Don't worry...I am not asking you to forgive the terrorists who walked into and out of the Capitol...or the police, law makers, and other public servants who conspired to let them do it and remain relatively unscathed.
You know me too well for that.
We all watched as many or all of our leaders, not just Chief Cheeto, gave equity, fairness, and justice and any sense of law-abiding decency in our government a big ol' Fuck You. Nobody stomped those folks. Nobody kneeled on their necks. They didn't even get shot or tasered by law enforcement.
They told us plain and simple what they think of anyone who isn't white in America: sell cigarettes and you die. Storm the US Capitol armed and aggressive...well, shoot, come right in y'all!
What compounds that incredulous terror is that BIPOC folks have been feeling and seeing it their whole lives. Saying it. Shouting it. Folks even joined in with fist pumps and pussy hats. But nobody really listened. And now they are surprised all over again.
There's a difference when you listen; it becomes part of you. Like music. When you hear music and it's just around your ears, maybe you move to it involuntarily or start humming along. The song ends and you stop. When you really listen to music, you take it in, it becomes part of your heart and changes you a bit. You carry it with you forever.
If you are thinking these days, rather hopelessly, what now?
Listening. Taking it in. Carrying.
Like you would a sweet, sorrowful piece of music that changed your life.
************
I have shared with you that I am doing a lot of writing with an online Writing Group, and on my own, these past few months. I try to write every day. Sometimes it's a 5 line poem, sometimes it's a 3 page journal entry, and sometimes it's a corny story.
Writing helps me listen. To myself, a lot of the time. Most of the time and more importantly, I use writing to integrate the stories, the pain, the human experiences I have witnessed as a person, a clinician, a professor, and professional over the last 22 years. Because I never want to stop listening. I never want to be so overloaded that other people's sorrow stops becoming part of my heart and changing my life.
Today we had a prompt about what thing we cannot forgive ourselves for. This is where I went with it, and maybe there's something in it for you too. Enjoy!
Forgiveness is still a very strange and ill-defined concept to me. What does it mean to forgive? To give in advance? For-give? Some sources on the etymology of the word state that it means to grant, allow, or permit. What shall I permit? Or allow? And who am I to permit or allow anything among free people?
To myself, what should I permit? What length of forgiveness shall I dispense? May I drink to excess with permission? May I keep my body immobile to the point of atony, weakness, and debility, and grant myself favor?
To the world, what will we permit or offer grace for? Certainly the world has not shown much worth thus far. Will we forgive and permit tyranny, destruction, ruthlessness, and debasement on our Earth?
Seems to me we could hardly forgive at all lest we relent to harming ourselves, others, and the world.
Except for kindness. I have yet to find a situation or context where kindness and more kindness could not be welcome. We can forgive ourselves that; the days and moments that we were kind. We were not weak or addled. We can forgive ourselves for thinking so and permit that kindness to flow again. We were not naïve or ignorant. We can forgive ourselves for believing that and allow kindness another chance.
Seems to me forgiveness then is much less expansive that we depict it. Much less magnanimous. In fact it is quite dear, compact, and sacred. A small treasure in a soft drawstring sack. Maybe it need not come out often, or as often as demanded. Maybe it really is for special occasions. To give in advance and to relent to the kind heart.
Take care of your kind and changed hearts, Sunita
