Forgive, forgiven. The remotest words from me.
I can hate, I can resent, I can hold spite, I can grind the hatred between my teeth all day, all night. But somehow, hating someone that much needs the energy I simply don’t have right now. I want to direct my finite power to myself, not to others, not to enemies, not to friends, just to me. I have lived my life, but I am not sure how much of it was mine. It wasn’t like that my life was taken away. Like someone who lived as a political prisoner or a captive of a war. It was me who neglected my life, my time, my body, my power, my little wishes, my simple pleasures, my sleep, my hands and knees, my ears and tongue, my thought, my joy, my sorrow, my idleness, and my dream. I didn’t tend enough of me residing in me, being too busy in feeding others, reading others, showing things to others, directing others, pleasing others, displeasing others, correcting others, ignoring others, shaming others, thinking others, being angry at others, being disappointed in others, and thinking how others were thinking of me. Now I need to let go of the significance of others in me.
I will start with breathing. Bringing my unconscious movements of my lungs into my conscious motions. Expanding the chest broad to hold the bright air of the world in. Then, eyes. Seeing things that please me and storing them in my heart to cherish. Then, ears. Filling my spiral eardrums with the sounds that vibrate for a long time in my soul. Then, nose. Taking in smells of peppermint, rosemary, lavender, oregano, mimosa, jasmine, and all fresh living things surrounding me. Then, mouth. Melting bitter with sweets, contemplating slowly every bit of life spiced up its distinctive flavor. And my beating machine of life. Filling my anemic bloodthirsty heart with the shower of dark red iron. The fully charged heart will pump my life out to march, march forward, or backward, or any direction. It will be just fine. Then, I will put my two hands on my belly, which worked so hard to sustain me this far but was always neglected because it was not up to my best expectant shape. I will let it warm with my two palms and appease its deprived being with my own body temperature. And finally, my head. I will stroke it whenever I have time giving the praises that it needed many, many times in life.
Maybe, maybe I am the one who needs to be forgiven by myself. Forgive, then forgiven.
<November 16, 2016>