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" Thundering, roaring, are the storms of life. Momentary hardships that, unveiled, reveal a purpose beyond carnal reasoning. The pain can get intense, the hurt can be severe, but one must look beyond themselves for conclusive answers. One must not examine their situations using finite logic to try to discover the deeper meaning behind the circumstance or its outcome. One must look beyond the surface of their own intellect, and see through the walls of their own understanding. The blueprint of life has been masterfully designed in such a way, that all things—no matter how they may seem—have a purpose; and that purpose will ultimately bring
about a greater good overall. The spiritual realm is truly realities base; and it is from there that truth derives. The mystery of the storm is revealed—cause and effect—the past, the present, and the future. "
― Calvin W. Allison , Strong Love Church
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" The Chinese ideograph for forbearance is a heart with a sword dangling over it, another instance of language's brilliant way of showing us something surprising and important fossilized inside the meaning of a word. Vulnerability is built into our hearts, which can be sliced open at any moment by some sudden shift in the arrangements, some pain, some horror, some hurt. We all know and instinctively fear this, so we protect our hearts by covering them against exposure. But this doesn't work. Covering the heart binds and suffocates it until, like a wound that has been kept dressed for too long, the heart starts to fester and becomes fetid. Eventually, without air, the heart is all but killed off, and there's no feeling, no experiencing at all.
To practice forbearance is to appreciate and celebrate the heart's vulnerability, and to see that the slicing or piercing of the heart does not require defense; that the heart's vulnerability is a good thing, because wounds can make us more peaceful and more real—if, that is, we are willing to hang on to the leopard of our fear, the serpent of our grief, the boar of our shame without running away or being hurled off. Forbearance is simply holding on steadfastly with whatever it is that unexpectedly arises: not doing anything; not fixing anything (because doing and fixing can be a way to cover up the heart, to leap over the hurt and pain by occupying ourselves with schemes and plans to get rid of it.) Just holding on for hear life. Holding on with what comes is what makes life dear.
...Simply holding on this way may sound passive. Forbearance has a bad reputation in our culture, whose conventional wisdom tells us that we ought to solve problems, fix what's broken, grab what we want, speak out, shake things up, make things happen. And should none of this work out, then we are told we ought to move on, take a new tack, start something else. But this line of thinking only makes sense when we are attempting to gain external satisfaction. It doesn't take into account internal well-being; nor does it engage the deeper questions of who you really are and what makes you truly happy, questions that no one can ignore for long... Insofar as forbearance helps us to embrace transformative energy and allow its magic to work on us... forbearance isn't passive at all. It's a powerfully active spiritual force, (67-70). "
― Norman Fischer , Sailing Home: Using the Wisdom of Homer's Odyssey to Navigate Life's Perils and Pitfalls
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" Young man,” he went on, raising his head again, “in your face I seem to read some trouble of mind. When you came in I read it, and that was why I addressed you at once. For in unfolding to you the story of my life, I do not wish to make myself a laughing-stock before these idle listeners, who indeed know all about it already, but I am looking for a man of feeling and education. Know then that my wife was educated in a high-class school for the daughters of noblemen, and on leaving, she danced the shawl dance before the governor and other personages for which she was presented with a gold medal and a certificate of merit. The medal … well, the medal of course was sold—long ago, hm … but the certificate of merit is in her trunk still and not long ago she showed it to our landlady. And although she is most continually on bad terms with the landlady, yet she wanted to tell some one or other of her past honours and of the happy days that are gone. I don’t condemn her for it. I don’t blame her, for the one thing left her is recollection of the past, and all the rest is dust and ashes. Yes, yes, she is a lady of spirit, proud and determined. She scrubs the floors herself and has nothing but black bread to eat, but won’t allow herself to be treated with disrespect. That’s why she would not overlook Mr. Lebeziatnikov’s rudeness to her, and so when he gave her a beating for it, she took to her bed more from the hurt to her feelings than from the blows. She was a widow when I married her, with three children, one smaller than the other. She married her first husband, an infantry officer, for love, and ran away with him from her father’s house. She was exceedingly fond of her husband; but he gave way to cards, got into trouble and with that he died. He used to beat her at the end: and although she paid him back, of which I have authentic documentary evidence, to this day she speaks of him with tears and she throws him up at me; and I am glad, I am glad that, though only in imagination, she should think of herself as having once been happy.… And she was left at his death with three children in a wild and remote district where I happened to be at the time; and she was left in such hopeless poverty that, although I have seen many ups and downs of all sorts, I don’t feel equal to describing it even. Her relations had all thrown her off. And she was proud, too, excessively proud.… And then, honoured sir, and then, I, being at the time a widower, with a daughter of fourteen left me by my first wife, offered her my hand, for I could not bear the sight of such suffering. You can judge the extremity of her calamities, that she, a woman of education and culture and distinguished family, should have consented to be my wife. But she did! Weeping and sobbing and wringing her hands, she married me! For she had nowhere to turn! Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn? No, that you don’t understand yet… "
― Fyodor Dostoevsky , Crime and Punishment
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" Day pushed God out of his space and turned to walk away without another word.“Oh no you don’t,” God snarled before grabbing Day around his waist and pulling him back into the darkness of the alley. He pushed Day up against the brick wall and pressed his forehead hard against his. “You think I’m just going to let you walk off?”“Yep. Just like you did this morning,” Day replied without a second thought.He’d be damned if that response didn’t hurt like hell. He kept their foreheads touching but lost some of his anger. “I apologized for that.”“You sent me a goddamn text message, coward. Now get off me. I’m going home…alone now, thanks to you,” Day hissed.“You were really going to fuck that guy?” God asked incredulously.“You’re goddamn right I was,” Day retorted.“Even though you’re in love with me?”Why did God say that? He watched his partner’s face go from mad to stark-raving livid. Before he could process what was happing, Day had caught him with a right punch twice to his rib cage making him cry out in pain at his already tender ribs.“Fuck!” God yelled as he was shoved backward hard enough to almost knock him off balance since he was already doubled over.“Can’t believe you just said that, asshole,” Day said while moving in on him again. “Think I’m going to let you string me along?”God held his ribs and put one hand up to stop Day’s approach but it was useless. Day dropped like a martial arts master and did a backward spin kick, effectively knocking both God’s legs from under him and sending him crashing to the ground—and two-hundred and fifty pounds hitting the asphalt really hurt.“The bigger they are, the harder they fucking fall,” Day snarled, and began to move in again.What the fuck?God knew Day was quick, he’d seen him in action too many times. God’s only defense was his muscle, but he had to get his hands on Day first, which wouldn’t be easy. God rolled and came up off the ground, quicker than Day expected, and he caught Day’s left punch in mid-throw and spun him around. He yanked Day into his chest but took a hard elbow to his right cheek with Day’s right arm before he was able to secure it with the other one.“Enough,” God growled in his ear. Day’s back was pressed hard against God’s chest, while God held both hand’s tightly in front of him. “Stop fighting me.”“No,” Day snapped.“Stop fighting me, Leo. Because I love you too,” God said, his lips pressed firmly against Day’s ear. “You can’t fuck that other guy because you’re mine,” he whispered.God felt Day’s body go limp in his tight hold and he took the opportunity to spin him around to face him. He looked into soft hazel eyes and lost himself. “I do, sweetheart. I think I may always have. I just didn’t know it until after you walked out of my apartment this morning.” God took a deep breath and shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut at the vision that popped up. “After I hurt you.”Day didn’t pull away, but God could see the hurt was still there. Man, how he wished he could take it all back. He swore he would have done it all differently. “Leo. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry, and I promise I’ll never put my hands on you in anger again.” God watched Day for any signs of forgiveness. Day’s head was down, he was still as a rock, and he still hadn’t spoken.God released Day’s arms, took one hand and slowly lifted Day’s chin so he could look into those beautiful eyes again. Day’s eyes were moist but focused.“Say something, sweetheart. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me you love me, or tell me to go to hell, just say something,” God begged, the silence driving him mad.God was beginning to think he’d really lost his best friend until Day finally spoke. “I usually don’t like endearments but I think I like you calling me sweetheart. "
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" It couldn’t have been that bad that he had to hurt you, Leo.”
“Oh no, it was bad. It was the fucking first twenty minutes of Saving Private Ryan bad, Jax.” Day paced as he listened to his brother go on about God accepting responsibility for his own actions.
“Jax, don’t get me wrong, I’m highly pissed off with my partner. I’m pissed off to the highest of pisstivity. But I still have to know that he’s okay. That crazy brother of his really landed some hard blows on him and God didn’t fight back at all.”
“Because it’s his baby brother. That I do get,” Jax said softly. “But I can’t check on him, Leo, because believe me, there is nothing here to clue me in on where he may have went.” Jax paused before speaking again. “I must say I’m curious how he got all that heavy furniture out of here if he was in as bad a shape as you say.”
“Well, that wouldn’t be too hard to do. A lot of people owe God favors—both of us actually. If God called someone for help, they’d drop everything and come to help.” Day took a deep breath. “The same as I would if he had called me.” Day’s voice was strained from the hurt in his chest and he had no doubt that Jax was picking up on it.
“That asshole,” Jax snapped.
“Whoa, big brother. Don’t go cursing away your do-gooder image. You know you’re not a vulgar-language type of person…leave that for us heathens.” Day laughed humorlessly.
Day heard his brother laugh an irritated chuckle at him for trying to lighten the situation.
“Fine. But, after he apologizes numerous times, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” Jax said.
Day did smile that time. He had no doubt his brother would do just that. "
― A.E. Via
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" ...I've had a lot of time to think about this, and yes, we could go down your route. The difficult, painful one, because, let's face it, Ellie, you're a fan of the hard way through. Or, we could, slowly but surely, try to forgive each other for all the mistakes we've made and the hurt we've caused each other. None of us sitting here is innocent... "
― Harper Bliss , At the Water's Edge
