I would like to have a neighbor who knows how to garden. He would be an older man, well-preserved like a magical mummy. A retired university professor, who still wears tweed coats. He would listen to acid jazz on his front porch, with his small mutt faithfully by his side.
After weeks of studying him, I would approach him, but he would turn me away. This would be to test my commitment to learning about life through rich soil. I would say, hey, I am worth teaching about tomatoes. My persistence would wear him down, and we would become the greatest of friends.
My words are simple and rough, these days.
There is a difference between what one knows, and what one is willing to accept. I have to believe that Cory did the best he could, and that nothing was personal, even when he argued that it was. For that reason, I begin to forgive and release.
If I am ever to be happy, I need to see that is possible. I know that I saw it in the monk‘s eyes, this morning. He stood outside the Buddhist temple, as I tried not to stare. But how could I help myself? Beautiful things are meant to be admired.
This inspired me to prepare an apology for Cody. If I am to achieve this state, my approach cannot be deceitful or immature. The man behind the pictures is real. And, if I am truly honest about why it was easy to find myself entangled in a game, it is because it allowed me to get closer to him. We both have fire and darkness within us. There is so much to learn, to exchange, to experience. Except, I could not apologize, because what needs be said, is impossible to say.