What might have been are the saddest words in the English language. I spent the week at a workshop given by Natalie Goldberg and the subject of the prompts for our writing practice was relationships. I felt like I was in a graveyard digging up bodies, the bodies of my failures in love. But the corpses weren’t rotting; they were mummified, and that meant a lot to me. The sweet oil of forgiveness was everywhere. The past was desiccated and dry. It meant healing was deeper than I knew; I was looking back on myself and others with compassion. I didn’t like looking back, but I did like seeing the internal movement past grief and recrimination.
The Moving Finger writes, and having writ, nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it….Omar Khayamm translated by Kahlil Gabran.
I find the word, thy, special, moving….a familiar form of you that’s lost…but so beautiful to read.