A hot source of anger and malice in me – a ready trigger – is thwarted expectation. My will pushes into the future along a fictional architecture. I demand that things I imagine (even a small outcome, like the location of my glasses; much larger too…), be real, be mine, be as I will them. A life without any predictive sense is unsustainable, but I’m looking to hold my predictions as fictions and not rights.
Time with silence lives predictively, in the sense that it is alive, full of waiting… leaning into – something. But it can also be practice in finding future (swaying out of balance from the present, so as to locomote) without expectation (leaning into dark). This promotes freedom from anger; more room for compassion.