For so long, I wanted to revenge myself. On who, though, I did not know. What do you strike at if all that ever tormented you were ghosts that never were, voices that never spoke, visions empty of substance? How do you get back at your subconscious, and even if you could, what would that do to you, anyway — would that mess you up further? To these questions, I can only conjure up an old Italian adage, that "Forgiveness is the best revenge." And that's the thing: that's all that I can do: I have been forced into a position that I must forgive all the hurt that was caused me those years back, in the throes of madness. The only other option is to hate without having a subject for my hate — some dark streak to always carry, smoldering away in my soul, pointing at nothing, without purpose, without meaning. I think that is not an option at all. Hate is bad just by itself, but a meaningless hate: where is the satisfaction in that?
If you look at it one way, it is a dirty trick. There is no option for me to think of revenge, to imagine one day that I will get back at the thing that caused me so much grief. But that all I have left is to forgive — if I think of it, it is not so dirty a trick, after all. What struck at me had no real mind of its own; it was a blind and senseless subprocess in the recesses of my mind, and to think to revenge myself on it would be like if one were shot, to revenge oneself on the gun that fired. I must forgive, and in doing so, perhaps truly learn what it means to forgive. Not a trick, but something real, instead. No blame left towards anything, and whatever may be, just to go on with my life without hatred. Amen to that. Hallelujah.
slenciern
11:53am tuesday, 7th june
I’ve been visiting your blog for a while now and I always find a gem in your new posts. Thanks for sharing.
slenciern