I was about 6 or 7 and ironing my Brownie uniform when I reached across the blazing hot iron to reposition the fabric. Pssssizzzzle and some serious pain. I was left with a burn on my forearm that blistered, and eventually healed, but a triangular scar marked the event forever.
Or so I thought. Every decade or so I noticed it seemed a little fainter and was slowly working its way down towards my wrist. Eventually it disappeared. I almost felt sad it disappeared. The scar was part of my identity and physical justification of my Mom grudge for not ironing things for me. I guess I got over it in more ways than one.
A few weeks ago I discussed forgiveness with a friend. He said forgiving is bullsh*t, and suggested working on acceptance instead. That feels right in ways "forgiveness" does not. We can accept all sorts of things happen in the world. From genocides to rumpled uniforms, I accept those things happened. Doesn't make them right, or equal, but they did happen -- and this idea helps me feel more at peace.
I've been called "unforgiving" too many times to count. I feel like saying "judge not lest ye be judged", but I suppose on a good day this unwanted advice might be intended to be helpful. It isn't, but they might mean well. On a bad day it's a perpetrator telling me to "get over it" because he/she doesn't want to deal with my messy feelings.
The friend advising acceptance spoke from his personal struggles, and that makes his advice more valid to me because he's trying to rectify things in his head too. We support each other in the journey. Maybe we'll both get to a place where we feel entirely at peace with the world and our experiences? Hey, it's a goal at any rate.
Danny is doing much better than he was last week. He gave us quite a scare, but he's been transferred to a regular room and his blood count is much better. Thanks to all who sent out good wishes for him. Hopefully he's on the road to recovery.
I've been sick and crabby most of the week, which in no way compares to the life and death struggle Danny has been faced with. Hack, hack, cough, yuck. I suppose I could look at the bright side of it and be grateful for the down time to contemplate complex thoughts like acceptance? Or vociferously complain that I was hit with this pestilence? I guess I should work on grace with acceptance.
My triangle art is the back side of a game board I made. It hangs in my living room with this side facing out. It was hard to get a decent photo of it since the colors are subtle and the gloss goes in different directions making the light hit it in all sorts of crazy ways. I guess it falls into the category of never meant much by it, but it pleases me to look at it. Doing geometric things like this is calming to me, like painting a mandala.
For the record, the Brownie isn't me. I don't think I was ever this well-pressed, but I did have white gloves! The Boynton cartoon is my friend John's contribution for "triangle" :)