Perfection has no place here indeed. Relationship s are always messy, even our relationships with forgiveness is what I felt here, but worth the tender effort
There is no “right way” to forgiveness - that is what I was trying to say. There are so many expectations placed on the path of forgiveness, but in some ways it is its own entity.
The opening line read... I knew I was on a journey I would feel to the depths of my soul.
I could smell the earthiness of a walk through the woods. Feel the breeze of gentile words floating by. This is a poem that is felt, seen, heard, and smelled--it was one for all the senses. Beautiful.
I’ve said it myself and it held me bound. “I forgive but I won’t forget.”
The pain is too deep and over and over again? No. And you aren’t even sorry. You don’t even know I hurt. You didn’t care about the tears I cried and over and over again. Even if I wanted to, how do I forget? The sick feeling in my stomach is still stirred up when I think of you.
Forgiveness. I had to walk away. I had to grow. I had to learn who I really am. I had lost myself in your continued cruel and twisted anger aimed at me though I was innocent.
St. John of the Cross felt this pain. Worse than the act itself; it’s the shame that followed as I couldn’t help but believe that I had done something that deserved your attacks.
“What greatly grieves me is that the one who is not at fault is blamed.”
The deduction, all of a sudden, becomes clear to me! I am the one that I must forgive. How could I have come to believe such awful things about myself?
Looking in the mirror I see myself a child again. Curly hair, bright smile, quick witted and beautifully filled with the knowledge of belonging. I am the earth’s and the sun’s and the Japanese beetles’ I was so intrigued by. I am God’s and in this belonging I am loved. There is no doubt about it in that child’s face looking back at me.
In this space, in this love, there is nothing to forgive. This space has only room for love. It is filled with light and joy and color and butterflies dancing to the music that plays delightfully in the background of my life.
Now forgiveness towards others comes easy as I first direct it to my own self. “Dearest! I’m sorry! Please forgive me! Thank you! I love you!” The Hawaiian Prayer of Forgiveness has become a song I sing over myself and I dance, with the butterflies, to the music of my life, in the stillness of awe, as I learn to live in the Power of Love.
My first stirring when reading your challenge and invitation this morning is - wow, this is fast to get to this word. But then I'm realizing, we need to get here to move on. Can't wait to see what's next!
forgiveness like honey flows slowly from an uncapped vessel,
flavored with pollen gathered from the flight, delivered freely. soul nectar.
This is so beautiful - thank you for sharing
Forgiveness is the stuff we cannot write public poems about
Because then they'd know about all the years
You’d carried the weight of fool’s gold in your pockets
And smiled like a rich girl praying no one would see
You paid in candy wrappers, not coins
It’s ok, no one noticed the back teeth were rotting, and the back porch too
Forgiveness is waking up on a Monday morning and writing the private poems that name the wound
Telling it close to the bone of true
Forgiveness is trusting the bridge holds between the two
Because then they'd know all the years
You'd carried the weight...yes! The self-forgiveness for all those years of carrying.
Oo!! So good!
So, so beautiful.
Forgiveness I want to be with you
I want to hold your hand in mine
How do I find your outstretched palm when I cannot look at my own hand?
A step in your direction
Means I must observe the truth
Accept my flaws and humanity
And accept yours too
Perfection, gnarly but enticing
has no place here
And neither does sagacious striving
So patiently I plod
Arms outstretched
Hope pushes me forward
So one day
We can hold hands
I feel this in my gut. Such beautiful words.
Thank you.
reaching out for that hand with its outstretched palm! I'm breathing into that stretch.
The breath. So many deep breaths.
Perfection has no place here indeed. Relationship s are always messy, even our relationships with forgiveness is what I felt here, but worth the tender effort
There is no “right way” to forgiveness - that is what I was trying to say. There are so many expectations placed on the path of forgiveness, but in some ways it is its own entity.
The lane is narrow in the woods
and my footfall cannot help but crush the ephemeral unnoticed.
May apples and jacks in their pulpits stand strong
and protect themselves against the crushing blow
but toothwart with your leaf cut fine
and rue anemone curled in pearls
and hiding by the side
I did not see you for your gentleness
your tender presence whispering that spring has come
and life renewed.
-
But now I do.
I see you in your quiet glory shouting in full voice
that you forgive me for my callousness.
-
Unlace the strings that bind your feet
and walk with us.
-
I plant my soles in earthy paths among my friends
and let the waters run between my toes
to drink from bottom up
and nourish till the light bursts from my crown.
-
I forgive myself for staying where I wasn’t meant to be.
Because now, I have found home.
Beautiful poem, especially resonate with walking among friends!
Beautiful. Big fan of spring ephemerals here. I’m all too aware of how my admiration sometimes leads to unintended damage.
So beautiful!
Thank you for this beautiful poem. Its imagery grounds the ephemerality of forgiveness in God's tangible, material creation.
Thank you, Nicole, for seeing that balance.
The opening line read... I knew I was on a journey I would feel to the depths of my soul.
I could smell the earthiness of a walk through the woods. Feel the breeze of gentile words floating by. This is a poem that is felt, seen, heard, and smelled--it was one for all the senses. Beautiful.
Thank you for journeying alongside!
Ho’oponopono
I’ve said it myself and it held me bound. “I forgive but I won’t forget.”
The pain is too deep and over and over again? No. And you aren’t even sorry. You don’t even know I hurt. You didn’t care about the tears I cried and over and over again. Even if I wanted to, how do I forget? The sick feeling in my stomach is still stirred up when I think of you.
Forgiveness. I had to walk away. I had to grow. I had to learn who I really am. I had lost myself in your continued cruel and twisted anger aimed at me though I was innocent.
St. John of the Cross felt this pain. Worse than the act itself; it’s the shame that followed as I couldn’t help but believe that I had done something that deserved your attacks.
“What greatly grieves me is that the one who is not at fault is blamed.”
The deduction, all of a sudden, becomes clear to me! I am the one that I must forgive. How could I have come to believe such awful things about myself?
Looking in the mirror I see myself a child again. Curly hair, bright smile, quick witted and beautifully filled with the knowledge of belonging. I am the earth’s and the sun’s and the Japanese beetles’ I was so intrigued by. I am God’s and in this belonging I am loved. There is no doubt about it in that child’s face looking back at me.
In this space, in this love, there is nothing to forgive. This space has only room for love. It is filled with light and joy and color and butterflies dancing to the music that plays delightfully in the background of my life.
Now forgiveness towards others comes easy as I first direct it to my own self. “Dearest! I’m sorry! Please forgive me! Thank you! I love you!” The Hawaiian Prayer of Forgiveness has become a song I sing over myself and I dance, with the butterflies, to the music of my life, in the stillness of awe, as I learn to live in the Power of Love.
the awful things we were made to believe about ourselves! undigging from that and forgiving ourselves for being buried.
Forgive
Who do they forgive for
Creating the word “Reservation” as a synonym for home?
Bringing whiskey and guns.
And death-dealing disease.
Making the buffalo extinct and killing the beaver.
Felling the forests and clouding the streams.
Those who came in ships from across the ocean.
In wagons across the plains.
On horseback across the mountains.
A relentless horde of strangers.
carrying their civilizations on their backs.
Wearing their superiorities
like a crown.
The ones who came to take and murder and erase
Peoples. Nations:
those with the beautiful names, like birds.
Potawatomi. Iroquois. Lenni Lenape. Choctaw. Cherokee.
Those who loved the animals, the waters, the seasons, the Earth Mother.
Those who understood the wisdom of balance,
of taking and giving,
in their bones.
Who do they forgive?
You?
Me?
Just tears and stillness
Reading this
Just words, tears and stillness
That help me stay
That help me not look away
On death remembrance day
We practice 2 minutes silence
here in the Netherlands
Our rituals are minimal
But this one has survived
So much to be remembered
Too much for my head
But my heart is big enough
To embrace
This one has given me chills. Thank you thank you thank you.
what a good question.
Thank you for reading my poem, Natasha, and for your caring.
Such an easy noun.
To float off my tongue as aid.
Action verb? Brutal.
“Forgive” is such a loaded word…
especially when it is paired with “forget.”
Some wounds are so deep,
so impactful
they will never truly be forgotten.
Forgive yourself,
if you have been hurt by another.
Forgive the other,
if you are able.
What is healing?
It is making peace
with the past.
It is finding a way
to live in the moment.
It is receiving the medicine
that makes you well.
It will not be the same
path or journey
anyone else walks.
It is for you alone
to find a way to forgiveness.
Should I forgive?
Probably
Could I forgive?
Maybe
Would I forgive?
We’ll see
As long as sleep stalkers visit me in the stillness of night …
Should I forgive?
Probably
Could I forgive?
Maybe
Would I forgive?
NOT YET
There is so much honesty in your poem.
It's hard to forgive
in you, the things that I can't
forgive in myself.
Such a deep and harsh truth in those few words. Thank you for reminding us.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about this one, but I forgave you for this prompt. 😆
FORGIVE!
Forgive! A mandate?
Forgive who?
You, for commanding me?
Forgive who?
Myself, for obeying you?
Forgive who?
You, for deceiving me?
Forgive who?
Me, for believing you?
Forgive! Why?
You’ll feel lighter I’m told.
Forgive! How?
Just let it go, they advise.
Forgive, when?
Now!
Forgive!
When I’m ready.
Forgive! A choice.
You’re forgiven!
Now I’m free!!
Forgiven.
My first stirring when reading your challenge and invitation this morning is - wow, this is fast to get to this word. But then I'm realizing, we need to get here to move on. Can't wait to see what's next!
Breathing in the medicine now!
Forgiving
someone else
might release a twin of the thing,
who you long ago locked up
in your own basement
and tried to forget.
It comes blinking into the sunlight
stretching its crumpled wings.
ouuuuuuuuffff wow. Blinking in the sun
Forgive
Oh, did we mess up
When we knew, we knew
and we stepped back and looked at each other
horrified.
How did we not see what she needed?
How did we not ask the right questions?
Did you know and not tell me?
Were you too concerned about what GOD would think and not our own child?
Did we not want to see who she was because we were told Hell would be next?
What is happening? Who can we blame? Why? Is this wrong? what did we do?
The blame, shame game is real.
It consumes us and makes things worse.
She is 15.
Its in kayaks, months later,
on a lake that we all love, where healing begins...
the plastic holds us as we float, bobbing to the waves as they come
and we ask in tears if she will forgive us,
her flawed parents for being not so amazing
She laughs and doesn't say the word yes, but we are given a chance.
For years I clung to the theology of letting go
flagellated myself with reminders of my Christian duty to forgive;
but in the end it came down to this:
you were nineteen,
and I was nineteen,
and no one'd ever taught you to say "I fucked up."
Absolution does not come by
simply stating forgiveness
our minds cannot talk our bodies
out of their painful knowings
stinging
bruised
venomous hearts
Allow the wound
to suture
not by naming it
but by letting it
scar into a new shape