by Karen Krebser
Fury is a tricky thing for me, and always has been. It’s an emotion I can tap into readily because no matter how much Pisces is in me (and there’s a lot of Pisces in this Queen of Cups), I’m still a child of fire. But while fury is also a child of fire, we’re not siblings. Fury is its own madness, its own whirl of hate and potential conflagration that defies DNA or any other attempt to codify it; it infects, drives, cleanses, howls, and is something that I’ve never been able to communicate with. There is no bargaining with fury, there is only following the flow of the emotion as it comes until it burns itself out in bellowing exhaustion.
When I was a kid, anger was unacceptable as an emotional reaction to things. Expressing anger in my family got a person labeled “hysterical” or “emotional,” a label that a woman couldn’t afford to bear either in my family unit or the outside world. So I learned to swallow my anger, my fire, literally. I have an eating disorder because of my inability to separate food and feelings. But something I never realized was that when anger is swallowed and left unprocessed, it becomes fury. It becomes something larger than itself, something explosive and wild - it’s like unprocessed anger taps directly into the Universal soul that is Fury, and when unleashed, can destroy everything it touches.
I learned this the hard way, of course.
But fury doesn’t have to be negative. It doesn’t have to be a terrible, yawning, gaping portal to a hell dimension. Fury can provide an impetus to useful action. Seeing hundreds and hundreds of innocent people of color murdered by racist authorities can trigger a larger episode of fury that motivates people to change their minds, to see others changing their minds, to finding a new definition of what it means to be human. Seeing others so upset, so driven by grief and madness but finding ways to express their fury within the boundaries of non-violent protest has immense potential for healing, a potential that cannot be accessed on such a scale through other means. Fury provides a pathway for purging that which is toxic and poisonous in the individual (who perhaps works out difficulties at the gym with a pair of gloves and a punching bag, clearing the physical body of the negative energies and thoughts) and the society both (giving groups of people a point of focus to call for change and the destruction of toxic laws and systems).
Fury is powerful, but natural. It’s how we call out to each other to change that which is damaged, broken, and in need of healing. It’s the systemic 911 we make to one another when no other words get through. Fury is our emergency alert system telling us when something is unacceptable. Fury is how we remind ourselves that we are a society of law and order, that each is equal to all others under the law, and that there are rules that cannot be broken without consequence. Fury brings walls down, but then leaves so that homes and businesses and farms and schools can be built from the ruins in peace, leaving society stronger, hopefully more compassionate, and ultimately, healed.
by Karen Krebser