On the brow of the hill, behind a silent chapel,
two windmills spin new soundscapes over
the land, cart-wheeling alleluias.
Cloistered granite holds an orchestration
of birds, and eerie whirr, tremulous sounds
of curlew and lapwing. The wind
through the metal gate is a speaking in tongues
with the broken feed-hoop tuning in:
other-worldly, intimately insistent.
All this music to attend to, to slip into:
an old organ droning, an uproarious lullaby.
Up over da hill, arms turn, the heart lifts.
To forgive means to give life, to remove what has been an obstacle to friendship and communion: those inner, psychological walls that had prevented dialogue or communicatíon. These walls are judgments that separate and isolate us from others and push people into anguish and inner death. To forgive means we no longer judge others. Forgiveness breaks down blockages to communication and communíon so that we can say to one another: I love you and want you to live.