rituals of forgiveness
finally, it is time to gather and harvest the nectar; it is time to soak ourselves in all of life’s sweetness.
When you get what you have been praying for, I hope you know what to do with it.
—Lalah Delia
Bismillah بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
Thank yourself for showing up for yourself.
Thank yourself for saying ‘yes’ amidst the uncertainty.
May you move forth with deep reverence for your spirit, heart, body and mind.
May you find within yourself songs of thanksgiving for the little you, the now you, and the you that is becoming,
May the embrace of life leave you with blueprints of freedom.
May your liberation sprinkle itself as adornment and clues on the paths of those you love, are loved by, and are in a relationship with.
May you receive—in the language of your spirit—all the beautiful melodies that are celebrating your being alive.
On days and nights where purpose and meaning are chimeric and feel like illusions, may the chord that grounds you into the earth hold you stronger.
May your communion with the earth and cosmos be your safe harbour during great storms.
When called to flow with the current, may surrender weave itself around you in sacred adornment.
Wherever you are, wherever you choose to wander, may you touch and be touched by good grace.
The hurt, hope, ease, heartbreak, pain, unfinished story—all of it—
Whatever it be, I pray that it makes you a kinder being.
And even better.
Allahumma Ameen اللَّهُمَّ امين
Two weeks ago, in the outer periphery of dusk, I gathered with four women in my home. This moment was the sprouting of a seed that I had planted a year prior. On a late night in mid-November 2022, I was all at once inspired to write an entire outline for a mindfulness workshop that I titled ‘Rituals of Forgiveness’. I wrote down all that was coming through me on two A4 yellow pieces of paper, down to the details of who would be present at the workshop. Then I stuck it to my wall, so I could look at it and make it happen.
I then proceeded to find a space where I could facilitate the workshop. Email after email after email, I sent out booking requests. Each time, something came up which led to the scheduling falling through. I was almost giving up.
Then, with the same flow of inspiration that had visited me in November 2022, I all at once felt an undeniable sensation that the first iteration of this workshop was meant to be held in my house. This feeling came in September 2023, that is, almost one year after I had drafted the workshop. Yet, everything about this moment felt right—the timing, the location, and my capacity to facilitate the session.
I trusted this inner voice and went ahead to create an invitation which I later shared directly with friends as well as with members of a mindfulness circle. In a matter of a few days, the few spots I had opened were all booked up for my two-hour mindfulness session on ‘Rituals of Forgiveness’.
This moment, among several others in my life, has been a reminder of the power of trusting the timing of life. It made me recall moments prior when I forced things to happen my way and at the pace I wanted them to. Briefly, this approach to my life’s circumstances seemed to work… until it didn’t. What was different this time, after some initial resistance, was that I did the best I could and surrendered my plans. Then, it all came together more beautifully than I imagined, and also at a time that felt perfectly aligned.
This piece today is not a recap of the workshop. Rather, I would like to share with you the contours, colours, and choruses that I have experienced (and continue to experience) from giving myself over to the practice of forgiveness. For me, forgiveness has been both an act of surrender and a commitment to dedicated willful investment.
At the start of this year, my body bore the burden of resentment—and slowly and steadily, this weight and pressure came crashing down. My jaw was tight, my back shot with pain, and for the first time in my life, I was grinding my teeth in my sleep. The psychology of pain transported itself onto the mannerisms of my movements. During this period, forgiveness was not a place of freedom that felt accessible or possible.
What my being longed for instead—and what I eventually surrendered to—was to be back in a place that reminded me of the depth of generational love that birthed, raised, prayed for, and carried me. So I flew home—uncertain and unplanned. What I knew for sure was that I could only truly access and unlock the door to forgiveness by first moving through the mix of rage, grief, shame, and loneliness I was carrying around.
To this day, I am in awe of the wonders and miracles of body scholarship. After the first night being home, on my land and with my people, the pain in my jaw vanished and so did the grinding of teeth. It was like something melted off me into the earth and ethers. Here, without my asking, the land helped me carry the burden I had been holding onto, alone and for so long. This was a moment of grace; one that unlocked my capacity to access the path to and journey through forgiveness.
Since then, there has been a series of moments where I have been faced with crossroads; decision points that required me to turn inward and consider:
What still hurts?
Why does it hurt this much?
Where does it hurt?
Who does this hurt belong to?
Who is this hurt about?
For how long do I give myself permission to wade through this hurt?
How do I want to feel through and after this?
Each time I make myself available and speak with radical honesty about what hurts and why it hurts, I find within me a new texture of patience, love, and possibility.
These questions continue to offer me a launch point to touch into possibilities of a different story where I am not drowning in bitterness, resentment, resistance, rigidity, spirals of shame, and cascading thoughts of hopelessness. I must believe that something else is possible beyond a feeling of stuckness. As I continually say yes—sometimes unenthusiastically—I continue to find evidence of “the more”.
“The more” is not a guarantee that all your wishes will come true. Neither is it a utopia ever after. Rather, it is a new story that is slowly but surely wiring and writing itself through the circuitry of your body, brain, and being, “The more” is a new curriculum for the scholarship of your body, brain, and being. It is a chance to breathe from deeper parts of your core; the kind of breathing that, one breath at a time, carries away each blockage that has been stuck in your airway.
“The more” is a whisper that visits you at dawn and dusk to say, “My love, you are not defeated. Hold on. Here you still are—alive, loving, and free.”
Similarly, in the depths of depression, it is almost impossible to see the light at the end of the tunnel or the ladder out of the hole. Yet, each day we survive, each day we choose to live, the hole becomes shallower and the tunnel becomes shorter. I am in tears writing this.
In this way, forgiveness becomes a palpable process of access, possibility, and presence.
Before you rejoice at reconciliation, I hope you give yourself over to the journey of being held by all those who know your name; those that love you, and the places that form you. I hope you surrender your stubbornness about “doing this all alone”. Share the truth about why, how much, and for how long it has been hurting—first with yourself and then with others. Let your tongue articulate the burden on your body.
Make truth-telling, curiosity, and surrender a ritual that you return to often. And even when the door to the path of, and journey through forgiveness opens, keep coming back into yourself. Listen for the whispers that are guiding you deeper into communing with the places of pain within. Because, my dear, until you can turn toward the pain you are carrying and move through it one bit at a time, you cannot be transformed by it. And without this capacity for transformation, truthfully, how much can you bear to genuinely forgive both yourself and others?
Forgiveness has rituals. What are yours?
You enter the Forgiveness room for your own sake, not for anyone else. No one else is allowed in this room but you. Do not seek a cure from the person who caused you pain. Do not wait for their apology to give yourself permission to feel the pain.
― Najwa Zebian