I held the knife tightly in my grasp.
I had cause and intent to use it in order to bring myself some relief. I knew how I would feel afterwards, how much lighter my burden would be and I welcomed that sensation of weight lifted. Yet, I did not use it. I placed the blade down upon my table instead.
My thoughts drifted back to forgivness once more, and the nature of it.
Is there anything that cannot be forgiven, I wonder? Is there a single act of indecency that one cannot let go?
Where once, I would have known the answer to these questions with neither hesitation or doubt, now I am not so certain. Many would say that there are some acts which can never be absolved, some wrong-doings that cannot, should not or must not be exonerated. What are they, though? What deed is so atrocious that one can never allow it to be purged from ones own heart and mind?
The answer to those questions would differ from person to person. Some might say the murder of a child - the slaughter of such a defenceless and innocent being - is the cut-off point for forgivness. Others, however, might not be so lenient and instead refuse to grant pardon for so much as a single white lie. Where, then, should the line be drawn? Should there be a line at all?
Certainly, there should be some punishment to fit the crime. The more heinous the act, the more stern the punishment, but once it is recieved and endured, should not we forgive the transgression? It has, after all, been paid for.
What about before then? Should not the wronged party grant a personal amnesty although the rules of society may yet demand retribution?
Some would say that forgiveness must be earned and they may well be correct in that belief. What one must do to earn that, though, is also a matter of opinion. To some, speaking words of apology or seeking it in other manners would be enough, whilst to others such deeds may be seen as paltry and something more harsh may be desired.
The act itself is not always one of altruism. Indeed, it is more often the case that we offer reprieve to another in an effort to bring about respite for ourselves. In turning the other cheek, we let the bad feelings go and cleanse our hearts of the bitterness or pain we may have carried. We open ourselves to the possibility that some good may come of a bad situation, aware that there can never be any guarantees but still allowing the path to be cleared should such a thing arise. It is, in its own way, a selfish thing and yet it can engender good feelings in more than just oneself.
Should I forgive him, then, even if only for my own peace of mind? Or should I wait to see if he may express a desire to earn it and meanwhile continue to suffer from the bitterness he left in his wake?
