An open call on the High Holy Days,
On
an eerily quiet morning, as neighborhood dogs slept and birds kept safely to
their nests, a song began in my dreams and carried into my consciousness:
“Forgiveness, forgiveness, even if, even if, you don’t love me anymore.” Don
Henley’s 1989 hit coursed through me. Family lore spoke of the power of dreams
and lessons attaching themselves to us upon waking, and openness was key to
deciphering the code.
Fumbling
through the mix of psychology textbooks, clinical progress notes, to-do lists,
and gooey substances upon my nightstand I found my iPhone. I was greeted by
seven missed messages from a male colleague, whose company I enjoyed fabulously
on a number of occasions. His tone was frantic, content angered, and feelings
dejected. I couldn’t hide behind the dark curtains of my broken reality
anymore. It was time to peel back the layers and reconcile.
Inhaling,
I called and was greeted by silence. When he talked I listened, admitting that
the mirror he held to my soul revealed a connoisseur for “The Game.” Begging
for vindication, he cut my soul, “Wow. It took you this long?” Click. Pause.
Silence. I scarcely see the morning of that bitter sorrow, but from time to
time, I hear his virulent malice not granting my release. It’s that moment of wanting
release that chains me, shackling me to memories of his charm, wit, celestial
balance and life philosophy.
The
greatest gift given by growth is awareness. I became astutely aware that I was
responsible for forgiving myself. That no words from a man, woman, or even from
HaShem would heal me. Forgiveness begins with pure intent, transformation comes
through facing fears, and healing starts when we give ourselves permission to
do so. Action is required.
