Thursday, June 7, 2007 at 12:12am
And so am I
Column: wavelength
Today I realized that I was being a tad bit snarky on one particular topic. I found myself aggravated, irritated and annoyed. If I had to read one more of at least a dozen emails from one sender, I thought I might scream. Instead of screaming, I opted to growl and snarl, like any good attack dog might do.
Now, was anyone holding a gun to my head, making me read email after email? Of course not. Could I have turned off my computer and redirected my energies? Of course, I could have.
But no, I opted for the snarling dog syndrome and continued to froth and figuratively throw myself against the chain link fence that kept me imprisoned as I read each consecutive email. There were days of email deluges, and today I hit my limit.
Each email was like a chipmunk strutting over the top of that chain link fence. Each email felt like a personal assault on my space. I felt assailed by the sheer audacity of that chipmunk strutting on the very perimeters of my world. I wanted the chipmunk to go away; I wanted the chipmunk to stop writing, philosophizing and proffering advice on outdated (December 2006) e-mails. I wanted him to stop responding to others' responses and just talk in present time.
And here's the kicker: I didn't have to respond to any of these suckers. I merely needed to read them. Wait a minute. Is that true? Actually, no I didn't have to read one single, solitary chipmunk stroke.
Well, clearly, I'm an idiot.
I didn't have to read the voluminous emails, but, then again, I was locked into my attack dog mode while my email writer was doing his grand march of the chipmunk. We had settled into quite the push-pull dynamic. And it looked like, energetically speaking, Chipmunk 12, Attack Dog zip.
What was my problem? Why was I all puffed up with raised hackles and straining against my choke collar?
Usually I am a fairly open-hearted person, but today I am in reactive growl mode. I want my prolific chipmunk to put a sock in it and stop responding to each and every email written by members of a group. But, who cares? What harm is he doing?
Like the prancing chipmunk atop the fence, he is doing nothing save having his fun. If you think about it, what do chipmunks actually do? Don't they hunt for nuts and berries, store up said nuts and berries for winter and play tag with each other as they race up and down over the ground and around the trees? Really, have you seen a chipmunk do much else? They seem fond of saving up their bootie for less bountiful times; they seem playful and social.
My masterful chipmunk was doing just that. He was racing hither and thither with assorted ideas. He was playing tag with his fellow correspondents. He had saved up months and months of emails. He was now having a jolly good time.
And I had become Cujo. This was not a pretty picture.
Maybe it's part of the canine hardwiring, but I have yet to meet a dog who doesn't react to a chipmunk on its turf. The chipmunk's seeming effrontery and concomitant freedom to dash high and low is enough to make a grown dog howl.
And howling I was — with self-inflicted outrage at the invasion of my mailbox. How dare he fill my mailbox with dozens of unsolicited emails in which he pronounced the last word and offered the sagacity of the ages, all in a tone that I found intermittently patronizing and consistently moot!
Every email sent me further into a snit. (And there is nothing like a good snit to get your juices flowing.) I found myself becoming very judgmental, highly critical and oh so superior and righteous. The choke chain on this attack dog was beginning to chafe.
Now I realize I am sounding more like a whiny horse's patoot than a ferocious dog. But I was convinced, and that is convinced with a capital "C," that Mr. Chipmunk Man was the real horse's patoot.
It took a few hours for the choke collar to become relaxed and the oxygen to reach my brain.
Ram Dass came to mind.
Do you remember who Ram Dass is?
Ram Dass is one of the established founding fathers of today's higher consciousness movement. Ram Dass was originally known as Richard Alpert, and he is a former Harvard professor, who, for a period of time in the '60s, ran in the same circles as Timothy Leary of LSD experiments fame.
At the request of Harvard, Alpert left the establishment and traveled to India where he learned to meditate, studied spirituality and underwent a spiritual transformation. His Hindu teacher named him Baba Ram Dass, which means "servant of God." Ram Dass, as a spiritual teacher and author, has dedicated his life to one of service.
Ram Dass is an interesting guy. He has been around the block, so to speak, and, I think, has gained much wisdom along the way.
Here are two small examples of Ram Dass' philosophy of life:
1) Ram Dass was giving a lecture a number of years ago. After the lecture, there were microphones placed in the aisles so that attendees could queue up for Q and A. Ram Dass said he would be delighted to answer all of their queries, but he wanted his audience to keep in mind that, first and foremost, the answer to everything is love.
2) Ram Dass has counseled that whenever you call someone a name - say, "supercilious twit" or "pompous potato head" — you add the words "and so am I."
You can see where I am going here, can't you?
Clearly, it wasn't easy being the attack dog — all chained up, collared and fenced in with nowhere to go. Everything outside of my fence became provocation. And I reacted wildly. Clearly, this attack dog needs some chipmunk freedom and playful dancing.
And it probably wasn't too easy for the chipmunk to feel he had to empty his store of dated emails and play hard to please others with his fast-footed verbal skills. The chipmunk might have benefited from some tethered focus and clearer, fenced-in boundaries.
But truth be told, I was the real horses' patoot. I was condescending, patronizing and needing the last word. This picture is making Cujo look good.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.
Now, was anyone holding a gun to my head, making me read email after email? Of course not. Could I have turned off my computer and redirected my energies? Of course, I could have.
But no, I opted for the snarling dog syndrome and continued to froth and figuratively throw myself against the chain link fence that kept me imprisoned as I read each consecutive email. There were days of email deluges, and today I hit my limit.
Each email was like a chipmunk strutting over the top of that chain link fence. Each email felt like a personal assault on my space. I felt assailed by the sheer audacity of that chipmunk strutting on the very perimeters of my world. I wanted the chipmunk to go away; I wanted the chipmunk to stop writing, philosophizing and proffering advice on outdated (December 2006) e-mails. I wanted him to stop responding to others' responses and just talk in present time.
And here's the kicker: I didn't have to respond to any of these suckers. I merely needed to read them. Wait a minute. Is that true? Actually, no I didn't have to read one single, solitary chipmunk stroke.
Well, clearly, I'm an idiot.
I didn't have to read the voluminous emails, but, then again, I was locked into my attack dog mode while my email writer was doing his grand march of the chipmunk. We had settled into quite the push-pull dynamic. And it looked like, energetically speaking, Chipmunk 12, Attack Dog zip.
What was my problem? Why was I all puffed up with raised hackles and straining against my choke collar?
Usually I am a fairly open-hearted person, but today I am in reactive growl mode. I want my prolific chipmunk to put a sock in it and stop responding to each and every email written by members of a group. But, who cares? What harm is he doing?
Like the prancing chipmunk atop the fence, he is doing nothing save having his fun. If you think about it, what do chipmunks actually do? Don't they hunt for nuts and berries, store up said nuts and berries for winter and play tag with each other as they race up and down over the ground and around the trees? Really, have you seen a chipmunk do much else? They seem fond of saving up their bootie for less bountiful times; they seem playful and social.
My masterful chipmunk was doing just that. He was racing hither and thither with assorted ideas. He was playing tag with his fellow correspondents. He had saved up months and months of emails. He was now having a jolly good time.
And I had become Cujo. This was not a pretty picture.
Maybe it's part of the canine hardwiring, but I have yet to meet a dog who doesn't react to a chipmunk on its turf. The chipmunk's seeming effrontery and concomitant freedom to dash high and low is enough to make a grown dog howl.
And howling I was — with self-inflicted outrage at the invasion of my mailbox. How dare he fill my mailbox with dozens of unsolicited emails in which he pronounced the last word and offered the sagacity of the ages, all in a tone that I found intermittently patronizing and consistently moot!
Every email sent me further into a snit. (And there is nothing like a good snit to get your juices flowing.) I found myself becoming very judgmental, highly critical and oh so superior and righteous. The choke chain on this attack dog was beginning to chafe.
Now I realize I am sounding more like a whiny horse's patoot than a ferocious dog. But I was convinced, and that is convinced with a capital "C," that Mr. Chipmunk Man was the real horse's patoot.
It took a few hours for the choke collar to become relaxed and the oxygen to reach my brain.
Ram Dass came to mind.
Do you remember who Ram Dass is?
Ram Dass is one of the established founding fathers of today's higher consciousness movement. Ram Dass was originally known as Richard Alpert, and he is a former Harvard professor, who, for a period of time in the '60s, ran in the same circles as Timothy Leary of LSD experiments fame.
At the request of Harvard, Alpert left the establishment and traveled to India where he learned to meditate, studied spirituality and underwent a spiritual transformation. His Hindu teacher named him Baba Ram Dass, which means "servant of God." Ram Dass, as a spiritual teacher and author, has dedicated his life to one of service.
Ram Dass is an interesting guy. He has been around the block, so to speak, and, I think, has gained much wisdom along the way.
Here are two small examples of Ram Dass' philosophy of life:
1) Ram Dass was giving a lecture a number of years ago. After the lecture, there were microphones placed in the aisles so that attendees could queue up for Q and A. Ram Dass said he would be delighted to answer all of their queries, but he wanted his audience to keep in mind that, first and foremost, the answer to everything is love.
2) Ram Dass has counseled that whenever you call someone a name - say, "supercilious twit" or "pompous potato head" — you add the words "and so am I."
You can see where I am going here, can't you?
Clearly, it wasn't easy being the attack dog — all chained up, collared and fenced in with nowhere to go. Everything outside of my fence became provocation. And I reacted wildly. Clearly, this attack dog needs some chipmunk freedom and playful dancing.
And it probably wasn't too easy for the chipmunk to feel he had to empty his store of dated emails and play hard to please others with his fast-footed verbal skills. The chipmunk might have benefited from some tethered focus and clearer, fenced-in boundaries.
But truth be told, I was the real horses' patoot. I was condescending, patronizing and needing the last word. This picture is making Cujo look good.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.