best served
There are very few things worth saying.
After three weeks of banging my head against what it is, exactly, that I want to say about the past few years of my life — I realize that so much is the drip drip drip of ignoble thought, the why mes and how comes and the anger that feels so so righteous — it all really doesn’t count for much.
Revenge stories appeal to the sense of having been wronged, but the best revenge stories show us that there is no end to cruelty, neglect, avarice, dismissal. There is transcending them. Hopefully even I could do such a thing.
The story of Christ is a revenge story, and it was not until recently that I was able to come to this conclusion. Judas betrays what he loves and knows to be true because he must seek revenge for a revelation: He can forgive himself. Forgiveness is possible. Even forgiveness for not saving everyone and everything all the time.
Judas is Ivan Karamazov, Segda Travos, Nel Wright, me. They cannot fathom the possibility, because to do so would require them to leave a constitutent part of themselves behind.
But that part, the precious core of hurt, of pain, that they desperately cling to is not a raft. It cannot bear the weight of a feather.
And that’s that.