The Alchemy of Anger

My husband and I were driving to Middle Oregon, a green place sometimes reminiscent of Middle Earth if you’ve ever been there. We traveled to see his sister and had set out in the evening, stopping the first night in Eureka. Work had been very stressful and I was not at my best preparing for this trip. Realizing I had failed to pack some essential item, a hair dryer or something, we were in the Walgreens to remedy the situation.

At the checkout counter with my purchase, I pulled out my checkbook. The kid at the counter looked at my check and said, “We don’t take out of town checks.” He blinked at me, waiting.

Ordinarily, this is the kind of thing that does not disturb one feather for me. Ordinarily, I say.

“This is Wells Fargo!” I sputtered and spat, pointing to the well-known bank logo on my check. I was incredulous. The hour was late. There was nowhere else to go. This was the last in a series of indignities of the week and plucked the high-screech of my last nerve.

I stomped my foot. Yes, I actually stomped my foot. I can’t believe I did that. It was a Shirley Temple move if I ever did one.

My opponent was unmoved.

“This is AMERICA!!”

My husband observed this from a safe distance and burst out laughing. His little power-pack puffin was getting nowhere with the bored youngster behind the counter and he’d never seen quite such a fit of pique. Happy that it was aimed at the slack-jawed simian behind the counter, he whipped out his plastic credit card and saved us all from a night in jail and hospital.

I was still spitting like a dowsed cat on the way back to the motel room, sending my energy into the night.

This is still one of my husband’s favorite stories about me, uncharacteristically unloading directly on the object of my disaffection in public like a ferocious wren.

“And she stomped her little foot!” he will cry in delight, retelling the story while I sneer and blush.

My usual response to my own inner incendiary devices is to channel that explosive energy towards something useful. I don’t know when I learned to do this but it has been a useful coping mechanism for me and kept me out of some very dark places. The habit came into sharp focus for me when I was a new computer programmer working for a major insurance company in the Midwest.

My mentor Jim had coached me on how the systems worked and I had done a lot of my own work to absorb the ins and outs of our software. We were going to have our first big release that included my participation not as an observer but as the go-to person. It was like my solo debut and I had a wide-eyed case of pre-performance jitters. To make matters more exciting, Jim was going to be out of town. The training wheels were off. Jim gave me a pep talk.

“What if something goes wrong?” I whispered, afraid to say it aloud as if “it” might hear me.

Jim grinned at me, “Get mad. Just get mad.”

In that instant, I realized he was right and so very right about me. I would turn fear, uncertainty and anger into the weapon to solve the problem at hand, transforming that energy that could otherwise be dissipated into the ether into a laser beam to shoot down any bug that may flutter in the software. And in that instant, I was so glad that Jim knew me that well, knew that’s how I worked, how my engine ran. My debut was flawless and the next week Jim was proud of me. What I gained, however, was so much more than self-confidence in my abilities as a programmer. I gained control over the use of my energy to make it work for me through self-awareness.

Obviously, I haven’t perfected the technique!

That transformation of elements in just the right amount to make them work for you instead of against you is a kind of personal alchemy. All of the elements are still there: Fear of failure, anger at the issue, ennui at this being your task perhaps when you least want or need it, fight or flight. The alchemical elements of air (thoughts and conflicts), earth (tangible considerations), fire (temper, drive, inspiration) and water (emotions including fear, sorrow and love) are blended in just such a way that with your unique spirit, you can turn them from wasted energy and self-directed weapons into the power to move forward. That alchemy, the remixing of elements into new forms, in Tarot is the essence of Temperance.



Art Postcard Tarot
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord



“You’ve really got it together!” Not always.



“You always know what to do!” Not always.

“You’re annoyingly cheerful!” OK, maybe that.

Recently, I sought to help a friend who had posted their woes at having been betrayed by someone they trusted. My heart went out to them. It was obvious that this person was suffering in their disappointment. I suggested the technique of turning that anger and sorrow into energy that served them positively.

They deleted my message.

I realized suddenly that I probably had made matters worse instead of better. It became clear to me that the posting was not a cry for this kind of help. Whether it was meant to be a “misery loves company” rally to like-wounded friends to indulge in sorrow or just blowing off steam, purposefully giving that energy to the universe just to get it out of their soul, what it wasn’t was a 911 call for a practical aid. Because after all, my alchemy is not their alchemy and my answers are not their answers. We both know that and we are still friends.

So I’ve rechanneled the energy I would have spent on them into this post, thinking if it doesn’t help everyone, it might help someone. And if it helps someone, then that has surely turned lead into gold.

Best wishes.

Love in the Time of Influenza

I had the flu. Then the hubs had the flu. This wasn’t the “search the cabinets for anything to help you breathe again” flu. This was that other flu. The flu we don’t talk about. You know what I mean. I don’t mean to paint too graphic a picture here but there are some tarot cards that can tell the story.



It seems like it should have been a short story. Its suddenness was like a lightning strike, a Tower fallen, the rug ripped out from under me. Luckily, I was within range of familiar conveniences. In times of stress, they were never more convenient. Dark moments like these are times when we examine our souls. I really hadn’t wanted to examine my soul from the inside out, though.

But after the initial assault, the siege went on. And on. It was 8 of Wands, the rain of fire, the sudden swiftness of burning, even the up-in-the-air feeling of having been launched, wanting to land but afraid to do so from such a height. The fever raged. The battle continued. The topsy-turvy world of war was upon me. Even water would not put out this flame, would not seek its own level but beat its retreat.

I sought comfort in the dark and quiet, hoping the sweet little songbirds would cease their concerts, the dog would not snore, the cats would not breathe so loudly. Light and air and logic and imagination were enemies. I waved a sheet in surrender and prayed for an end, however it may come. As a soldier crawling from the blast, the 4 of Swords, I sought oblivion even if from cold stone or smooth tiles.

I fought despair of the 5 of Cups. This was still Day 1. And yet I continued to work, to answer emails and telephone calls, to offer guidance on complex computer projects. And sprint. And despair some more. No, I said. This was not flu. This was food poisoning, a poorly prepared potato past its prime in search of revenge for its neglect. It would not be flu.

After the long siege of day and night, I rallied at dawn, sure the worst was over. After all, my husband’s birthday weekend was almost upon us and I would not, would not give in and cancel it. I tenderly tried to regain the balance of my strength, to sip both eagerly and cautiously to win back some of what I had lost. Sweet Temperance led me to sip and sip and sip again.

Ah, but cruel warning came! Peace is not merely the lack of open warfare. Dissembling stillness led me astray and I called out for sustenance. My husband responded in his usual generosity and brought me what would ordinarily be healing itself, Sizzling Rice Soup, and perhaps, if I were daring, a little vegetable fried rice. What harm could a little soothing soup do? Yet, like a thief, like the 7 of Swords, in a flash from full bowl to empty was all the time it took for me to find that the battle was not yet won. Even the sight of the veggie rice was too much to be gazed upon. I lost ground and I retreated once more.

Flu, like Death, be not proud. It takes us all, the willing and the unwilling, from time to time. Flu rode in with my husband on a portion of spicy eggplant from that same nearby Chinese restaurant. He felt fine while I turned green over my bland soup. Yet scant hours later, he was struck, with all the force of all the same symptoms, all the same remorse. And we fought fire with water once again, rallied and sank, retreated and wandered restlessly. All the while our dog and cats watched over us in dismay, concern and perhaps portion calculation should the worst occur.

And in our lowest moment, we knew we were defeated. The birthday weekend was off. The trip to the redwoods was postponed. The prime rib and chocolate cake were not to be. We were betrayed by a microbe, stabbed in the back like the 10 of Swords for providing too friendly an environment for its welfare. We made phone calls. We choked out our apologies and gave our best intentions to our comrades to save themselves, to run.

I determined the only cure for the worst of it was never to eat again. Like the 2 of Swords, I drew a thin treaty with the beastly bug, denying defeat as well as victory. My resolve lasted only into the evening of Day 3 and I rummaged for something, anything like real food. I found a bagel and toasted it, throwing caution to the wind. I returned to fuss and coo over my ailing sweetie whose head was bursting in between other bursts. We slept again.

Day 4. The fire retreats and leaves the charred remains, soothed, finally, by the cooling waters. We rise, having let go of earthly cares and woes, mostly woes. My husband has ventured as far as the kitchen and made chicken noodle soup. While this balm may not last for long, it is a breakthrough. Even the thought of food was torture a couple of days ago. We’ve dared to watch a little television, its trumpet blare and fireworks now not too painful to take. There are so many food commercials on television and not a lot of them are appetizing.

I even watched Julie & Julia, a movie about the love of food. It reminded me of the joy our cousin Patti has in her cooking, her love of France, her annual Thanksgiving “Babette’s” Feast where all is made from loving scratch. It also reminded me that love goes through things together, weathers indignities, unpleasantness, inconveniences, disappointments, defeats as well as joys and celebrations. We drink from the same cup and get the same reward, whether it’s the sweetness of the wine or the wretched influenza, in sickness and in health. We share the same cup.

But it will still be a while before that boned duck thing from J&J starts to look tasty. And I’d better go wash that cup again.

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All images in this posting are from my Art Postcard Tarot, still available.  See my page called Tarot Decks on this blog for more information. 

Best wishes.