Being born into a very creative family is not without its pitfalls. It would seem that all that creative energy that can express itself so well into plays, poems, songs, music, pipe organs, bark paintings, hand molded and wheel thrown pottery, sculpture, hand-cut gems, watercolours, fine ink drawings, oils, screen printing, macrame (the list continues) … finds it impossible to settle into harmonious human connections.
I honestly have no idea and perhaps I am finally realising this is a question that requires no answer.
I have spent too many years reflecting through my own upbringing and the years of solitude that followed. It is only very recent times that I have found a peace inside forgiveness.
Or so it would seem.
Suddenly all thrown back together again following the death of my Uncle Lincoln, I find myself angry, frustrated, upset and feeling right back where I started. To vent last night I found an old book on fairies under a pile of old wool at the back of the shearing shed and proceeded to cut out the colour paintings and random phrases and sentences to create a new book and a new story. Not a word of forgiveness to be found.
It is only this morning driving away from the farm leaving mum and dad out there alone for a few days I realise that forgiveness is one thing. It is a very great thing. But now I release the expectation that forgiveness solves everything. But everything will be fine? Everything must be resolved now? Suddenly three very different people could now get along. All the time. We would never fight again.
The unrealistic expectation of forgiveness.
I drive away knowing that we will always fight, it will always be awkward and I will just write a song, dad will go to his lathe and mum will return to her bead work.
We, the scalene triangle. Unequal angles and different sides.
I think there is a peace in that.