First Blade

My mother said she wishes I was never born. She said she wished she had crushed me back inside of her instead of letting me be born.

I don’t remember feeling this desolate before.

This is not a good place, this exile.

But I have died a million deaths in 60 years and been born a million times.

I will rise again.

She cannot crush me.

She does not have enough hatred in her, there IS no amount of hatred that can put

this

fire

out.

I still burn

and turn and twist free of her hands,

of her glances.

She cannot hold

me.

I can’t be a true healer if I don’t accept this dark pain of human existence along with the light. I was ashamed of feeling this way but i am not ashamed now. I grieve. I grieve for the mother I never had and never will have.I ache.But I will feel this burn until it is spent and then I will rise from the ashes and shine like a diamond who has swallowed a volcano and now opens her throat and sings pure, radiant forgiveness.Forgiveness does not come from being nice and sweet enough to forgive someone for their transgression. My forgiveness is the rage of a forest fire gone out: the first blade of new grass.

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