After the service was over, I realized in reviewing my life that I no longer had anything to forgive — no grudges, resentments, memories of pain suffered at the hands of others. When I told my director, she said, "Molly, do you realize what a great grace you've been given?" Well, no, I hadn't, not until she said that, and only as I have reflected on it since. It is a great grace. And it's one that I'm not going to poke around in to try to scare up some lost memory or past injury in order to test its reality.
As I am, I cannot keep from being lost in life. This is because I do not believe that I become lost and do not see that I like being taken. I do not know what it means "to be taken."
The first effort is to awake, in order to see ourselves as we are in our sleep. We believe that to awake is to enter into an entirely different life, which will have nothing in common with the one we lead. But, in fact, awaking means, above all, to awake to ourselves as we are, to see and feel our sleep.
Although we could wake up, most of the time we refuse this possibility. We could awake to our own Presence but do not. And when we do, we see that we cannot remain present. I was awake, now I find myself asleep. I was present, and again I am not here. Most of the time I am absent but do not know it. And if I do not discover the way I am taken, I will remain caught in a circle with no way out. To see, to know, becomes the most important aim.