Hockey Therapy

I don’t know exactly when I became a hockey fan, but I did. Over the course of winter’s solstice, while others cocooned in the warmth of their homes feeling love’s embrace, I gorged on nachos and beer. I watched grown men pummel each other to the ice. As the crowd roared in approval, I rose with them and felt a primitive rush of adrenalin. I like the sound of clashing long sticks and secretly yearn for the satisfying smack of players when they hit the boards.

No, I’m not having anger issues. I’m a seeker of harmony and peace. I believe in hopes and dreams and leaving legacies. I want to touch the lives of others and in turn touch their hearts. I am certain that life has purpose and we find each other on the same path because of destiny. I believe in pure love and soul mates. That the touch of the wind on a fall day brings grace falling like leaves in shattered lives. I believe the warmth of the sun on iced snow thaws hearts. That the real beauty of the seasons is embodied in those who plunge from black sand foundations into aquamarine waters without checking depth.

And yet, I still want to smash the faces of those who hurt others. I want to kick the butts of those who take away smiles and leave bruised hearts. I want to be on the ice and get in fist fights and defend the honor of those whose lives have been derailed by the soulless. I want to crack ribs over injustices and split lips over malicious gossip. I want to throw water on cruel power hoarders and watch them sizzle to the ground like the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz.

I’m a southern girl. Born and bred to smile sweetly and keep rage in the kitchen while crushing pecans for a pie. Staring into my iron skillet watching the hot grease splatter while cooking fried chicken, I ponder life and the people in it. Don’t mess with southern girls. We may snap and get in your face and tell you to go find a puck.

But until then, I go to hockey games, secretly putting new names on the jerseys of the fighters, and recite the Serenity Prayer.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

The Good Fight

Like ocean tides, Evil relentlessly surges into my life. Pushing. Pulling. Burying me under waves of roaring pressure until I can’t breathe. Filling my lungs with bitter salt until I suffocate.

I walk along the shore and waves crash into me. I swim against the currents and tire. I swim with the currents, lulled by gentle breezes, and almost pay the ultimate price when venturing too far.

So I stop. I quit fighting and simply watch the clams burrow into the sand leaving tiny air bubbles. I imagine these small sea creatures drawing their soft bodies inside hard shells protecting themselves against predators. I feel warm breezes caress my face lifting tendrils of hair into rain soaked air. I watch the sun dip into the water kissing the sky with glorious colors of ripe mangos and warm corrals. It is then I realize how to fight and not become prey to the ocean.

I stand strong in the sand until gravity sucks my feet under. I am rooted in the grains that have been transported from times and places unseen. I stand in the particles that flow together forming beaches and dunes. I am planted firmly in the earth amidst the presence of those who have gone before and shared their wisdom. I gain strength by looking into my heart and feeling their love. I find solace by searching comforting memories until I see their faces and feel their hands holding mine.

I am anchored. I will not fall when evil washes ashore.