reason and a season to change the ways of the world. However, I was positive that hate was the exact opposite of what I needed. And it is… but not entirely.

As much as I grieve my pain, like I said, it has been my greatest teacher. So why cant my hate teach me a loving thing or too as well? There I go again, jumping to the light too readily without really delving into the dark matter. Its within that I need to get to. Within the hate. And thats a very scary place. So I keep myself typing because this is not something you want to look straight in the face. Hate is violence and violence doesn’t have a censor. It pops up in the creepiest of places in the creepiest of ways. It turns thoughts into horror films. A friend of mine noted that his anger, were it being repressed, would start manifesting in violent fantasies he would play out in his head. For me they are unwelcome flash traumas that stun me in their gruesome violence. They act like a plague of infected insects swarming into the forefront of the mind when the strong-willed is too tired from all the holding everything in, too tired from the pain of it all, of the world and its suffering. They come in and promise the accident we don’t really want to happen, the derangement of my body, the loss of those I love. The recesses of all which is possessed in the world flap into my thoughts like little demons fluttering around. They try to set up nest.

Eckhart Tolle, thankfully, taught me a thing or too, which now that I am a bit out of the throws of such hatred due to my attention here, I can agree it is useful information. He says in the audio CD, “Silence Speaks” that stunned me awake another layer, “The stream of thinking has enormous momentum that can easily drag you along with it. Every thought pretends that it matters so much. It wants to draw your attention in completely. Here is a new spiritual practice for you: don’t take your thoughts too seriously. How easy it is for people to become trapped in their conceptual prisons.” He goes onto say, “Whenever you are immersed in compulsive thinking, you are avoiding what is. You don’t want to be where you are. Here, Now.” That is beautifully said and a wonderful approach to clarity, peace, spiritual enlightenment what have you. I have struggled with this being here now business wanting to avoid the pain.. resisting every inch of my being from sinking into it. Although eventually one learns that resistance only makes it worse… going into it is the only “hope”, as long as there is no expectation of change. Oh how nice it must be to be so wise. My feeling, beyond words, urges me to disagree with this statement in the total. I don’t deny the power of the now, as it is the only potential available in every instance. But here I am touching on matters of hatred. In my experience at least, seeing my loved ones and friends caught in the throws of their own self-hatred manifesting through ugly tortured addictions and abuse, “Hatred” presupposes possession. Very similar to “Anger” when one is “taken-over” and “lost in a rage.”

Quite honestly I don’t know how to approach Hatred. Someone once wrote while addressing the evil of addiction: “What do you do when you see a vampire? You kill it.” Well that’s great isn’t it. So I was my own vampire, or at least it was living though me. So what kill myself eh? Or just my evil twin? Lets not take the word so literally for that is the very thing Hatred wants to do to oneself in its most enraged form. Really I am dumbfounded against this one. For me the only relief was to NOT LOOK IT IN THE FACE. Distract myself through whatever means possible. The challenge with that tactic is its dangerous resemblance to repression. I am desperate for other avenues of release. The channel. Creativity is the only one I’ve got. Any other ideas?