Forgiveness

My car is currently in sickbay, and I am driving my son’s car. It has a stereo system that is more complicated than this one button women can handle, so instead of listening to the radio or a favorite cd, I loose myself in the hum of the motor. The buzz starts in my feet and winds through my body, swallowing every nerve and filling my body with white noise.

Friday morning, that white noise gave birth to Forgiveness.

I have met Forgiveness before.
We argue frequently.
I often refuse to listen to Forgiveness.
It’s too hard.

Forgiveness asks me to pardon anyone who has wronged me.
Forgiveness asks me to do this even when the other person has neither asked for nor earned even an atom of absolution.
Forgiveness asks me to do this even when the other person is a burr in my craw.
Forgiveness asks me to do this especially when the other person is a burr in my craw.

Forgiveness is a tenacious debater.

On Friday, Forgiveness used Perry Mason logic and skill, to lay out an argument that was irrefutable.

“Your anger holds a person in the past and as long as you are holding a person in the past, you are stuck in the past with him. By refusing to let go, you are not allowing him to move forward, and that, of course means, that you cannot move forward either.”

Damn!

Time to shake off of the seductive embrace of anger and resentment that wraps me in the comforting arms of moral indignation and outrage.

It will take time.
I commit to doing the work.

I am ready to move forward.

Whose Truth?

I have been exploring the idea of Truth and realizing that the more I insist upon my truth the harder it becomes for me to see the Truth.

Take, for example, my children’s father. While I am sure there is good in him, I keep being confronted by the worst in him. I know that, at his core he is filled with Light, and yet, his effect upon me is one of Darkness.

Just when I think that I am at a point where I can co-parent with him in a mutually respectful loving way, he will do something that makes me want to spit on him and scream that he is a fucking narcissistic bastard who is unworthy of breathing the same air as decent folk.

I grab my truth and wave it frantically in front of me, as though it will some how protect me, oblivious to the fact that, in reality, it is the red cloak of the matador, inciting the Darkness.

My truth wants to blame him for the difficulties in my life.
The Truth would praise him for those very same difficulties.

My truth tells me that I am love and forgiveness and he is fear and anger.
The Truth sees that, out of all the souls in the Universe, his was the one who willing to risk my hatred in order to allow me the opportunity to learn and to further my journey toward the Light. My soul weeps with gratitude at his kindness and generosity.

The world is a whole lot lovelier when I am able to step out of my truth and be in the Truth.

I know this with every ounce of my being.
Still, too often,
My truth beckons with beguiling beauty and I follow willingly into the sultry arms of Darkness.