It is easy to remember, the slights that impacted us years ago. Sitting in the quiet darkness of our own space, knowing that things were done, things were said that drove us to recall. That is the easiest thing for any person to do. To dissect the reality of the things that were. Where we pull the threads of the moment, the slight, the injury until it grows. Becoming larger than life itself. The memory is becoming a mighty redwood tree. Large enough that a road can be driven through it, but nothing gets through. The redwood stopping all the flow. None, the tree seems to say inside of us, none shall pass. We can; we do, remember all those slights: the things that were said, the comments and the actions that made us feel like the world was against us. To be driven to us, with the intent of injury.
It is easy to remember. It, remember is the path of least resistance — the easy way to solve the memory. The Rubik’s cube, all blue, already solved. We don’t have to do more with it; it is already all one color on all sides. It is so easy to hold those moments, those memories tight to us. Never to let them go. They are the source of the pain, the injury and in the end, they remain. We don’t have a path where they are gone on their own. They exist separate of us and beyond us. They are the slights we carry — the slings and arrows of the past that do not argue. You cannot argue with pain that was. You cannot find a way around the things that were.
It is easy to remember. It is oh so hard to forgive, to move on. To take the blame and wadding it up throw it into the trash. Remembering the good things. Remembering the things that opened doors. The things that freed us. Helped us in fact. It is so much better for us to remember but forgive. Forget perhaps, for all slights have two sides. The edge of the other side may be just as sharp. In within warning and hiding, we carry the pain forward. We cannot forgive ourselves. In not forgiving ourselves we leave the pain to fester. It grows to become a mass that is larger than we are. We can’t lift it eventually or move it. It, the festering anger becomes bigger than we are.
It is easier to remember.
It is oh so hard to forgive.
memories can be painful