Forgiveness, by Gillian

You all remember that old
sexist joke from the seventies?
New hubby and bride ride
off after the wedding down the trail in the horse buggy. The horse is very
skittish and rears up, almost upsetting the buggy. “That’s one,” says
new hubby. The horse takes off at a gallop, stops suddenly and almost dumps
them both on the ground. “That’s two,” says new hubby. All goes well
for a while, then suddenly the horse bolts off the road and comes to a halt
after just missing a tree. New hubby takes up his rifle and shoots the horse.
“That’s three.”
“What on earth did
you do a crazy thing like that for?” asks the horrified wife.
“That’s one,”
replies new hubby.
Now there is an
unforgiving man! And I have to say, if anyone ever physically abused me, which
I’m fortunate enough to say has never happened, that would be one. And I doubt
we’d get to three. Not that I would ever shoot anyone; but I’d be gone.
I actually don’t like the
word forgiveness. It somehow implies that the forgiver is superior to the forgivee.
I have never said the words I forgive you to anyone. But maybe that is
simply because I have been lucky enough not to have had anything terrible occur
for which I needed to consider forgiveness. Nor has anyone said it to me. I
perhaps have committed an occasional transgression which required forgiveness
by my loved ones, but I knew that I was forgiven by their actions rather than
from any words of forgiveness. I am sure that my eventual coming out at middle
age required some forgiveness by my family, as it meant I was leaving.
Destroying that family in it’s current form. For some it took a while, but I
now know, again without words, that I am forgiven.
John Ortberg says, “Forgiveness
means giving up the right to get even.” 
To me that is a dreadfully superficial understanding of forgiveness. It
is so much more than that.  “Forgiveness,”
says Desmond Tutu, who certainly had to do plenty of it, “says you are
given another chance to make a new beginning.” That sounds much closer to
the truth to me.
And Bernard Meltzer
claims that when you forgive you cannot change the past, but you sure do change
the future. You change yours, if in fact no-one else’s. You cannot control
whether the one you have forgiven changes his or her ways, but you can set
yourself free, at least. You can go forward, free of the heavy baggage of anger
and resentment engendered by un-forgiveness.
Oprah
Winfrey has said, “True forgiveness is when you can say, Thank you for that
experience
.”
Now that’s
a hard one. When you find out your spouse has been ‘playing away’ or indulging
in a gambling addiction which lost all the family nest egg, are you really
strong enough to say to yourself, with complete sincerity, I am grateful for
that experience
?
What I am very
grateful for is that I have never been put to that test, and firmly believe I
never will be.
© 2 March 2015 
About the Author 
I
was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to
the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the
Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised
four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting
myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 28
years.

Reframing Reality by Gillian

Many things can force us to reframe our reality; death of a
loved one, divorce, health problems, loss of a job or change in career,
relocating our home, addictions and substance abuse. The list goes on and on.
And the reasons don’t have to be negative. Winning the lottery could certainly
reframe reality, as could falling madly in love or escaping from
addictions and substance abuse.
But the extent to which you allow your reality to change when
such things happen, I believe, depends very much on how secure you are with
your own reality, and your place in it. Possibly I am being hopelessly naive,
but I really think I could find myself the lucky recipient of, say, fifty
million bucks, without it changing me very much. I think I could face health
problems, or being forced, for whatever reason, to live in some other State or
even country, and survive it without allowing my reality to morph to too great
an extent. Of course I’m kinda sticking my neck out here, inviting all of you to
judge me eagerly when one of these happenings does befall me. But at least my
own reaction to these things is something that is within my control, though
whether I do in fact master it may be another matter.
What I have little, if any, control of, is how something
which happens to me, ends up reframing another person’s, or many other people’s, realities around me. When I win
that fifty million, you know it changes me in other people’s realities. The same happens if,
say, I am diagnosed with a terminal illness and given six weeks to live. Does
that cause others to reframe me in their realities? You bet it does.
One of the strongest effectors of reality change in a person
and in those around them is probably addiction and substance abuse, whichever
direction those nightmares are moving. If we fall under the influence of an
addiction, it certainly changes our vision, our very sense, of reality. All
else becomes less and less real; the only thing real to us is that addiction.
Likewise, it is all others see of us. Our entire reality, to our families and
friends, is taken over by the addiction. If we continue, our frame of reality
both to ourselves and others, is the addiction.
Ah, but we have made the miracle happen. We are recovering
from substance abuse. So all will be well, will it not? We don’t fool ourselves. How many
relationships have we seen disintegrate well into the recovery stage? All those
friends, family members, perhaps partners, who had been been accompanying us
happily down Addiction Road no longer find us fun. We no longer share that
costly habit; that dark secret. As we fade in their realities to mere echoes of
our former selves, we are dealing, ourselves, with the formation of very new
realities. We are mere echoes of our former selves to ourselves, also, and must
begin the challenge of creating for ourselves a completely new reality which
maybe we have never known, or at least forgotten.
Well we can’t let this topic go without at least dipping our toes into
the Coming Out Ocean, can we? When I first came out, just to myself, I felt a
huge shift in reality. Or more, it seemed that my previous reality had simply
disintegrated, pffff, in an unimpressive little puff of steam like some things
do on the computer when you press delete. I had no concept of what my new
reality looked like. I was an explorer alone in a newly discovered land: a
time-traveller.
It took coming out to others to begin to frame this new
reality, and for those others to reframe their own, with the new me in it. But
as we stumbled along together, my family, friends, and I, we /found that, at
least superficially, not so much reframing was required after all. I was still
the same person. Little had really changed.
Oh but it had.
Oprah Winfrey has spiritual gurus on her TV channel on
Sundays, part of a series she terms Super Soul Sundays. Watching one of these
one morning I heard an expression that summed up the state of my soul to
perfection. Oprah, or her guest whose name I don’t even recall, used the phrase homesickness
of the soul.
“Yes, oh yes, that is it exactly!”  I wanted to yell and dance and shout for joy. Yes, that is
it.
Before I came out to myself with true, complete,
unquestioning acceptance of who I was, my soul was terribly, agonizingly
homesick. Now it am home. My soul and I came home. We are where we
live; where we must be. What we were born to be.
That is what now frames my reality, and no matter what
happens it will never change.
Perhaps that is why I dare to think, in a way that maybe
seems rather smug, that my reality will not falter in the unlikely event of
suddenly having undreamed of wealth, or, sadly somewhat higher odds, being
diagnosed with terminal cancer.
The only really important reality is my soul, and it has come
home.
©
June 2014
 
About the Author  
 I
was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to
the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the
Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised
four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting
myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25
years.