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" :)
