This week was the last chance to practice forgiveness. Not really, of course, but it was the completion of the series in which we convened with the intention of breaking the boundaries of compassion. Our time together has been dear. 

One of my two groups agreed to ninety minutes on Friday mornings. All told we shelled out fifteen bucks for the book and met for nine hours. Not a huge investment. Spread out as it was over October and November it paralleled the metamorphosis of foliage, waning light, and brisker air. Each of us expressed how the group has effected change. Yawned our hearts to one another, and to our own past hurts. 

For giveness. Cleaving the word in two invokes the chance to become more generous. Giveness, a sister to kindness. Brother to openness. All facets of the single stone that reflects sunlight in fresh directions. 

Forgiving each other for the thousand paper cuts of offenses brings us closer. I never did the blood brother ritual of sliced fingertips, but this comes close. Having been a witness to the stories of people who have upgraded from victim to conquistador brings depth to the prayer "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." For the first time I realized that those words are not a bribe to entice us to amnesty, but rather a cause and effect description of what is as unchanging as the return of longer days in the spring.