Seventy x Seven
Here’s a surprise. It turns out I’m not so great at forgiveness. I find it much easier to cling onto the stuff that irritates me than I do to let it go. I need that niggling splinter wedged under the skin to keep me alert. Something stung and the little shard of unforgiveness lets me keep it in focus so that next time that rough edge draws near I know enough to give it a wide berth. But of course I don’t really avoid it. I push the splinter in deeper so that I remember and rage. Unforgiveness also keeps me in control. It appeals to my sense of self. I’m wronged, and don’t you forget it. And in harbouring the darkness I kid myself that I’ve captured it, tamed it, or at least stored it till I can use it. I could make a daily list of the wrongdoers – a roll call of the guilty; the driver who cut me up, in fact anyone who jumps a queue ahead of me , the one who spreads stories about me , the neighbour who makes a noise that disturb...