Heart-Anger, Robert Augustus Masters

"Where anger-in and mindfully held anger approaches seek to contain anger, and where anger-out seeks to empty the “container” (usually equated with the body), heart-anger seeks, at least at some point, to radically deconstruct the “container” (including the very intention to contain), engaging in a deeply embodied consideration of anger in which the very notions of “container” and “contained” are permitted sufficient transparency so as to all but shed their outlines (or definitional certitude). Expression here is not necessarily repressed, rethought, kept to oneself, nor evacuated, but rather is infused with wakeful attention, without any requisite dilution or muting of its passion. If heart-anger could be said to have a “container,” it would be love, open-eyed, passion-embracing, unconditioned love, love that remains intimate with awareness. Heart-anger connects. Like all anger, it is “against” something, but its “against” is in the service of a deeper, more inclusive “for” (and “with”). Ultimately -- as in the case of realizers of the nondual -- it is anger devoted to the liberation of all beings, anger free of any sort of self-serving agenda.

Heart-anger is not necessarily devoid of ego, but in its expression, ego mostly assumes a peripheral position to Being -- heart-anger could be said to be the soul’s shout, wrathful compassion in the raw. Though it is far from egoically centered, it is still usually individuated, indicative of the presence of strongly held, distinct preferences. At its most sublime, it is, so to speak, but Sacred Fire, the Heat/Light of Divine Caring (or self-transcending Love), untainted by any trace whatsoever of personal investment. Here blooms a radically different kind of flame, exemplified by the awe-inspiring presence of Tibetan Buddhism’s Wrathful Deities, Hinduism’s Kali at Her fiercest, the Old Testament’s blazingly raging Lord, all burning, burning, burning with a hyperbole-transcending enormity and luminosity in the service of a context that, though always already beyond the grasp of the rational, self-possessed mind, is intuitively known by the awakening heart.

Such “anger” -- or Holy Wrath -- only serves to awaken, and to awaken in the most radical sense; it is pure compassion in action. Heart-anger, however, does not have to be this pure to be deservedly called heart-anger. So long as caring for the other and mindfulness are significantly present during and after the expression of anger, the label “heart-anger” can be applied without qualification.

Heart-anger incorporates the best of anger-in, anger-out, and mindfully held anger. However, if we do not have sufficient “hands-on” familiarity with each of these, we will generally not be capable of heart-anger -- we may still have moments when we are angry and yet still heart-centered, but such a practice will be far from stably established in us. Anger-in must be learned -- healthy, efficacious emotional regulation is essential, so that we are capable of stepping back from arising anger when circumstances dictate that its amplification and/or expression would only do harm. So too must anger-out be learned -- not to have the capacity to directly and strongly express anger all too easily disempowers us. Practicing mindfully held anger is also essential -- not only with regard to learning to investigate closely (and patiently) in the moment whatever characterizes one’s anger, but also with regard to developing compassion for one’s anger and angry “I’s.”

To practice heart-anger is to simultaneously honor mind, body, and spirit. Such practice, like that of mindfully held anger, means to no longer resort to blame, to take responsibility for keeping one’s heart open in hell -- an admittedly far from easy undertaking, but an immensely rewarding one. In heart-anger, we can find not only a moral and fittingly expressive fieriness almost seamlessly aligned with a deep caring for the other, but also our grief, our joy, our interconnectedness (and ultimate identity) with all that is. Our heart-anger announces not that we are detached, but that we care, and care deeply, so deeply that we will not sit back and passively watch desecration and abuse occur. In such caring, we contact not only our personal grief, but also our collective grief, finding in it not defeat, nor impotent sadness, nor powerlessness, but rather a fathomless sense of communion with both the pain and the joy (and all-pervading Mystery) of what is.

Heart-anger seeks not dissociation from the world, but engagement, wherein love, rather than negotiation, shines at the hub of relatedness. As such, heart-anger uses separation to create connection. It is the swordplay of healthy criticism, unconditioned love’s warcry, the firm yet receptive release of needed forcefulness. It honors differences, even as it cultivates intimacy with that depth of wisdom in which it is tacitly obvious that differences don’t really make a difference -- seeing that the Many are One does not stop it from also seeing that the One is Many. Heart-anger does not let its embrace of the Universal separate it from the Particular -- it does not seek transcendence of the personal, the particular, the crystallized, but rather illumination. Heart-anger is a warrior, yes, but it is a warrior who, in nakedly facing suffering, must sometimes also weep.

The fiery intensity at the heart of anger does not ask for smothering, spiritual rehabilitation, nor psychological marginalization, but rather for a mindful embrace that does not necessarily require any dilution of passion, any lowering of the flames, nor any muting of the essential voice in the flames. If such fire destroys, it is only in order to create. And heal. In its flames, the Phoenix is more than a myth. In its fiery heart, love burns brilliantly, ever replenished, illuminating more than we can imagine.

Bringing our anger into our heart is not only an act of love for ourselves, but for all beings, since such a practice greatly increases the odds that we will not let our anger mutate into aggressiveness, hostility, and hatred, but rather into compassion-centered activity. In no longer abandoning nor destructively harnessing our anger, we move a little closer to being the very love that we most desire from others.

Anger can be love - may we permit it to be so".

http://www.thepresentparticiple.blogspot.com