I can't forgive until you see.
Else forgiveness would be unipolar and insular.
Awareness births acceptance, which births healing, which ripples across reality in waves.
But when the dream rules all the senses, awareness cannot happen.
Sleepwalking, you injured me, and even when I screamed you heard only the music of your mind.
I can't be yours until you are your own.
Not ruled by shadows, ghosts, or fragments of unprocessed lower natures, but by Self-- awake in love, power, and wisdom.
The wound seeks the hand that created it, or similar hands, in an effort to mend the timeline and the continuum of meaning, with armies of thoughts like white blood cells, reaching backward across dimensions and forward through mirrors and around through telephone lines.
Forgiveness is a miracle that weaves legions of elements into a dense cocoon, from which, if we are lucky, new life emerges.
The flap of the butterfly's wing doesn't change everything; it testifies to the change that has already happened
...which is the same thing...
It is the simplest thing in the universe, only possible because the most difficult has been labored through.