Mistress Glinda (Witch of Zen)


Where were you when the middle aged woman in the Suburban cut me off on the freeway, and I beat my fists on the steering wheel in adrenaline-filled rage, bruising my fingers?
Where were you when I ached to go home after a long, late work day and night, and the customers, a mom and her teenagers, came in five minutes before closing and stayed in the store for 20 minutes after the doors were conspicuously locked and the dishes loudly clanged and banged in the sink so the world could hear my irritation and exasperation to no avail?
Where were you when the barista totally screwed up my order and had to re-do it after making me wait for 10 minutes, resulting in my risking my life and others’ on the road as I drove like a mad woman to get to work on time, my head pounding from raised blood pressure when I got there?
Where were you when my adult daughter forgot to pick up the dinner I asked her to bring me three hours prior, even as I was working her shift for her so she could get her homework done, the indignity and betrayal that boiled my blood and caused me to cut her down with cruelty in words and knife of guilt?
And where were you when the clearly guilty ones unabashedly told lies under oath about me, causing me to gasp in horror and dismay and anger and disbelief and dread and angst and wrath and despair…?
Where were you, my good witch, to remind me how much power I give the powerless? Where was your wave of the wand over the glass we peer into, showing me how much I fight the familiar profile of the masochistic female who takes up as little space as possible, accepts suffering inflicted by others with rage then resignation, and doubts her own truths in deference to others’, only to flay those efforts in a flip of the switch–unravel reality–when ceding my grace and acceptance of what is, where I am, who they are, with knowledge of my own powerlessness over others, and the gratitude and equanimity to bear that accession?
I needed you those times to tell me, “You’ve had the power all along, girl. The rubies are the moments of opportunity, of power properly placed. Now take it on home.”

8 Replies to “Mistress Glinda (Witch of Zen)”

  1. My heart took a jump when I read of the lies under oath. A rage in my heart, my genetics demanding revenge, thank God I have not the power to destroy myself by destroying others in fury of wrath, as I would be compelled by my soul.
    “The moments of opportunity, of power properly placed”, if there were only a guide book and labels on these things with directions and content, perhaps calories as well. It would be helpful.
    This made me look deep, see myself here in frustration and disappointment in broken promises of support, basic things like food that are fundamental. This has a personal touch that brings a depth of involvement I really enjoy.

    1. I was going for a recognition of how anger comes from the perception that we give of a situation. Any one of those examples contains a person who is not maliciously trying to do anything to me, really, even the liars. They’re just trying to save their own skins. But someone cutting me off has not chosen me as a target of malice nor the barista or any of the numerous sources of anger I take personally. I give it the power of the personal. Rationally, though rude or desperate, people are just in their own worlds co-existing but not necessarily cooperating with others. My choice to let any of it offend or rattle me. And yes, easier said than done so many times.

  2. Interesting. I prefer to assign blame on God, whoever, my guardian angels, Jehovah, Casper the Ghost, someone is going to catch some shit from me. I once spent the whole month of January swearing at God as a promise if he did not deliver. I could win the lottery or be kidnapped by beautiful alien girls, but no, a flat tire, some ass bite at the market. No, I am assigning blame and demanding more from that boogie man sent the bad stuff. Somehow this has always worked for me, all those mindless folks are a manifestation of something prior, a step I’ve taken, not finding a sock. Like a huge Pachinko game. Survival can just be a mindless moment taken a day earlier. Losing your keys the accident you missed.
    I don’t know if there is a name for this philosophy, but I grant an intelligence to that man behind the curtain and am ready to strike a bargain with him in my favor, it’s as valid as any perception or belief one may expound as fact.

  3. It is always about ‘me’ for all of us. From the driver to the barista it is all personal. I think therefore I am entitled.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: