Dandelion for anger?

Eight hours of sleep later, I feel better. And more hopeful. A new day in which to strive for no anger attacks. (I know that lack of sleep contributes to my temper, no doubt about it. So eight hours can't hurt!)

Also, I just read a Yahoo news article by a doctor of Chinese medicine. He says that taking 500 milligrams of dandelion daily, for a month or longer, will "help release built-up anger."

Anyone had any experience with this? Herbs were the original medicine, so it sounds plausible. I'm willing to try...

The 300 mark

I've made 300 paper cranes now. That first 300-sheet pack of origami paper is gone. A large plastic shopping bag is full of the fruits of my labor. I'm nearly one-third of the way to my goal.

And today I lost my temper over some silly, small thing. Yelled not at my child, but in her presence. She got silent, as she always does. I felt guilty and sick at heart.

Makes me wonder why I'm even doing this.

Shall I give away the cranes?

I'm at 270 cranes now, and I'm already thinking about what I will do with 1,000 paper cranes when I'm done. I don't have even 300 yet, and they're about to fill one large shopping bag. When I get to 1,000, there are going to be a LOT of cranes.

Maybe I could give them all away. Have a little booth at some festival and hang up a sign: "Free peace cranes. One per customer." Would people take them in the spirit with which they're intended? Would they be happy to accept a small freebie with a deeper meaning -- a gift of peace? Or would they think I was some kind of nut case? Sad to say, people are suspicious of freebies these days. Somebody giving something away must have a hidden agenda.

After I give away the initial 1,000, I've thought about starting a habit of giving away one peace crane every day. I could carry my little pack of origami paper with me everywhere and, whenever the mood struck and I had a spare four minutes, I would fold-fold-fold and ... voila! present a peace crane to some unsuspecting person -- the waiter at lunch, the grocery cashier, the nurse behind the counter at my doctor's office. I'm already thinking of that nice, white-haired clerk at the post office; he's always so pleasant. He would understand instinctively what a peace crane is all about. I think he'd make a fine Recipient No. 1.

But grouchy people would receive a peace crane, too. They need them more than anyone. Like that girl who works the drive-thru window at Starbucks. She always seems so worn out; never cracks a smile. She needs a peace crane.

We all need a peace crane.

Peace in the mountains

I went to the mountains today, and -- as always -- found such peace there. It was a perfect autumn day. At one point, when the rest of the family had gone ahead on the trail, I stopped and just listened. The creak of afternoon peepers, the rush of cold water. Sunlight reaching the forest floor in broken patterns. Green and yellow scattered across the trail, and some red, though less than in past years because of the drought.

Surrounded by trees, I could feel the collective wisdom of these noble beings. I know how "out there" that sounds, but ... it's true. They are benevolent, noble, possessors of a silent strength. I am very attracted to that. I stand among them, with reverence, and give thanks. For whatever our small thanks means to them.

Anger seems far away in a place such as this.

What triggers your anger?

For a long time, I've known what my anger trigger is: control. When somebody is trying to control me in some way, or exert their authority over me, I get quite pissed off. My father was very controlling, and my childhood was spent under his authoritarian thumb.

Even though I'm an adult now, and have control over my own life, when someone tries to tell me what to do, my limbic brain kicks into panic mode. All it hears is "Daddy" giving me an order. And it reacts. Boy, does it react! Even if the person is someone who cares about me, and is trying to give me loving advice, I bristle. And I get mad.

This all sounds pretty simple, but it took me an astoundingly long time (years, decades) to figure it out. With Husband No. 1, I re-enacted all the scenes of dominance and control I had suffered through with Dad. You can guess how that marriage turned out.

Husband No. 2 is my polar opposite. Which makes him a great role model for me. If someone is trying to push him around, or tell him what to do, he doesn't lose it. He sits down and talks with them. Calmly.

In his quiet, gentle way, he has helped me own up to my problem. With him by my side, I first realized what it was that made me so mad. I'll never forget the first time. It was about 20 years ago, so the details are sketchy but I know it was in a Sears store and I know it had to do with a vacuum we had brought in for repair. The clerk was trying to, shall we say, redirect me in some way. My response? I exploded, like a volcano.

Well, no, not like a volcano. Volcanoes smolder a long time before they blow. This was more like an earthquake -- sudden, and vicious. I started yelling at that poor Sears clerk in a way that even I couldn't believe.

Hubby just stood there, watching me, aghast. I felt sick. But it didn't stop me from yelling.

Sigh...

Eventually I learned that my husband had his own anger trigger, though. In his case, it's inanimate objects. When a hammer hits his thumb, he becomes (briefly) irate. When a mower won't start or a grocery bag spills or his glasses disappear, he takes it personally. Me? I could care less about such things. Doesn't make me mad at all.

There's also the sports problem. As I write this, he's getting very upset at a batter who just struck out in the World Series Game 2. He's standing in front of the TV, muttering curses and sighing. But that is a whole 'nother topic for another time....

Everyone has their "sore spot," I guess -- the thing that pushes their buttons. Sometimes these things are shadows from our childhood. Or phobias we've developed thanks to the stresses of adult life. Or unresolved issues that have dogged us for years.

What's yours?

A purring cat

Is there anything more peaceful than a cat curled in your lap? The trust, the quiet, the silky sweep of fur under your hand. This is the way to spend an evening.

A series of tests

Another milestone today: 200 cranes. One-fifth of the way to my goal.

Meanwhile ... many tests in the anger department. It started Wednesday night, when some long-buried adoption issues erupted with two of my three daughters. Very heart-rending stuff, which I don't want to go into in great detail because that would invade their privacy. Their life history, which is troubled, is their story. It belongs to them, not me. But it's painful for all of us. When my husband got home from work, he found three of the four of us in tears.

At one point, I realized it was useless to try and reason with a very upset pre-teen, so I retreated to the kitchen to clean up the dinner pots and pans. My oldest daughter followed me in there and said -- and I quote -- "Are you mad?"

Which I consider a huge, massive step in the right direction, both for her and for me. For her, because she is usually very closed in her emotions and very shut down to me. It's the source of a lot of our most painful family dynamics. So, here she was, reaching out to me, COMMUNICATING with me, even feeling that it was safe to ask me such a provocative question.

I turned to her, started crying, and said, "No, honey, I'm not mad. I'm just sad. And kind of confused. I don't know how to help you and your sister. I have tried everything I know."

And as those words were coming out of my mouth, I realized what a great sign this was: Even though I was highly frustrated -- usually a red-button anger trigger for me -- I had kept my cool and walked away from the situation. And I'd kept my cool so well that she wasn't even sure I was mad. She had to ask. So obviously, I hadn't been raging or yelling or stomping around -- the usual symptoms of an anger attack, with which they're familiar.

That precipitated some deep, authentic communication, a few hugs and more tears. Over all, a cleansing experience.

A few days later, we were having a difficult Sunday afternoon. An overload of school projects and homework and other chores, and it was getting late and I realized the entire day was shot to hell -- no time for getting outside for exercise or enjoying the fall weather. My long "to-do" list was not going to get accomplished. So I started to lose it. And at about the point where I would usually start yelling, I just buried my head in my hands and said, "OK, I need to take a minute and breathe." To which, my youngest daughter -- she who is most sensitive to my anger -- said, "OK, Mommy, that's fine." And I could tell from her voice that it was fine. She totally understood and she didn't feel threatened that I was taking a time-out.

Maybe we're getting somewhere.

Working on it

Here they are ... 150 origami cranes, made by my own hands. Progress toward the goal of senbazuru (1,000 cranes in 100 days).

Believe it or not, those 30 minutes spent folding colored squares of paper have become a favorite part of each day. It's calming, it's simple -- and I just plain like doing it. The rest of my life is so complex, so rushed and noisy and mindless. But at least for that half-hour, I know I will have some peace. And I look forward to it.

As for anger, this project has it very much on my mind these days. So I've become a tiny bit more observant, I think, of the arising of anger. This is a core practice of Buddhist meditation, watching the arising of phenomena -- whether emotions, mind states or bodily sensations. And of course, the better I become at noticing the arising of anger's white heat, the better chance I'll have (theoretically) at catching it before it overtakes me.

I'm working on it ... just as I'm working on the cranes.

A good day

We're past the 100 mark now. Amusing, the little swell of pride I felt as I wrote "100" on the underwing of a yellow paper crane. (I'm numbering each one, for posterity.) Yep, I've made 100 cranes and I'm 1/10th of the way to my goal of 1,000. It's been awhile since I have been this consistent with anything in my life, and I'm glad and relieved I still have it in me.

Today I also returned to teaching meditation. In the six years since my husband and I adopted three children, my meditation practice has been next to nonexistent. And that had begun to hurt, more and more. Something that had been central to my life was shoved into a dark corner, and I felt powerless to do anything about it. A few times, I tried to pull meditation back into my daily routine, but was always too exhausted or too dispirited to maintain the effort.

Even though it might seem crazy (isn't life already too hectic?), I agreed to start leading a meditation group at the local Unitarian-Universalist Church, which has been very welcoming to this Buddhist (thanks, UUFC!). This morning, a little group of us sat and walked for an hour and a half -- and by the end of it, I was remembering what equanimity feels like. The peace of that followed me through the day. I was extraordinarily cheerful and patient, and -- nice.

Tonight, I sat on the floor by my open bedroom window, a warm wind stirring the trees outside, and did my half-hour of crane folding meditation.

So, today encompassed two full hours of calm and quiet. Miraculous. I am grateful.

The battle against anger

Here is another wonderful quote about anger. It's by Kenneth Kraft, author of "Inner Peace, World Peace: Essays on Buddhism and Nonviolence."

"One need not wait until war is declared and bullets are flying to work for peace, Buddhism teaches. A more constant and equally urgent battle must be waged each day against the forces of one's own anger, carelessness and self-absorption."

Backsliding

Fell off the wagon, so to speak, yesterday.

And now that I look back on it, I realize it was my typical anger episode -- all about control. I know that control is my big trigger. I'm going to write more about anger triggers soon, but for now I just want to describe the curious (and somewhat hopeful) thing that happened.

It was raining hard late in the afternoon and my two older kids were going to have to walk home from the bus stop in the rain, without umbrellas. I decided to drive and pick them up so they wouldn't get wet. I left the house a couple of minutes earlier than the school bus usually arrives. But as I pulled out of the driveway, I could see them about 50 feet up the street, trotting along getting soaked. The bus had dropped them off early, dammit. I drove up beside them and they just stood and looked at me like I was nuts. I said, "Do you want to get in the car?"

"No," said one of them. "I'll just walk the rest of the way."

And that was it. Simple. No big deal. No one's fault. But I had lost "control" of the situation; I'd driven halfway up the street for nothing. The bus had come too early. I went right into rage, popped the truck into reverse and slammed my foot on the gas pedal. Tires squealing on the wet pavement, surprised looks on my daughters' faces.

By the time I pulled back into the driveway, just a few seconds later, I was already realizing how absurd this was. How utterly UNworthy of an anger attack. Nothing had happened, really -- other than the situation turning out differently than I had planned/wanted.

And just that quickly, I was done. I didn't need the anger anymore. I had the sick, guilty feeling I always have after blowing up. But I also knew that at least this time I caught it just a little bit sooner than normal. And I didn't yell at the kids, thank God.

That's something, right? A slight improvement? An ounce of hope?

Faster than I thought

I must amend the last post.

Last night, I made 10 paper cranes in 35 minutes. So I'm a bit faster than I thought I was. At this rate, I'll complete my act of senbazuru in a mere 58.3 hours. Well, actually, it has taken me about a week to get up to this blazing-fast speed of 3.5 minutes per crane. Those first few days were a lot slower going. So --- let's round 'er off and say 60 hours, total.

Not bad!

It's all about time

I'm now at the point where I can make a crane in about 5 minutes. So each day's 10 cranes take me 50 minutes or so. I'd like to get that down to about 45 or 40 minutes. At an average of 45 minutes a day, I only have left ... (pause while I get out the calculator) ... about 69.75 hours of paper folding. Whoa.

My total time investment: 100 days X 45 minutes per day = 4,500 minutes = 75 hours. That's ... what? ... three full days and three hours.

Dalai Lama on anger

Today's "Daily Buddhist Wisdom" quote, from Beliefnet:

"If we live our lives continually motivated by anger and hatred, even our physical health deteriorates."

-- His Holiness the Dalai Lama

The first 50

The total now is -- tah-dah! -- fifty. I'm 1/20th of the way to my goal. Impressive, eh? Well, let's put it this way: I have, without fail, made 10 cranes every day for the last five days. And that is something.

Deciding to do this blog was hard because I really didn't want to go public with my, um, anger problem. It's always been my dirty little secret. People don't know the seething cauldron that lies beneath the surface. And I liked it that way. I raged in private, but in public I was calm and smiling.

But it always felt shameful. And toxic. So I tried, also in private, to deal with it. I tried to get rid of it before someone "found me out."

Finally, after trying and failing so many times, I admitted that if I were really going to do something about this anger, I needed to find a way to make myself accountable. I know ... someone already discovered the principle of accountability. Bill W., the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous. (Isn't that his name?) He knew that addicts need support and they need someone to report to when they're on the road to recovery. That whole "sponsor" thing.

Keeping this blog -- and admitting to you that I have an anger problem and I want to do something about it -- will (I hope, anyway) keep me accountable, just as weekly weigh-ins keep dieters honest and 12-step meetings make addicts fess up. For I am, sadly, an addict. My drug of choice? My habit? Anger.

And I really want to kick the habit. I want it out of my life.

So I keep folding these little paper cranes, day after day. Looking for the peace I hope this will bring me.

If you're out there, if you're reading this, please speak up. I need to know that you're watching me, that you're expecting me to keep at this.

So far, so good

Four days into this, and all is well. Forty paper cranes are crowding my desk. Gotta find a "place" for them pretty soon, as they continue to reproduce. Some of them are a little wrinkly and some refuse to stand up properly. Obviously my technique still needs work.

But at least I'm sticking to it so far. And the even better news is: Taking on this project seems to have created a little "something" in the back of my mind that helps me moderate my temper. I have been markedly calmer the last few days. There have been situations where I KNOW I normally would have blown up or, at the very least, spoken sharply to someone. And I didn't.

Day One of 100

Ten little paper cranes, in all colors of the rainbow, perch next to my keyboard as I type this. My experiment in senbazuru has begun.

I started this afternoon, when the house was quiet and I was alone. The first sheet of paper to come randomly out of the pack was -- aha! -- red. Deep, fiery red. The color of anger. Couldn't have scripted this better, myself.

I thought, after several practice sessions, that I was ready. I'd whip out Crane No. 1 in a flash. Just like I'd been doing this all my life.

Nuh-uh.

I hate to admit it, but that first crane took me 30 minutes to create. A full half-hour. (By contrast, the people in the how-to videos whip one out in about four minutes flat.) Jeez, how humbling. My fingers were totally illiterate. What started out as a nice, smooth wafer of origami paper quickly turned into a wrinkled mess.

As my frustration grew, I could feel my heart beating faster. I got so hot I had to get up and turn on the ceiling fan. I was muttering under my breath.

And then it hit me: This is what anger feels like in the body. The books all tell you to stop and examine your symptoms, to observe (and defuse) anger before it takes you over. But I'm usually too busy yelling, right from the get-go. By the time I "notice" that I'm angry, the cat is, so to speak, out of the bag -- claws unsheathed and fangs bared.

So little Crane No. 1, an angry red, offered me the very first lesson of this experiment. Amazing. When I finally got him finished, he didn't look too good. I set him on the desk and he promptly fell over. Still won't stand up straight.

Even so, I predict he'll be my favorite, out of all 1,000.