Forgiveness, the sweet healing balm of the mottled soul. Saying not... "it's okay" but more of a "I can't hate you today," for anger begets hatred begets fear begets doom; no room at the inn for the baby forget me not and his parents The "Justifieds". Unforgiven equals angsty lusty foamy death ... in the form of a bottle.
To forgive is to be free ... of the bittersweet dregs of self righteousness. Cause I can DO some anger now ... used to be my best friend, lover; it made hateful love to me. Lubeless and harsh; bleeding and unfulfilled "I have a REASON to be pissed off mofo" I'd cry, and it made no difference. Except that it was the near death of me. Literally.
I consciously choose the zen of it all. The peace and calm and quiet. I am a woman born of fire who doused herself in the river of life. No longer the pawn of rage, I adorn myself in the words of the masters. It may seem the simpleton way. May seem like quitting. Indeed it is.
If this "quitting" is the absence of struggle, the giving up of ego; the quintessential vicissitude that allows me to go with the flow and the ability to have peace down to my pink painted toenails. So I say forgiveness is a gift. I am a pacifist, non-violent and serene. Yet at times the fire is born again and I must do damage control.
So I get my big red firemen's hat and extinguish the burning with the words and sweet caresses as I prostrate of myself of love. To not forgive any/all transgressions is the literal scorching of my heart. Only just healed, I remain a pink burn center victim. Thankfully some think scars are epically hot. I know I do.
No comments:
Post a Comment