It is the end of the year, and I have been musing on forgiveness. In general, I find it a totally bullshit concept–one that people widely tout but rarely practice. And that’s too bad. As I said to a friend today, when a person claims forgiveness that they do not really feel (as is so often the case), their declaration shuts a door with a finality that open resentment never could. I frankly do not see the point of extending forgiveness to a person who is not requesting it, anyway; such a pardon is a condescension, even a self-abnegation. True forgiveness is a contract between two beings who are spiritually progressing by mutually transcending their comfort zones: by courageously addressing their culpability; by honoring active vulnerability with grace. That said, in the absence of such hard-won peace, I see the point in releasing anger and acknowledging the beauty that lives in even the most harmful individuals. Such a fearless act, especially when unaccompanied by codependence, is one of the finest ways we can love people, including ourselves, at their most unlovable.
It’s winter solstice, one of the holiest days of the year. Scrub out the debris from your inbox, your closet, your spirit, your mind. Make an intention and align it with this evening’s new moon in make-it-happen Capricorn. Invite Uranus’ blue bolts of lightening into those plans; smile broadly at the unexpected. Tap the power of Venus, newly reborn in the sky after regenerating her values. Bask in the embrace of dear Mama Mary. Open your heart to receive grace (prosperity, beauty, big-scale love). Bring gratitude, generosity, and faith to your daily practice, whatever that may be. Roll up your sleeves and get to work. Joyously. Here’s to more light in our countries, our cities, our hearths, our hearts.
Although I am just blind enough to prevent me from legally operating a moving vehicle without corrective lenses, I almost never wear glasses. The reason is simple. I find it relaxing to glide through NYC unfettered by too much visual stimuli. (The better to see you with a third eye, my pretties.) So if you think I’m looking at you funny, chances are good I can’t see you at all. Only once in a blue moon do I actually think you’re shit on my shoe.