There are rooms in the mansion of memory
where all of the innocent ghosts linger.
They are waiting patiently there for me —
With each remembrance, I open another door.
Here they stand, not as they really are,
but just as I remember them.
They are mute, imploring. It is now up to me.
It always has been, though I kept forgetting.
Will I forgive them at last for not being
who or what I wanted them to be?
Really, there are no ghosts, the past
is just an idea, behind every door there is
nothing but a mirror filled with faces.
Every face is my own, innocent, waiting for me
to forgive myself for not being what I wanted
to be, thought I should be.
One by one, I release each ghost into the light
shining behind the mirror of mind, behind
the old resentments, disappointments,
misunderstandings, desires, fears.
Without judgment, the light receives itself
in the form of every luminous ghost.
Perhaps we will keep returning here until
every room is empty, all finally forgiven.
In the meantime, I open another door.