Forgiveness
03.17.2013
Street Art (c) 2013 Martin Whatson; photo (c) 2013 Richard Beban
The strangeness of today. I’ve been thinking about forgiveness lately. Wanting to be in a state of soul without anger, grudges, in which there is no one I need to forgive. Several weeks ago I forgave the last person I needed to forgive.
This story is one I can only tell in full through writing it as a novel. I can’t begin to do it justice here in this small space. I will just say that years ago, in my 20s, he and I were romantically involved. I wanted, needed to end the relationship. He threatened my life, said if I left him, he’d kill me. I resolved to withdraw slowly and date no one else to give him time to accept us ending. And then after six months, I realized I was in real danger.
I disappeared. I flew from Sausalito to my family in Arizona, then traveled around, looking for a place to live, to hide.
I chose Cambridge, Massachusetts. I completed a B.A. there while working at a bookstore, discovered Nietzsche and Lou Andreas-Salome, re-discovered Yeats, Rilke and Pound, and wrote poems. But mostly I lived in a state of fear that he would track me down.
A year and a half later he did. He broke into my family’s home, and found an address book under the telephone, and called me at 3 in the morning the day after the tall ships arrived in Boston harbor for the Bicentennial.
I reached for the card of the FBI agent my father had given me to contact if the need should arise. But then a voice inside me said, Talk to him. And I did. The rest of that night, and many nights afterwards. We made peace.
But the story gets more complicated. Later, in Key West, Florida, he escalated the same kind of obsessive behavior with another woman, and he went to prison for rape.
When he was released after ten years, he returned to the Bay Area. I still had some residual fear of him, did not respond when he tried to get in touch with me.
Today I received an e-mail from his daughter saying he had died last week.
I e-mailed her with empathy and questions.
She told me when he was released from prison, he was wiser, but had many regrets and wasn’t short on saying so. He lived on a small sailboat on the edge of his favorite city, San Francisco. He had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and died a week later while his daughter was in town, before he could go to the hospice she had arranged. She described a dinner after he died, attended by many close friends. And in gathering up his clothing to give away, a friendly sea gull sat on the boat near her the whole time, one she thinks her father befriended. She entertained the idea that maybe he was watching over her somehow. When her friends came to pick her up, the gull flew away.
Then I heard the news about the Higgs Boson discovery being confirmed. How fitting that it happened on Albert Einstein’s birthday. I read a quote from a letter he wrote to H. Zangger, March 10, 1914:
Nature shows us only the tail of the lion. But there is no doubt in my mind that the lion belongs with it even if he cannot reveal himself.
I copied Einstein’s words into my Quotes folder and found some Friedrich Nietzsche quotes. I wanted to find one to include in this essay, but which to choose of so many that resonated? This one:
There is always some madness in love. But there is
also always some reason in madness.
Forgiveness has two sides. I have asked two people this year for forgiveness, for things I’d never have held against anyone to begin with, but that I knew they held against me. One sent back a toxic message attributing malice and dark intent to something I had done out of love. Nothing is worse than someone who does not look within at his/her own darkness (of which we all have our share) and projects it out on others. Her e-mail response was cold, harsh and unforgiving, her own nature projected back on me.
But I also received a beautiful e-mail message from a friend in Paris, and another from a poet in Los Angeles, loving tender messages that balanced out the toxic one.
And then this news. I felt relief when I’d learned he had died. Not that he’d died, but relief from the only source of fear I had. After much thought, I wrote him a letter and cried, remembering what was lovable in him. I shed tears for the girl who’d been terrorized, for the man who couldn’t control himself, the man who sat in prison for years. I shed tears for the end of fear. He was the last person I feared.
Of course it had been lung cancer. The lungs, in Chinese medicine, are grief. He died of grief. He had grievous faults, but he also taught me to tell the emotional truth (that is, to balance my tendency to be too kind with truth-telling), and he was warm, funny and far too intense for life on this earth.
Life is so complex, so woven with bright and dark; we are all struggling to get it right.
If I have ever hurt anyone who reads this, please forgive me.
If there is anyone reading this who has someone they need to forgive, please find a way.
I want to live and die with a heart that is light with love, light as a feather, in spite of certain remaining mysteries such as why gravity is so weak and what is the dark matter that is believed to make up a large part of the total mass in the universe, and why cats sleep all day.
Reader Comments (38)
Such a moving story, Kaaren. Even though I've heard it before, it has a fresh resonance for me after reading this post. Struggling with forgiveness lately with someone from my past seems easier now. I would also like to die with a light heart. Thanks dear sister..
And thank you Richard for capturing, as usual, the heart of the matter. And where did you find the magnificent boîtes aux lettres?
Love, Jane
Julie, Toni, Cassandra and Jane,
So moved by your comments. I'll respond when Richard and I are back from our long walk today. Much to say.
XO,
Kaaren
This piece is one of your most beautiful yet. I am so relieved that you were able to escape this dangerous person (and so saddened that you lived in such fear of him). I am continually moved by your ability to look inward, and your interest in and compassion for the things that make each of us unique -- I love the Cooke quote from Anna -- so true.
The image of the man between the long rows of dark trees -- chilling. I keep thinking about it, paired with your words.
I cannot help but think that seagull was somehow meant for you (bird), too. There is beauty there, in the end.
And yes, this is, without a doubt, a full-bodied novel -- a story that would touch so many. It already has here.
Lots of love
Jennifer
A beautiful and exquisite combination of words and pictures, as usual, but this especially meaningful. Forgiveness is beautiful because it brings PEACE to dark situations. I believe that every time we forgive, we break a cycle of abuse on our beautiful Planet Earth. Life often calls for a lot of Acceptance; the healing comes with bringing in forgiveness, which results in spreading the energies of PEACE, which is what we say we want to expand in our lives and on this planet. Right?
You are doing this. Continue spreading your beauty in such lovely partnership. Your journal is a work of art.
Hugs and love, Nina
I just reread your essay. I love when you write about your travels, your life, your loves......you have so much to share. Keep these coming!
Dear sister Julie,
Your message really moved me.
I understand the story of one person in your life from whom you needed to protect your daughters. And that you are at peace with him now.
As far as the two friends who you feel betrayed you, have you had a dialogue with them about what happened? I think we do each other a big favor when we communicate hurt or sadness and talk about it. It is more often due to misunderstanding than malice.
As a writer, I'm deeply interested in character and communication and story. If I'm feeling hurt in a relationship, I express it. If I've hurt another, I address it.
What is dishonorable to me is refusing to have a dialogue, projecting dark motives on someone else that are untrue, then cutting off further communication. That's scapegoating, demonizing others. It happens on a large scale (you can see it in caricatures and cartoons long before it reaches the level of crime and war on scapegoated groups and cultures), and it happens between individuals.
Yes, silence when you've apologized for something is a miserly way to handle it. Even worse to me is when the response consists of malicious projection and then a refusal to allow further dialogue. That's a sure sign of scapegoating.
But if you have that dialogue and there is still a lack of trust, withdrawing seems to be the wisest path.
But forgiveness, that's another level. I guess making our own hearts as full of light as possible is all we can do. And others can choose whether to live in a grumbling, grudge-filled state or not, their choice.
Isn't Richard a poet of the image? He surprises me every time.
We're grateful that you read and appreciate Paris Play. No comments necessary. And always treasured when they come.
Thanks, Julie, and much love,
Kaaren & Richard
Hi Toni,
It seems to me that very few men capable of this kind of crazy behavior reveal any signs of it at the beginning of a relationship. In the beginning there was warmth, charm, wit, communication, and chemistry. His threatening behavior with me, and later, much worse, with another girlfriend, for which he went to prison, only happened when the woman wanted to leave. Otherwise, there was no violence whatsoever. I was in my 20s. After this experience, I could have picked out in one second the one man in 1,000 in a crowded room who might become a threat. It happened once, and I learned from it.
I don't regret a single relationship in my life. They were all rich and alive. And finally led me to Richard.
I can't wait to see you in May either!
Love,
Kaaren (& Richard whom you haven't yet met)
Dear Jane,
You know all my stories, don't you! And I know all of yours. The part that was most mysterious to me is that it turned out that the final work I did in my heart on forgiveness happened to be right around the time he died, or maybe it was a week or two before. Strange.
I think the key to forgiveness is understanding. Or at least that's the way it works for me. You have such a big heart. I know you can forgive anyone who ever disappointed you or caused you pain.
Do you not love that boite aux lettres?
Thank you, Jane.
Love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Thank you so much, Jennifer!
Don't you think most of us writers are intuitive types, and that our job on earth is to look deeply within and closely without, understanding ourselves and others, and mirroring that vision in our writing?
I love Anna's Sam Cooke quote too.
This time I wondered what on earth will Richard find to resonate with this story? And voila! The light between the trees is like a blade coming down from heaven onto earth. And that one lone man walking towards the viewer! Chilling is the word.
I'll put that bird into my longer story. You encourage me to write it, with your words.
Much love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Dear Nina,
Yes, and yes, I can hear that you live this peace in every part of your life. Let's see, peace or war? Which sounds better for the planet? It has been wonderful to get to know you long after our high school years, and know that our paths have been parallel in many respects.
Beautiful and exquisite combination of words and pictures? Oh, music to our ears! A work of art? Ahhh, heavenly message. Thank you so much, Nina.
Looking forward to seeing you in May!
Much love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Dear K. & R.
Je n'ai plus de mots pour vous dire tout ce que je ressens à la lecture
de votre blog.
Ce rendez-vous régulier avec vous provoque toujours en moi des
sentiments complexes et me rend perplexe.
Even invisible, I am always strongly connected with you.
Patricia
Dear Kaaren and Richard,
Wanted to say hi and thank you once again for sharing your sensitive and artistic souls with us southern californians. Leslie was visiting with us here this weekend and we talked of you and how special it was to see you in Paris last May.
Kaaren, your story is chilling and heartwarming all at the same time. My heart goes out to you.
Much love from Tom and me!
Catherine
Anner!
Thank you! This really helps me. I'm never sure if I've wandered too far off our Paris play theme when I go into the past. But-- we bring our pasts with us wherever we go. And all of our pasts are full of stories.
Very grateful. And your birthday gift should arrive on the 20th. Thank you for bringing spring on in, at last!
Much love,
Kaaren & Richard
how to begin to tell you how beautiful, meaningful, this on Forgiveness is to me. Don't know if this is the right place to say this. but merci for your ongoing work for us, oui.
Beautiful.
Moving.
More.
Love,
Fu-Ding
Patricia, Catherine, Sharon and Fu-Ding sent us e-mail messages and gave us permission to post their comments here. We've answered you in e-mail, but want to thank you again. We're so grateful for your comments.
Much love,
Kaaren & Richard
FORGIVENESS
Forgiveness is a doorway of light in a
dark building in the
worst part of town,
it's a globule of nectar dripped
down from an exotic flower that
blooms only once each year on an
ice-glittery Himalayan peak,
it's a herd of new lambs appearing
miraculously to a nomadic tribe
suffering from drought.
Forgiveness is a victim's mother
looking into the eyes of the accused and saying,
"The sky is so blue, every tiny forget-me-not
is bathed in its light."
Forgiveness is the current in the
electric chair turning into
choirs of angels, singing a
single high note celestially
over and over.
Forgiveness is the prodigal son or daughter
returning home to the agéd parents
with scars and beatitudes
and not a word spoken of the disappearance —
the table is set, the steaming
food set down, the
glasses filled.
Forgiveness is a field of wildflowers
burst into bloom like flames,
illuminating the face of the estranged,
it's the sound of tubas at the
bottom of a well, the
sound of a beloved's voice after years of strife,
it's a neon Yes after blackout nights of No,
it's the heart weeping a thousand
years of tears until the
exhausted body around it
is renewed, gets up,
turns on a faucet whose running water
whispers, "I forgive you,"
the tears are brushed back and
the face becomes the
face of the full moon,
bright saffron in the night
in the heat of a Philadelphia summer
bathed in quiet.
__________________________________
6/22/97 (from Chants for the Beauty Feast)
Daniel,
This is so beautiful. Thank you.
Much love,
Kaaren & Richard