Forgiveness
Posted on Jul 5th, 2008
by 
Amazume
Amazume
A fellow GoddS asked me to share of my experience on the topic of forgiveness.
Before I dive in, first some things that come to mind: from gaia.com, this quote stood out:
Alden Nowlan
This woman taught me a thing or two about forgiveness: Malika Oufkir, who co-authored the book "Stolen Lives" with Michelle Fitoussi.
Her story: Malika was imprisoned twice by the king of Morocco. First as his daughters playmate (he decided to adopt her, and as her family was close to the Moroccan royal family, they could not refuse). After her father was accused of being involved in a coup d'etat (take over of government) her father was assasinated and Malika and her entire family were taken as political prisoners. For decades they were living under increasingly escruciating circumstances, eventually causing them to plan a miraculous escape. Once Malika finally experienced freedom from imprisonment, she still found herself a prisoner to the strong resentment she felt for the king she once actually came close to loving. As she felt her hatred and resentment eating away inside her, she realized that to be truly free, she had to do the hardest thing yet: forgive.
I read this book at a time in my life where Joe on occasion yelled at me: "I am not your dad", and my relationship with Yannick also was in need of more courage and compassion as he mirrored the dysfunction between Joe and I back to us. I had already done quite a few layers of forgiveness work through my years as a student of the Yokibics School for Spiritual Warriors, mentored by Gael Chiarella.
First I had written uncensured letters (with a clear intention to heal rather than hurt) to both my parents, to share with them my feelings as they were at the time. These letters I burned. Yet somehow my father did send me a letter soon thereafter, filled with all sorts of explanations as to why he had been the kind of father he had been, citing the abuse he remembered enduring as a child by the hand of his father. "Excuses, excuses... were some thoughts coming up between other thoughts of compassion for the child he once was, still burried somewhere inside him. Yet I also realized he had taken a step to redeem himself, which was more than I ever expected from him.
Another visit by my mom followed. She noticed how I was struggling to resolve relationship issues with my husband and sons, that lingered from my childhood, initiated by her and my dad. She expressed her grief over this, and how she wished she had known then what she knew now. She was truly remorseful, and yet besides heartfelt compassion, there was a part of me that felt pretty smug about that. I too realized that one day my kids might very well have a field day with me. Is it ever true: we reap what we sow!
Mom's visit included plenty of sweetness too. The kids really adore her, and vice versa. And I found myself appreciating it all. Among my fond memories of that visit emerges the sound of her at times quite off key singing voice, as she was singing Dutch nursery rhymes and songs to Max who at the time was still a baby. Through it I remembered her singing to me as a child as well as my grandma singing from her voluminous chest that had nursed four girls and six boys, Dutch versions of old French country songs about loss, grief and hardship. And when she really got into it, she let herself go completely into a way off key howl. I remember bracing myself for it, and loving it like a roller coaster ride (Oh, my GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD-S!) Anyway, "Stolen Lives" invoked in me a desire to revisit forgiveness once again.
The next visit was mine, to the Netherlands, with Max. In May of 2002, just after 9/11 struck our area. This was going to be, I decided a 'cross roads' in terms of my relationship with my dad. I went with little expectation and an open heart, to see how far I could go in my forgiveness quest. When I was 13 my dad had been diagnosed with a brain tumor on his pineal gland. As it was inoperable, he chose to do a few rounds of radiation which really destroyed a lot too. He then went on a pilgrimage to San Damiano, Italy and considered himself healed (from the tumor), yet an eternal patient as he was told he was going to need meds to keep certain organs functioning as these organs were governed by a now non-functioning and all together disappearing pineal gland. My dad was overjoyed with his newly gained status of walking medical miracle and eternal 'patient'. He was, and still is identified with it. Within that whole picture now, where was my dad? Would I somehow find a way to connect with him? That had been to date impossible. All previous visits I had noticed flare-ups of hatred and resentment, which I had craftily kept well hidden and covered up for years. Easy to do, given the fact that I had moved far enough away to keep confrontations at a minimum. These flare-ups came up especially when dad felt the urge to save my soul and sell me his version of what it meant to be Roman Catholic.
It was clear to me that I enjoyed plenty of protection and assistance on that trip to the Netherlands. Before visiting my dad, a train ride to Amsterdam stood out. It was May 4, Rembembrance Day. This day was usually observed as a time to remember the people who died during WWII. This time, the Dutch media shared the message from the government that all traffic, trains etc. would be scheduled to come to a complete stand-still for two full minutes. During that time we were encouraged to hold in our thoughts and prayers the people who were affected by 9/11, as well as other wars.
My talkative toddler Max was very in tune with the goings on. I felt my brother's presence helped keep Max's quiet attention for the full two minutes. People around us were moved by Max's quiet presence.
Angels in the flesh, and in other realms helped out with luggage and smooth connections as I felt pulled to be present at the Dam Square, where bells were ringing especially for the occasion. On my way there, I decided to buy a rose. This rose accompanied Max and I to the Amstel river. The vibration of the bells was so intense that there was no room for anything else but our very breath. I have no idea how long I stood there, staring into the Amstel river. Feeling wonderously at peace in that moment.
Eventually it all came together. How we as human beings are all in one way or another affected by everything, negative and positive. Fear - Love. Darkness - Light. Violence - Compassion. Ignorance - Communication. How my parents were born during WWII, and how it affected them from their conception on into their childhoods and through adulthood. How my brother Ben was affected by the battle between my parents, and shed his young male body when a blood clot blocked his main artery in a hotel room in Bangkok, Thailand. I felt my brother's embrace: "It's not their fault".
I felt a sense of purpose when I let the wind take the rose into the river with thoughts of compassion for all those who had fallen prey to fear based thoughts, emotions and actions. All those who had been occupied, identified by them. This included the little girl inside me, who rose to express a prayer in gratitude for lessons learned and acquired wisdom. I could finally forgive myself for getting caught up in the stream of thoughts and emotions that emerge from violent confrontations. I could not help it either, after all. No one had been there to show me what to do instead when I was just little girl. And as I grew up, those fear based thoughts had kept me little every time I identified with them. A heartfelt wish emerged for healing, and ultimately peace for all beings everywhere. I sent it all along when I dropped the rose.
Once I visited my dad in the south of the Netherlands, close to the Belgian border, we finally did against all odds connect. He proudly showed me a collage he had made of family pictures. Two pictures stood out. One of him during the time he was drafted in the Dutch military, just after he had met my mom and fallen in love. Next to this picture, a picture of myself was beaming back at me. Joe had taken this one of me in Paris, when we had vowed to eachother that from here-on we would journey through life together. I was obviously and deeply in Love. Dad, Pa as I call him, kept pointing at the two pics. "You are obviously and truly my daughter... My dear, dear daughter. You are so dear to me". We embraced, and we did for quite a few fleeting moments connect. It was heartfelt. I cried a few tears of gratitude, and I thanked him, acknowledging: "Very true, Pa. And you are so dear to me too!". I will always remember this, and with gratitude, goose bumps and all. Never had I dared dream that my dad would ever see or recognize me. He had always seen the negatives between my mom and him in me, and the positives in my sister. Obviously my perspective, and thereby my projections, had changed. Finally I found a way to accept and love my father just the way he is. The walking medical miracle. With all his peculiar traits and in spite of it. Every time now, when he is expressing the urge to save my soul, uttering rehearsed rhetoric, I smile. I no longer have to resist it. "Good for you!" I reply to him as I honestly feel his faith is what sustains who he thinks he is. And if that's enough for him, then so it is.
My soul after all is not in any state of need. It is neither male nor female, and yet it includes both. It is vibrant and intact. It is in touch with who I am and All that Is. Through every breath, every heart beat, in every cell within my physical and non-physical being this connection resonates. It is in tune with every moment. And with all the tools that come in handy when practicing the art of living. The most favorite are by far the tools of courage and compassion. They do come in handy when forgiveness is needed. When thoughts and emotions arise they help me observe them quietly without getting hooked into them. I look, and allow myself to feel everything without identifying with these feelings. Courage and compassion are readily available, and dwell in the heart chakra. They keep the ego - the survival instinct - in check, while keeping who I am vibrantly alive, and serve the interest of all concerned. Those closest to me know I still slip on occasion. Fortunately there's plenty of opportunity for a do-over.
In Loving Light,
Nell ;-)
Before I dive in, first some things that come to mind: from gaia.com, this quote stood out:
The day the child realizes that all adults are imperfect, he becomes an adolescent; the day he forgives them, he becomes an adult; the day he forgives himself, he becomes wise.
Alden Nowlan This woman taught me a thing or two about forgiveness: Malika Oufkir, who co-authored the book "Stolen Lives" with Michelle Fitoussi.
Her story: Malika was imprisoned twice by the king of Morocco. First as his daughters playmate (he decided to adopt her, and as her family was close to the Moroccan royal family, they could not refuse). After her father was accused of being involved in a coup d'etat (take over of government) her father was assasinated and Malika and her entire family were taken as political prisoners. For decades they were living under increasingly escruciating circumstances, eventually causing them to plan a miraculous escape. Once Malika finally experienced freedom from imprisonment, she still found herself a prisoner to the strong resentment she felt for the king she once actually came close to loving. As she felt her hatred and resentment eating away inside her, she realized that to be truly free, she had to do the hardest thing yet: forgive.
I read this book at a time in my life where Joe on occasion yelled at me: "I am not your dad", and my relationship with Yannick also was in need of more courage and compassion as he mirrored the dysfunction between Joe and I back to us. I had already done quite a few layers of forgiveness work through my years as a student of the Yokibics School for Spiritual Warriors, mentored by Gael Chiarella.
First I had written uncensured letters (with a clear intention to heal rather than hurt) to both my parents, to share with them my feelings as they were at the time. These letters I burned. Yet somehow my father did send me a letter soon thereafter, filled with all sorts of explanations as to why he had been the kind of father he had been, citing the abuse he remembered enduring as a child by the hand of his father. "Excuses, excuses... were some thoughts coming up between other thoughts of compassion for the child he once was, still burried somewhere inside him. Yet I also realized he had taken a step to redeem himself, which was more than I ever expected from him.
Another visit by my mom followed. She noticed how I was struggling to resolve relationship issues with my husband and sons, that lingered from my childhood, initiated by her and my dad. She expressed her grief over this, and how she wished she had known then what she knew now. She was truly remorseful, and yet besides heartfelt compassion, there was a part of me that felt pretty smug about that. I too realized that one day my kids might very well have a field day with me. Is it ever true: we reap what we sow!
Mom's visit included plenty of sweetness too. The kids really adore her, and vice versa. And I found myself appreciating it all. Among my fond memories of that visit emerges the sound of her at times quite off key singing voice, as she was singing Dutch nursery rhymes and songs to Max who at the time was still a baby. Through it I remembered her singing to me as a child as well as my grandma singing from her voluminous chest that had nursed four girls and six boys, Dutch versions of old French country songs about loss, grief and hardship. And when she really got into it, she let herself go completely into a way off key howl. I remember bracing myself for it, and loving it like a roller coaster ride (Oh, my GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD-S!) Anyway, "Stolen Lives" invoked in me a desire to revisit forgiveness once again.
The next visit was mine, to the Netherlands, with Max. In May of 2002, just after 9/11 struck our area. This was going to be, I decided a 'cross roads' in terms of my relationship with my dad. I went with little expectation and an open heart, to see how far I could go in my forgiveness quest. When I was 13 my dad had been diagnosed with a brain tumor on his pineal gland. As it was inoperable, he chose to do a few rounds of radiation which really destroyed a lot too. He then went on a pilgrimage to San Damiano, Italy and considered himself healed (from the tumor), yet an eternal patient as he was told he was going to need meds to keep certain organs functioning as these organs were governed by a now non-functioning and all together disappearing pineal gland. My dad was overjoyed with his newly gained status of walking medical miracle and eternal 'patient'. He was, and still is identified with it. Within that whole picture now, where was my dad? Would I somehow find a way to connect with him? That had been to date impossible. All previous visits I had noticed flare-ups of hatred and resentment, which I had craftily kept well hidden and covered up for years. Easy to do, given the fact that I had moved far enough away to keep confrontations at a minimum. These flare-ups came up especially when dad felt the urge to save my soul and sell me his version of what it meant to be Roman Catholic.
It was clear to me that I enjoyed plenty of protection and assistance on that trip to the Netherlands. Before visiting my dad, a train ride to Amsterdam stood out. It was May 4, Rembembrance Day. This day was usually observed as a time to remember the people who died during WWII. This time, the Dutch media shared the message from the government that all traffic, trains etc. would be scheduled to come to a complete stand-still for two full minutes. During that time we were encouraged to hold in our thoughts and prayers the people who were affected by 9/11, as well as other wars.
My talkative toddler Max was very in tune with the goings on. I felt my brother's presence helped keep Max's quiet attention for the full two minutes. People around us were moved by Max's quiet presence.
Angels in the flesh, and in other realms helped out with luggage and smooth connections as I felt pulled to be present at the Dam Square, where bells were ringing especially for the occasion. On my way there, I decided to buy a rose. This rose accompanied Max and I to the Amstel river. The vibration of the bells was so intense that there was no room for anything else but our very breath. I have no idea how long I stood there, staring into the Amstel river. Feeling wonderously at peace in that moment.
Eventually it all came together. How we as human beings are all in one way or another affected by everything, negative and positive. Fear - Love. Darkness - Light. Violence - Compassion. Ignorance - Communication. How my parents were born during WWII, and how it affected them from their conception on into their childhoods and through adulthood. How my brother Ben was affected by the battle between my parents, and shed his young male body when a blood clot blocked his main artery in a hotel room in Bangkok, Thailand. I felt my brother's embrace: "It's not their fault".
I felt a sense of purpose when I let the wind take the rose into the river with thoughts of compassion for all those who had fallen prey to fear based thoughts, emotions and actions. All those who had been occupied, identified by them. This included the little girl inside me, who rose to express a prayer in gratitude for lessons learned and acquired wisdom. I could finally forgive myself for getting caught up in the stream of thoughts and emotions that emerge from violent confrontations. I could not help it either, after all. No one had been there to show me what to do instead when I was just little girl. And as I grew up, those fear based thoughts had kept me little every time I identified with them. A heartfelt wish emerged for healing, and ultimately peace for all beings everywhere. I sent it all along when I dropped the rose.
Once I visited my dad in the south of the Netherlands, close to the Belgian border, we finally did against all odds connect. He proudly showed me a collage he had made of family pictures. Two pictures stood out. One of him during the time he was drafted in the Dutch military, just after he had met my mom and fallen in love. Next to this picture, a picture of myself was beaming back at me. Joe had taken this one of me in Paris, when we had vowed to eachother that from here-on we would journey through life together. I was obviously and deeply in Love. Dad, Pa as I call him, kept pointing at the two pics. "You are obviously and truly my daughter... My dear, dear daughter. You are so dear to me". We embraced, and we did for quite a few fleeting moments connect. It was heartfelt. I cried a few tears of gratitude, and I thanked him, acknowledging: "Very true, Pa. And you are so dear to me too!". I will always remember this, and with gratitude, goose bumps and all. Never had I dared dream that my dad would ever see or recognize me. He had always seen the negatives between my mom and him in me, and the positives in my sister. Obviously my perspective, and thereby my projections, had changed. Finally I found a way to accept and love my father just the way he is. The walking medical miracle. With all his peculiar traits and in spite of it. Every time now, when he is expressing the urge to save my soul, uttering rehearsed rhetoric, I smile. I no longer have to resist it. "Good for you!" I reply to him as I honestly feel his faith is what sustains who he thinks he is. And if that's enough for him, then so it is.
My soul after all is not in any state of need. It is neither male nor female, and yet it includes both. It is vibrant and intact. It is in touch with who I am and All that Is. Through every breath, every heart beat, in every cell within my physical and non-physical being this connection resonates. It is in tune with every moment. And with all the tools that come in handy when practicing the art of living. The most favorite are by far the tools of courage and compassion. They do come in handy when forgiveness is needed. When thoughts and emotions arise they help me observe them quietly without getting hooked into them. I look, and allow myself to feel everything without identifying with these feelings. Courage and compassion are readily available, and dwell in the heart chakra. They keep the ego - the survival instinct - in check, while keeping who I am vibrantly alive, and serve the interest of all concerned. Those closest to me know I still slip on occasion. Fortunately there's plenty of opportunity for a do-over.
In Loving Light,
Nell ;-)
Access: Public
adult
July 2008 
Nell, this is a remarkable blog; full of compassion in the true meaning: for yourself and others. I admire your courage in this personal sharing; and your clarity in being able to describe deep-seated emotions.
I hope you are fine with my placing a link at Re: Light shines through blogs on Gaia
And seeding this at least 5 times!
Thank you, Meenakshi. Your acknowledgment means a lot. Funny thing is, before I went to bed last night I was about to make a lot of edits to this blog entry, and actually delete quite a bit as I was feeling so naked in publishing this personal forgiveness journey.
Your presence here encouraged me to leave it alone, and reminded me that nudity actually suits my naturalist tendencies. Besides, bathing suits really cramp my style anyway.
Of course I had to go visit your Power of Light Pod . Of course I immediately felt a sense of belonging, and joined! Thank you so much for being who you are, and doing what you do so well.
In gratitude,
Nell ;-)
Thanks for doing that , Nell! and BTW, that feeling of birthing kids and having to forget everything they ever taught you about modesty…I think that was the hardest part to me, of childbirth!!!
That, and the IV they hadn't warned me about. After that, I guess we're on the path to revelation! We've seen what shedding modesty can bring…
Wow, Meenakshi,
“having to forget everything they ever taught you about modesty…I think that was the hardest part to me, of childbirth!!!”. If that was the hardest part, I imagine you may have had amazing birthing experiences. The subject of birth and rebirth is definitely one of my pet peeves.
And yes, let's shine on!
Hello Nell
Thank you for sharing this beautiful and wise testimony.
I so much, identify with you dearest one and admire your profound understanding of the relationship between forgiveness and compassion.
In this forgiveness, this healing and with this love; We are One
Peace to you and your Poppa…
with loving intention; I bow
tess
Hi Tess,
Thanks so much for the profound way you connect with me here, and wherever our paths cross. It is with gratitude that I embrace your loving intention. Indeed we are One.
In Loving Light,
Nell ;-)