So many people get involved with carrying grudges and having these moral battles with people, where they cast themselves as the righteous one, and the other guy is the dirtbag. They waste tons of energy on it, create all kinds of darkness around themselves and the other person. It gets you nothing. (Stephen Cannell)
My last few blog-gy reflections had to do with shadow, that bag full of stuff we carry behind us that we are only vaguely (if at all) aware of. Mostly I’ve talked about the good stuff that’s probably in that bag, stuff that we are, and that we could be, stuff that as yet has never had a chance for life. And how good is that, to get more conscious of the good stuff?!
The not-so-good stuff? Ah, a different matter, keep that inside, try not to look at it yourself, and for sure, try not to let other people see it.
My first husband was a Cajun from the swamps of southeast Louisiana, that wonderful, wacky group of alligator-wrestling people who call themselves “coon-asses,” and are some of the most open, loving, and crazily impulsive people I’ve ever met. He taught me a saying, one that unfortunately was/is highly applicable to me ‘n my shadow: “to have a case of the ass for ____ ,” referring of course to “holding a grudge.”
Meet Me, the ole original grudge-slinging, self-righteous one, out for Justice and maybe a little revenge — of course, Justice as I sees it — having a case of the ass for a lot of stuff!
As a child, my favorite book was The Count of Monte Cristo, which probably says a lot. Revenge is everywhere in The Count of Monte Cristo. No matter what the situation, no matter who is speaking, it lurks in the corners, propelling the story along. The epic addresses the interplay between justice, revenge, jealousy, greed, power, and transformation, all great fodder for the arena of shadow.
Maybe I could lay some of my less admirable grudge-y self at the door of my culture — we are a grudge-happy people, we Scotch-Irish. Oh, we like to say “it’s over and done with, forget it,” or as my grandmother used to say, ” I forgive her, but I don’t forget it, and I hope a fox bites her.” But it’s just a way of keeping silent on whatever issue is in front of us — and that silence doesn’t bring peace. It can bring centuries-long feuds.
It’s a journey, this forgiveness thing. Self-righteous indignation and anger feels good to chew on, except it only gets bigger and more unwieldy in your mouth, like what my sister and I call “booger-meat.” I often keep on chewing on it, holding that grudge because I don’t want to let the other person off the hook, but who’s really hooked? — the one who’s moved on or the one left with all that booger-meat in her mouth . . .