My father is in Germany. War-gaming. For three weeks, and I miss him already. We�ve been having some great talks lately. I�ve noticed, when we�re at meditation or �The Church of What�s Happening Now� (which is what he calls it, because it�s not a religion), that his emotions are surfacing more than ever before in his life. He grew up in a poor, Irish family, in the middle of the cement jungle that is Brooklyn, NY. A block away from my mother�s Italian family. I�ve heard bits and pieces of stories over the years, things he went through in order to help take care of the family; in each story, there is one common thread � stay strong. So, his was a life of caring and providing for others with no conscious thought to his own well-being, stifling emotion as soon as it surfaced, submerging it into the depths of subconscious.

And now, giving up exterior responsibilities, finally focusing on himself for a change, all kinds of things are floating to the top. The good part about this is, for every ugly piece of memory that surfaces, there is a beautiful and joyous one. Most of those involve us, his daughters. And in those moments, when we are in meditation, concentrating on what we appreciate in life, the good that we have done by others, what we are grateful for, I look over to him. I see that his eyes are welled up with the fluid that emotion becomes when the body can no longer contain it. In those moments, I am overcome by the same emotion, this strong sensation of joy and wonder that we can be so gifted with this overwhelming power of appreciation. It�s amazing what can happen when you give into emotion, any emotion.

When I am upset, I put my entire body into it. I clench and extend my fingers, I raise my arms over my head, elbows closed in front of my face. And I cry. And I let whatever noises out which want to come out. If I feel like dropping to the ground, I will. I don�t hold back. That does not mean that I indulge, though. My bouts of upset come very infrequently, and when they do, they do not last for very long. I think that is because I truly surrender to them, let the emotion run its course, let my body feel the soul�s expression. It�s part of being alive, of being human.

When I am happy, I laugh freely, I breathe deeply, sometimes I cry. Such a chic thing, that �crying while you�re happy.� I cry when I�m touched by something. Seeing people reunite at the airport, that sad look in someone�s eyes as they are lamenting about something. Good or bad, I let each one touch me equally.

Except anger. This is one I question. I ask myself, �why am I really angry here?� The answer is usually not what I thought it would be � that I am angry at something someone did. Rather, I am angry because I am hurt or saddened or disappointed by something someone did. There�s a huge difference. Because those emotions are not anger. And they are much more personal than easily saying, �You�re an ass, you fucked up,� anything that�s YOU, YOU, YOU. When you take ownership of why you are really angry, you realize that it has much more to do with you and much less to do with anything anyone could have done. You created the buttons that other people push.

When I look at that, when I�m angry and I ask myself why, it�s usually because I�m hurt or disappointed. Usually because I set expectations. Setting expectations is emotional suicide. It�s hard to go past anger to get to the hurt. But the sooner I recognize it, the sooner I can accept the fact that I�m hurt and experience what that�s like, and move on.

I guess the whole point of my entry today, is that emotion is good. Any type of emotion. Living, breathing, laughing, crying, loving -- emotion. And it brings me great pleasure to see that my father, whom I love and respect deeply, is living fully. It�s important to me that all of the people I love, my sisters, my mother, my friends, have the ability to drink from the cup of life in gulps, with no thought to the seeds in the juice. Just to take it all in, and spit out the bad parts later. Because if you try to pick it out ahead of time and take little sips, you�re missing a lot that you�ll never know about.

-Barbarella

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