Sunday, January 22, 2012
This morning I found myself caught in the all too familiar eddy of anger, fear, guilt, sadness, and wounding that is the story of my family of origin. My father sent me a text message essentially asking me to jump into it.
I declined, but internally joined him anyway. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I made breakfast.
I asked myself "How did I get here again? Why, at nearly 31 years of age, do I still find myself weeping in a confused and uncomfortable mess because of the actions of others?" Usually these are rhetorical questions.
The answer was immediate. A clear and bright flash of understanding.
Oh yeah, because I was allowing it.
Until this moment forgiveness has always been practice. An "act as if" life-style. Something I understood intellectually and applied out of faith.
Feeling like a classical cellist who practices every day of her life, fingers raw and bleeding, until the music just flows into her. I understood.
I chose another way.
This decision transported me in science fiction time/space warp style to a whole new place. The place from which I am writing this. A place I hope I get to hang out in for a good long while. Grace, gratitude, and calm surround me. My mind feels clear. My heart, warm and light.
I can still see the story and the pain of others, but from a place of grace it does not directly affect me. From this place I can hold real forgiveness and unconditional love, offering both fully. I can witness the suffering without joining in.
Freedom. At last.