Emotions are amazing to me. They are not the mere discrete points I learned to notice marginally from time to time in my early life as a young man. As I got older and experienced more of life, instead of perceiving the tips of a few waves every so often and calling them "fear," "joy," "anxiety," and so forth, I came to understand that my feelings were actually an entire ocean, an ever-present reality of my life's journey at the foundation of all I did and explored.
I suppose I was lucky to be an addict and alcoholic. If I hadn't been faced with the real need to find a way of life free from the regular (or irregular) application of recreational chemicals, I might never have done much of this work. As a person raised and immersed in society as male, my basic orientation to gathering language revolved around how NOT to put my feelings into words. It may even be something that is part of the physiological makeup of the male brain and the consistent presence of male hormones from birth. Whatever it is, my entire relationship with language had been built around editing out my feelings, so I suppose, for simplicity's sake, those feelings I was shown how not to identify with language, I actually learned not to notice at all. This led to the perception that a feeling was merely a spot event to be managed like any other resource or problem. The only time a difficulty arose was if a situation gave rise to a feeling for which I could not readily find a room for in the halls of my internal language box. Those feelings were a real bother.
The more I practiced my writing and my music, and in recovery developed my prayer or meditation life, as I continued to form friendships, and grappled more with the dynamics of being a gay man in a hetero-dominated world, the more I came to see how profound the number of feelings there were, packed into any given moment or event of my life. Out of self defense, I sought the help of competent therapy and I also began learning about the skill of "unpacking." When something happens in my life that gives me a powerful emotional charge - a level of emotion higher than the situation itself would warrant, I can go into that awareness and open it up to see what feelings are involved within me around that event. I treat this opportunity as a way to sit down and open up my Holy Lunchbox - a modest meal provided for me by my Higher Power, Godmom.
Sometime, it's full of leftovers. Other times, it's all fresh stuff. But mostly my Godmom packs me a mix. Of course, there are things I don't like sometimes. Carrots, for instance. I hate carrots. Shame is right up there, too. I have to say, though, that often, even though I don't like carrots, I prefer MY carrots over somebody ELSE'S brownies. There are some nasty brownies out there!
Anyway, the nice part for me is that as I use this little tool - the Holy Lunch Box - to work things through, a bit at a time, when the need arises, the perception of my feeling world grows.All in all, I'm glad that my Godmom packs lunches for me for when I am walking around in this school called Life. True, there are bullies, and authority I don't like, lessons I don't agree with, and frustrations with people I feel are unreasonable - like those who put the gum that gets stuck under my seat that I find with my finger when I 'm distracted and I run my hands under there and it gets all yucky.... But sometimes, it's mostly about me, and it's lunchtime. The unpacking, the eating, the pausing to take stuff in is all a human process. When I take the time to unpack my little Lunchbox, I always find it's a nourishing, proper meal, even if it still takes me a long time to appreciate the diet that I find there.
But yeah, I hate carrots. Could be worse, though. I've got Darth Vader fighting Obiwan on my lunchbox. That's cool. Some kids have Hello Kitty or Charlie Brown. Oh my god. What is their mom thinking, giving them stuff like that?
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