learning compassion and forgiveness


I remember learning the guitar; the clumsy changing of my hands from chord to chord, my fingers burning, pressing firm against rough strings and fingerboard. I must have played each note a thousand times or more before I knew them all by rote.

And how often have I practiced this? How many times have I rehearsed the wish of happiness for someone who has hurt me? Maybe this will be the first.

So I turn my thoughts through these strange cadences, and with all my heart I wish another joy amidst my pain. That tiny drop of pure goodwill—that one drop, milled like oil from my burning heart and spilled into my churning sea of fury—stilled my boiling anger, and I learned, I learn, I am learning, that as sure as these melodies now sing from my fingers, someday, with practice, I will find it easy to forgive you.