Hard lessons…whew! I’ve had some, you’ve had some – they do not skip generations or lifetimes. These are the lessons I complain about. The lessons for which I struggle to muster a wisp of gratitude…especially for the teachers. These are the lessons I have refused to learn until they were painful, until my face was held in their muck and mire. By them, I have been brought low. I have wept, screamed, thrown grapefruits at walls, and huddled in closets to escape their wrath. A part of me is glad that I finally learned them. From them, I now know that, “we are not alone in the dark with our demons.” From their blistering ice, I have grown.
Some of my teachers…well let’s say this…it must be painful to be the cruel and unwitting teacher. To be the example of greed and dishonesty, to state something so harsh that repeating it is unthinkable…and then you say it again, to break the heart and trust of anyone, to blame and hate and blame once more, must maim the soul.
To these teachers of the hard lessons:
I am sorry. For your pain, for your grief. So very sorry.
I am also grateful.
I can see,
In the midst of death, life persists.
In the midst of untruth, truth persists.
In the midst of darkness, light persists.
– Mahatma Gandhi