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There is comfort to be found in the changing seasons, in the sunlight as it moves across the sky, in everything that proves to me that we are not stationary. This too shall pass, and there is nothing static. Perhaps forgiveness is just the refusal to pass judgment, the refusal to lay blame. We are all doing the best that we can, right now. Forgiveness might be recognition of that simple fact: you had your reasons; I had mine. There are no accidents, but our intentions may sometimes be larger than we can see. Greater than forgiveness is gratitude for pain. You gave me the opportunity to grow: thank you. The best learning comes from a fall.

When I think of it, it comes to me in images. A stretching, widening skin: I expand myself to pull you inside. All of the sharp edges, all the resentment, all the half-truths and shaded eyes. That’s what maybe love is. Maybe forgiveness is merely love?

But I have this taped above my mirror, a quote by Barbara Wood :
Forgiveness is not simply the absolving of an enemy, or one who has done us wrong. Forgiveness must encompass all those things which disturb the tranquility of our soul: the barking dog that robs you of sleep, the heat of summer, the cold of winter. Forgive the ingrown toenail, the flea that bites; forgive the cranky child, wrinkles, a forgotten birthday.

If forgiveness is love, than am I to love all these things? To love the barking dog, the dim winter light shining in my eyes that makes my drive so dangerous? Should I pull all these things inside me, encompass them in my own soul and flesh? Love the misspelled word and the genocide? How else to forgive? But won’t that take all my energy, and then what about my schoolwork, dinner tonight, my broken heart?

At the end I keep finding selfishness. I want to be at peace with the world because I want to find my own peace. All this random movement, the conflict and worry seems unnecessary, merely rearranging chairs on the deck. I want to feel the boat sinking if that’s what it is doing; I want to feel the icy water on my legs, stare down into the deep. All my life I feel is a struggle to be truly present for just one moment: this moment. To be here, now. Breathe in and out, let my heart beat, tell her that I miss her company, pet the dog. It is as though I am a brilliant palette, gemstoned colored sunset radiant hue, but wrapped in gauze and muted. The struggle is to wash the patina of regret and indecision away and be blinding. Somewhere inside me I am a whirling mass of blinding beauty, and honesty and forgiveness I feel certain are my way out.

It begins to feel like what they call the “housecleaning” part of twelve-step programs. To acknowledge all the things you’ve done that caused pain, face them, apologize to the people you hurt and to yourself, then forgive. In the actual twelve-step programs they suggest you make a list of those things that you’ve done or which have happened to you that you feel guilt or shame over, that have any sort of negative emotional charge attached, then address them one at a time. Apologize to your aunt for the forgotten Christmas card, to your best friend for being jealous of her boyfriend in ninth grade. Forgive the flea that bites. I am trying.

But the crushing depression stays at bay, so perhaps it is working. It’s hard to judge a thing like inner peace.

And: these days I find myself talking about god. For the longest time I professed a wavering and vague belief in god at best; sometimes none at all. I’m not sure quite when that changed, and perhaps it didn’t. But regardless, these days I look into the autumn-taken sky and say blessed.

I have always been a thing of the water. The ocean is the clearest example, the first and strongest place I feel a sense of sanctity. The thing larger than myself to which I find I must bow my head.

But any water will do: swimming pool, shower, rainstorm. During that winter of crushing silence and steaming bowls, I spent hours in the shower, crouched under the water until it ran cold. I would run baths in our grungy bathtub and sit gingerly, desperate to immerse myself in something. I swam.

I think I am closest to god in the middle of flip turns. There is a sudden gorgeous silence: no thoughts, no worries, nothing at all except the water. A moment of utter silence every time I reach the end of a lap. Then the press of legs, the solidity of the wall, the rush of bubbles and the rhythm of the stroke.

The closest I come to meditation is when swimming, perhaps also when dancing, when I can completely lose myself in the rhythm of movement. There’s no room for place or time or need or fear or any of the thousand thoughts that ricochet inside my head all day. Just the weight of my body and the stretch of muscles, the air and the water and the silence. The music is like a part of me, a heartbeat beside my own and if I had gills, I think perhaps I might never leave the water. Swimming is the only time I feel graceful and complete, and dancing – not sexy club dancing, not salsa or swing or anything that could be taught in a class, just music and my body – dancing is the next closest. It is prayer and gratitude and communion.

It is easy to believe in god when you are in love. Think: the morning is beautiful because he is there to share it with you; each sunset is a romantic gift.

I believe that love is eternal because I believe that the soul is eternal. I’m not prepared to say in what form, but I believe it exists, period, and will not stop doing so. I believe that love in its true forms is nothing more nor less than a connection between two souls. I see it as a shining white band between two people, between their brightburning essences. There are, of course, different flavors, different tracings of color on different types of love; familial, romantic, friendships. But the nature is unchanged, and is unchangeable. It is something that doesn’t touch the physical body, and has no dependence on the actions of that body.

It happens like this: I love you. Period. It doesn’t matter what you do, there is nothing you can do to change that. There is nothing I can do. I love you, I will always love you, and no matter how you act, where you go, what you do or who else we both love, that will not change. Because I love you, so I can deal with you, regardless of what bullshit or what walls you throw up against me. Half the time I don’t even like you, but love is stronger than that. I can’t stop loving you even when I think I might hate you, too.

There is god in that somewhere, I am sure.

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