Monday Aphorism: Scapegoats

An object, a demi-person, a convenient mark upon which to ventilate my frustrated feelings when they are so built-up that I am forced to the demeaning choice of beating upon some other – or upon my self.

A dog, so loving in most moments, will forgive me, I know, if I beat him or kick him or scream at him. A dog, so loving, his broad back available to pound upon, his muzzle, fawning eyes, so easy somehow to snuff out in my seeing of them non-reflective in his dog’s being, I can scream at. A dog will neither snap at me nor bite me, nor implore me.

Later, I can forgive him easily for the damage I might have inflicted upon him.

People – scapegoats, the small, the weak, the infirm, it is a little less easy.

If I attack my most time loves, I attack myself and find it difficult to recover that sense of myself which deserves their love.

If I beat upon some others, I seem to lessen them, to blame those persons as if they were some hated – or feared – type or sort of person.

And they? What do they do with my blaming them for something which happened to me? Do they understand? Can they?

In lessening them don’t I diminish my self?

And if I find no other creatures, do I do bad things to my self?
How do I learn to absorb the feelings or lessen them to some point where I can, and not teach myself how not to feel?

How do I direct whatever I may feel to its proper source, nor yet be afraid?