the timeline's different for each of us,
but at some point you have to stop fighting
your parents or [a form of] religion
or the no-good [person who hurt you]
or quite possibly even yourself. yes, yourself.
signify this truce by beating your sword
into a plowshare. actually, scratch that.
i propose beating it into wind chimes.
that way, you'll be gently recalled to the
forgiveness when subsequent winds blow.
those notes will be a charmer's tune
easing the air around you, an alarming
remembrance that by no means did you give up,
but that by choice, you gave in to an older song.
from the jubilee by john blase
via @notes_from_an_urban_cabin on instagram
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..
these words resonated so deeply with me. i love the word picture of beating the sword i would have used to strike back, to defend myself, to twist into my own heart and mind, beating and that sword into a wind chime - something beautiful. there is, in this poem, the acknowledgement that though forgiven, there may be (there will be) murmurs and winds that re-call the hurt, the misunderstanding, the cruelty, the self-loathing. and when these are recalled, the chime will be a gentle reminder that you chose forgiveness. and the line that begins with easing and ends with alarming, you guys, this forgiveness stuff isn't easy. it is hard, so hard. that sword you choose to heat and hammer and mold and bend, this chime you make, this thing of beauty you fight for, it is hard-won, a visceral choice you made and make again and again, to not allow the hurt or self-loathing to become an ugly bitterness, but to create a graceful song of forgiveness.
make a wind chime. keep making wind chimes. do not give up. sing the ancient song of grace and triumphant forgiveness.
go gently, love fiercely, and be wonderful, my friends.
love, e