What is The Color of Forgiveness?

Will I find You on the Road again?

Will I find You on the Road again?

Where from does Forgiveness come? How does it arrive? Is it the color chartreuse?

Forgiveness – from Eastern Body, Western Mind by Anodea Judith

When our heart is injured, we protect it from the one we believe has caused it harm. Often we blame him for the pain, forgetting the part we may have played in it ourselves. Blame acts as a barricade that protects us from opening to that person again. When we barricade, we stay frozen in the past, unable to move forward into the future. Likewise, when we blame ourselves for something we regret, we stay locked into that past event.. Forgiveness is said to be the ultimate step in healing.

One of our many email exchanges just days before you cut out, claiming deep hurt due to my choices.

ME: I love you, Baby!!
sent from MEphone

YOU: Baby, You are the Best. I love you and I want you to remember that.
Enviado desde mi iPhone

As I transcribe this, I recall waking this morning to the sound of a clicking tock and a cricket chirping as the clock ticked off the seconds by. My life continues on, reaching nearly the same amount of time now without You as the amount of life-altering time with You. On the television, Wendy discusses #Hottopics, mentions a Puerto Rican princess married to a rich man. Am I missing something? Like enough money? Or the willingness to trade your fantastic body, romance and passion for complete capitulation to Your emotional needs? Is there no room for You to look into Your Self and find what You need to solve as I had asked over and over again? Clearly I was not man enough, patient enough, strong enough to rise above what – if I were to add to the transcript, no matter how from the heart and personal it appeared – was an ultimatum. Do this or else was the dangerous undertone behind Your hurt. Why wouldn’t You acknowledge that? Why not give me twenty-four hours later the right to say You were right, Bebe. I was wrong. I can make the change you seek. I was right. You were wrong. You don’t need to push me and I need to slowly release myself from my past as I told you about when You and I were starting out as merely renewed friend and I had no reason to hide my Truth. You knew this was my life for a few months, an amicable end with a time-honored plan to slowly acknowledge to the primary person in my life these last ten years that I had another – You. I didn’t want to and She didn’t deserve to know only weeks after we had finally gone our separate ways. I needed to do it in my Frank Sinatra way. My way. Not yours, holding me hostage to your pain, your hurt, your choices and ghosts of the past. Where would it end? I asked myself. When would you come upon a picture you’d destroy? Old letters? When would your emotional neediness, I called insecurity, demand more insatiable giving? I did right by Me, Her and You. You know it to this day and in Your ridiculous pride I know You stay away. You have yet to forgive others who wounded You deeply, maybe even those whom You count as your trusted loved ones still, blind to their injuries and suppression. You have put me in the closet with the skeletons. Yet, I know You cannot seem to let Your Self off the hook for your choices. I know this actually was a key catalyst in your confrontation with me, your ex and your daughter right in front of You making You stare at your last 20 years and face You. You needed to control something, I think. Tell me I am wrong. Tell me anything to let Me off the hook, that You see Your 50% of We in a learning with corrections and sacred affirmations to not make the same choices from bad habits, old painful messaging, again.

Last night I had a dream we were in an office with Cheri, a sweet, sensuous and sexy woman I knew from Trinidad I wanted her so desperately and part of the free will I had to let go and fully indulge my flirting and lust for her was knowing that she was married with children and deeply committed to her husband. In the dream, I was trying to ask her for help on how to get back to You. You, in a chartreuse silk blouse and your hair swept up in a bun – professional and very sexy – and wearing business pants, were at her cubicle talking over some matter on which she was training you. Surely, it was on the surface about software but subtext likely more hardware and how to handle your deep, lusty and ripe sexuality. Like Cheri’s then, Yours unattainable now. Like Cheri, you a mother of two. Unlike her, You were free, or so I thought, from marriage before I opened my Heart to You. I forgot about all the pain and healing maybe You needed to do. Why else would You resent Your own daughter and take it out on me? Why else would You resent my ability to have an amicable divorce, chalking it up to ‘cultural differences?’ Why else would You come after me at a time when I was weak with illness, indifferent to anything except Your own emotional need at that moment? Correctable choices. Both of Us, Bebe!

As I approached her cubicle to talk, I demurred and physically felt myself sort of give up my power, cower a bit as I interrupted but also feared You. You excused Your Self and walked by flashing me a pleasant, impersonal smile of Hello, a deeply wounding subtext of Fuck you. Why? Why do I carry this fear you will hurt me further, call me up to ‘resolve’ and ‘clear the air’ but only from behind the safety of another relationship of which you will be sure to have to tell me – also as part of checklist conscience clearing.

I forgave myself a long time ago. I forgive you and accept your apology that you will never give me.

And I love You. The Fool’s Dream that We can heal together, resume this great affair remains. I read my tarot card – why I have no idea except for my longing need for answers – and it talks loosely of gaining momentum with creativity and plans, not letting my Self get caught in a morose rut, stuck in the past of regrets or diverting my energy to wasted moments. I convinced myself You are Isolde the Fair and Isolde of the White Hands. I can have my Divine Cake in and Eat You too. I receive a text from Your American girl parallel, She who looks similar to You with two boys instead of two girls, She who chose to abandon Me years ago for a man who later left her. Now, She sees only Me. She’s a Fool. I am an Idiot – She must be Isolde of the White Hands and I have not been able to break the love potion spell Your Temple has me under.

I wonder what it will take for me to realize.


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