The beauty of rage is that lies dressed as sadness.
The horror of rage is that is coveted in sweet and educated manners.
The dizziness of rage makes a heart gravimetric in pulse and accelerated in leaps.
The pain of rage fills every space between yer cells,
and opens channels to the lost shores of the Ancient World
where men and beasts are such because of the intelligence at rest inside their hearts.
Rage is the oil inside the engine of every problem that we accumulate inside our cells over the years
that brings the hideous feeling of decay and sorrow that age brings.
It’s the base, can’t you people see!?
Rage and madness have over and over been there, like a whip of thorns slashing the tender breasts
of our dreams and hopes. We search so much and so hard that we can’t acknowledge it, we treat our Sacred Rage as a fairy tale not worth of out powerful atention.
We do it badly advised, we do it proudly because our daddys did it and we are not even strong enough to let down the shovel and pick up the sword and the flower.
Rage can be transformed into Strength, Power and Juice.
The only thing that you need is to express it, sincere yourself, thank that it exists to show you honestly what you are feeling and what you feel of and in the world.
And then, only then, when it is a wretched, scaly, tall, sharp-edged, claw-armored, teeth-destroying sharp entity that you can recall out of your living nightmares,
search the Path to Forgiveness. Find it. And let it fly.
There is not any problem with a person feeling anger.
Now, if that person doesn’t goes and change the very structure of AIR around it to make sure the aromas embezzled within him, around him, are now instead of charcoal and sulphur, roses…
every mile he walks away from the source is a mile we all walk in a bigger, darker, crueler, home.