Rage Is a Lantern

Nobody wants to talk about rage in spiritual spaces.

We talk about compassion.

About peace.

About letting go.

But what about the fire?

What about the full-body no that rises before we can edit it?

What about the sacred heat that says,

That was not okay.

You don’t get to do that again.

I am done being quiet.

That’s not a spiritual failure.

That’s a lantern.

Applied Zen doesn’t shut rage down, it holds it up to the light.

Because rage doesn’t just come from nowhere.

It comes from harm.

From betrayal.

From generations of silence, finally breaking open.

And while yes, unchecked rage can burn bridges,

unseen rage burns the self.

So we meet it.

We breathe with it.

We don’t run.

You don’t have to act on it.

You don’t have to post about it.

You don’t have to explain it to anyone.

But you do have to feel it.

Let it move through your body like thunder.

Let it speak before you bury it again.

Because buried rage turns into tension.

Into fatigue.

Into self-doubt and somatic shutdown and all the things we call “overreacting” when what we really mean is: unwitnessed truth trying to get out.

When I sit with my rage, I don’t ask it to leave.

I ask it what it’s trying to protect.

And every time, it shows me something tender underneath.

A boundary.

A younger version of me.

A sacred part that refused to be erased.

That’s what makes rage a lantern.

It lights up what matters.

Zen doesn’t mean being nice.

Zen means being present.

Even when what’s present is hot and sharp and loud.

Especially then.

So if you’re burning, don’t shame yourself.

Don’t spiritualize it away.

Sit beside the fire.

Let it flicker.

Let it show you what’s ready to change.

You’re not out of control.

You’re finally in contact.

That’s the path.

That’s the power.

That’s the lantern, glowing from the inside.