good morning good morning good morning good morning. and - for a fifth time - good morning (good afternoon / evening mattyflatt)
I write most often when I’m sad. Writing as in journaling, or jotting down lyrics, poetry and random thoughts. I last wrote on 17 September.
That last entry was more an exercise in introspection and reflection. You see, there was a time when I was very sad. I have three notebooks in front of me right now. Two-and-a-half of them are filled with writings. All of them sad.
Rereading these entries is less about sadness and more a reflection, as well as a lesson in forgiveness. I once told my therapist that I pray to have the capacity to forgive.
My prayer lately has shifted somewhat. “Give me the willingness to forgive”. Do you see the difference between capacity and willingness?
And so I look back on these notebooks and their entries. I read the entries with such sadness for the person who wrote them.
- “Instead I stare at the blank / page before me / And I feel hope slipping away” (28/6/21)
- “I know it’s silly to / be so hopefull - / Knowing full well I’m” (24/8/21)
- “Each day that fades into night / And each night that surrenders to day / The love I have ...” (20/09/21)
- “I woke up in cold sweats / My shirt dripping wet / I grab a towel to dty myself off / And went back to sleep ... (04/10/21)
Dozens and dozens more (Do you really think I’d share the most personal bits?).
And so I return to this period where I stayed up til late writing. Other times I would awake at 2 or 4 or 5am. And, tears in eyes, I would write.
What else could a person do?
This is part of a process, I tell myself now. The road to forgiveness.
- “‘Which way to forgivenss’...” (25/08/23)
As I sit through my therapy sessions I am asked or ponder how I would have handled that situation differently. That night where one of my very best friends - the night where someone whom I loved so deeply broke my heart and shattered my trust.
Shattered my universe.
I answer - I wish I stood up for myself more. That I didn’t blame myself. That I wouldn’t let it drag on for so [EXPLETIVE] [EXPLETIVE] long.
But I really wish I was in therapy during that time.
As I reread those journal entries, I am so sad. So sad for the person who endured that pain. No one deserves that. There was a time when the person who wrote that could not imagine what life would be like today. He thought he would be so sad. So heartbroken.
We are in what I like to call the “in-between seasons”. Not summer, not autumn. In-between each. So many memories are attached to the in-between seasons. All of those lead to the entries in my journals.
I haven’t had the time to appropriately reflect on the concept of forgiveness lately. I reread a text - which I’ve since written down - that she sent me some time in February/March. There are noticeable points where I can forgive. Yet as I type my body tenses knowing the words do not address the crux of the wound - and that is something I’ll have to deal with.
Which way to forgivenes? Which way to peace of mind? Which way to a calm heart and steady hand?
I’ve reached a point where I have to ask myself what good is it to not forgive.
For so long I’ve thought less about forgiveness and more about repression. The person is a ghost. The journal entries do not exist or, if they do, belong to another time. Let the harpy live exist in some historical fiction novel.
But such thinking does not forgive. Nor does it heal. How could I move on or love or find humanity if I reject the forgiveness of another?
Still, I struggle. I struggle mightily. I do not want to do this.
So do I choose to live in this unbearable lightness, to simply float from one day to the next?
That would be absurd.
The answer must be, then, to surrender to the weight of forgiveness.
And so I surrender.
Fitzie’s track of the day: Silver Springs, by Fleetwood Mac
And now for your links:
Dan KP: Dan Levy answered questions, but many more need to be addressed
Alasdair Gold: Daniel Levy admits Conte/Mourinho mistakes but doesn’t regert Super League
Charlie Eccleshare ($$) on the calmer version of Cristian Romero