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Un Viaje para Deshacernos del Peso del Rencor
He transitado por este mundo más de seis décadas, un tiempo suficiente para ver cómo las estaciones cambian no solo en el paisaje, sino también en el alma de las personas. En este largo caminar, he llegado a una conclusión que hoy siento la necesidad de compartir: el rencor es la más pesada de las cargas y, paradójicamente, una que elegimos llevar cada día.
Lo defino, quizás de manera atrevida, como un instinto puramente humano. No hablo del instinto animal, ese fogonazo de defensa o agresión que se disipa. Hablo de algo más complejo, una construcción de la mente y la emoción que se aferra a nosotros como una segunda piel. Es un resentimiento que echó raíces, un eco persistente de una ofensa que nos negamos a dejar morir. He visto este eco resonar en los lugares más insospechados. Lo vi en los bancos de iglesias, en personas que se daban golpes de pecho hablando de amor y perdón, mientras sus miradas delataban una hostilidad enquistada, una cuenta pendiente con alguien que ni siquiera estaba presente. ¿De qué sirve la plegaria si el corazón sigue siendo una piedra?
Cortesía de Pixabay
El rencor tiene un rostro, y no es un rostro amable. Se manifiesta en esas caras acartonadas, en las mandíbulas apretadas de quienes viven en un estado de amargura perpetua. Son rostros que han perdido la capacidad de sonreír con franqueza, porque la energía que se necesita para la alegría la consumen en mantener vivo un agravio. No han comprendido una de las verdades más simples y a la vez más profundas de la existencia: la vida es un suspiro, un ciclo constante de dar y recibir. Lo que hoy siembro con mis acciones, es la cosecha que recogeré mañana. Si lanzo espinas, ¿cómo puedo esperar caminar descalzo sin herirme?
Como bien dijo el gran Nelson Mandela, quien tuvo más motivos que nadie para vivir resentido: "El resentimiento es como beber veneno y esperar que mate a tus enemigos." Durante años, yo mismo bebí de ese veneno en pequeños sorbos, creyendo que me hacía más fuerte, que me protegía de futuras heridas. Pero la única verdad es que me estaba pudriendo por dentro. La ofensa original ya había pasado, el daño ya estaba hecho, pero era yo quien lo revivía cada día, dándole poder sobre mi presente.
Perdonar, entonces, se convierte en el antídoto. Y aquí quiero ser honesto, sin cinismo alguno. Hay ofensas que rasgan el alma y dejan cicatrices imborrables. Perdonar no es un acto mágico que borra el dolor ni justifica la falta. No es olvidar. ¿Cómo podría pedirle a alguien que olvide una traición profunda o una pérdida irreparable? Entonces, ¿qué es perdonar de verdad?
Para mí, perdonar es un acto de egoísmo sublime. Es decidir, conscientemente, que ya no permitiré que el veneno de otro siga corriendo por mis venas. Es soltar el ancla que me mantiene atado a un pasado doloroso para poder navegar hacia nuevos horizontes. Quien perdona de verdad no guarda rencor, porque entiende que el rencor solo lo lastima a él mismo. Es un acto de liberación personal. Como lo expresó el teólogo Lewis B. Smedes: "Perdonar es liberar a un prisionero y descubrir que el prisionero eras tú."
Hoy, después de tantas batallas libradas —algunas ganadas, otras perdidas—, puedo decir que me siento ligero. Esa ligereza no viene de una vida sin problemas, sino de haber aprendido a soltar las piedras que acumulé en el morral. Pese a todo lo negativo que he vivido, me siento libre, porque entendí que mi paz es más valiosa que mi orgullo herido.
Así que te pregunto, a ti que me lees: ¿Qué peso estás cargando hoy? ¿Esa ofensa que guardas te está dando fuerza o te la está robando? La vida es demasiado corta para vivirla con el ceño fruncido y el corazón blindado. Quizá sea el momento de mirar esa herida, no para hurgar en ella, sino para limpiarla, dejar que el aire la seque y permitirle, por fin, cicatrizar. Y tú, ¿qué cadenas invisibles estás dispuesto a romper hoy para empezar a caminar más ligero?
He transitado por este mundo más de seis décadas, un tiempo suficiente para ver cómo las estaciones cambian no solo en el paisaje, sino también en el alma de las personas. En este largo caminar, he llegado a una conclusión que hoy siento la necesidad de compartir: el rencor es la más pesada de las cargas y, paradójicamente, una que elegimos llevar cada día.
Lo defino, quizás de manera atrevida, como un instinto puramente humano. No hablo del instinto animal, ese fogonazo de defensa o agresión que se disipa. Hablo de algo más complejo, una construcción de la mente y la emoción que se aferra a nosotros como una segunda piel. Es un resentimiento que echó raíces, un eco persistente de una ofensa que nos negamos a dejar morir. He visto este eco resonar en los lugares más insospechados. Lo vi en los bancos de iglesias, en personas que se daban golpes de pecho hablando de amor y perdón, mientras sus miradas delataban una hostilidad enquistada, una cuenta pendiente con alguien que ni siquiera estaba presente. ¿De qué sirve la plegaria si el corazón sigue siendo una piedra?
Cortesía de Pixabay
El rencor tiene un rostro, y no es un rostro amable. Se manifiesta en esas caras acartonadas, en las mandíbulas apretadas de quienes viven en un estado de amargura perpetua. Son rostros que han perdido la capacidad de sonreír con franqueza, porque la energía que se necesita para la alegría la consumen en mantener vivo un agravio. No han comprendido una de las verdades más simples y a la vez más profundas de la existencia: la vida es un suspiro, un ciclo constante de dar y recibir. Lo que hoy siembro con mis acciones, es la cosecha que recogeré mañana. Si lanzo espinas, ¿cómo puedo esperar caminar descalzo sin herirme?
Como bien dijo el gran Nelson Mandela, quien tuvo más motivos que nadie para vivir resentido: "El resentimiento es como beber veneno y esperar que mate a tus enemigos." Durante años, yo mismo bebí de ese veneno en pequeños sorbos, creyendo que me hacía más fuerte, que me protegía de futuras heridas. Pero la única verdad es que me estaba pudriendo por dentro. La ofensa original ya había pasado, el daño ya estaba hecho, pero era yo quien lo revivía cada día, dándole poder sobre mi presente.
Perdonar, entonces, se convierte en el antídoto. Y aquí quiero ser honesto, sin cinismo alguno. Hay ofensas que rasgan el alma y dejan cicatrices imborrables. Perdonar no es un acto mágico que borra el dolor ni justifica la falta. No es olvidar. ¿Cómo podría pedirle a alguien que olvide una traición profunda o una pérdida irreparable? Entonces, ¿qué es perdonar de verdad?
Para mí, perdonar es un acto de egoísmo sublime. Es decidir, conscientemente, que ya no permitiré que el veneno de otro siga corriendo por mis venas. Es soltar el ancla que me mantiene atado a un pasado doloroso para poder navegar hacia nuevos horizontes. Quien perdona de verdad no guarda rencor, porque entiende que el rencor solo lo lastima a él mismo. Es un acto de liberación personal. Como lo expresó el teólogo Lewis B. Smedes: "Perdonar es liberar a un prisionero y descubrir que el prisionero eras tú."
Hoy, después de tantas batallas libradas —algunas ganadas, otras perdidas—, puedo decir que me siento ligero. Esa ligereza no viene de una vida sin problemas, sino de haber aprendido a soltar las piedras que acumulé en el morral. Pese a todo lo negativo que he vivido, me siento libre, porque entendí que mi paz es más valiosa que mi orgullo herido.
Así que te pregunto, a ti que me lees: ¿Qué peso estás cargando hoy? ¿Esa ofensa que guardas te está dando fuerza o te la está robando? La vida es demasiado corta para vivirla con el ceño fruncido y el corazón blindado. Quizá sea el momento de mirar esa herida, no para hurgar en ella, sino para limpiarla, dejar que el aire la seque y permitirle, por fin, cicatrizar. Y tú, ¿qué cadenas invisibles estás dispuesto a romper hoy para empezar a caminar más ligero?
Gracias a la amiga @issymarie2 y a @iriswrite por la gentil invitación a esta dinámica: Sombra silenciosa que devora el alma. Y me gustaría leer las entradas de @lauril y @tiffanny.
Creciendo como persona, busca y encuentra lo que necesitas para ser un mejor humano en la Comunidad Holos&Lotus. De seguro, hay un tema que te llamará la atención.
Infografía propia de la Comunidad Holos&Lotus
Dedicado a todos aquellos que, día a día, hacen del mundo un lugar mejor.
A Journey to Shed the Weight of Resentment
I have walked this earth for over six decades, long enough to have seen the seasons change, not only in the landscape but in the very souls of people. On this long journey, I have concluded that I now feel compelled to share: resentment is the heaviest of all burdens and, paradoxically, one we choose to carry each day.
I define it, perhaps boldly, as a purely human instinct. I am not speaking of animal instinct, that flash of defence or aggression that quickly dissipates. I speak of something more complex, a construct of the mind and emotion that clings to us like a second skin. It is a bitterness that has taken root, a persistent echo of an offence we refuse to let die. I have seen this echo resonate in the most unexpected of places. I saw it on church pews, in people beating their chests while speaking of love and forgiveness, yet whose gazes betrayed an entrenched hostility, an unsettled score with someone not even present. What good is prayer if the heart remains a stone?
Courtesy of Pixabay.
Resentment has a face, and it is not a kind one. It manifests itself in those hardened expressions, in the clenched jaws of those who live in a state of perpetual bitterness. They are faces that have lost the ability to smile openly, for the energy required for joy is consumed by keeping a grievance alive. They have not grasped one of the simplest yet most profound truths of existence: life is but a breath, a constant cycle of giving and receiving. What I sow today in my actions is the harvest I shall reap tomorrow. If I cast thorns, how can I expect to walk barefoot without being hurt?
As the great Nelson Mandela, who had more reason than anyone to live with resentment, wisely said: "Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies." For years, I drank that poison in small sips, believing it made me stronger, that it protected me from future wounds. But the only truth is that I was rotting from the inside. The original offence had long passed, the damage was already done, but it was I who relived it every day, giving it power over my present.
Forgiveness, then, becomes the antidote. And here I wish to be honest, without a trace of cynicism. Some offences tear at the soul and leave indelible scars. Forgiveness is not a magic act that erases the pain, nor does it justify the wrong. It is not forgetting. How could I ask someone to forget a profound betrayal or an irreparable loss? So, what does it mean to truly forgive?
For me, to forgive is an act of sublime selfishness. It is to consciously decide that I will no longer allow another’s poison to run through my veins. It is to release the anchor that keeps me tethered to a painful past, so that I might sail towards new horizons. One who truly forgives does not harbour resentment, because they understand that resentment only harms themselves. It is an act of personal liberation. As the theologian Lewis B. Smedes put it: "To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."
Today, after so many battles fought —some won, others lost— I can say that I feel light. This lightness does not come from a life without problems, but from having learnt to let go of the stones I had gathered in my pack. Despite all the negativity I have experienced, I feel free, because I understood that my peace is more valuable than my wounded pride.
And so I ask you, who are reading this: what weight are you carrying today? That offence you are holding on to —is it giving you strength, or stealing it from you? Life is too short to be lived with a furrowed brow and a shielded heart. Perhaps it is time to look at that wound, not to pick at it, but to cleanse it, let the air dry it, and finally, allow it to heal. And you— what invisible chains are you willing to break today, to begin walking a little lighter?
Thanks to our friends @issymarie2 and @iriswrite for the kind invitation to this dynamic: Silent Shadow That Devours the Soul. And I'd like to read posts by @atreyuserver and @chironga67.
Growing as a person, seek and find what you need to be a better person in the Holos&Lotus Community. Surely, there's a topic that will catch your attention.
Community's own infographic Holos&Lotus
🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆
Dedicated to all those who, day after day, make the world a better place.
Dedicado a todos aquellos que, día a día, hacen del mundo un lugar mejor.
A Journey to Shed the Weight of Resentment
I have walked this earth for over six decades, long enough to have seen the seasons change, not only in the landscape but in the very souls of people. On this long journey, I have concluded that I now feel compelled to share: resentment is the heaviest of all burdens and, paradoxically, one we choose to carry each day.
I define it, perhaps boldly, as a purely human instinct. I am not speaking of animal instinct, that flash of defence or aggression that quickly dissipates. I speak of something more complex, a construct of the mind and emotion that clings to us like a second skin. It is a bitterness that has taken root, a persistent echo of an offence we refuse to let die. I have seen this echo resonate in the most unexpected of places. I saw it on church pews, in people beating their chests while speaking of love and forgiveness, yet whose gazes betrayed an entrenched hostility, an unsettled score with someone not even present. What good is prayer if the heart remains a stone?
Courtesy of Pixabay.
Resentment has a face, and it is not a kind one. It manifests itself in those hardened expressions, in the clenched jaws of those who live in a state of perpetual bitterness. They are faces that have lost the ability to smile openly, for the energy required for joy is consumed by keeping a grievance alive. They have not grasped one of the simplest yet most profound truths of existence: life is but a breath, a constant cycle of giving and receiving. What I sow today in my actions is the harvest I shall reap tomorrow. If I cast thorns, how can I expect to walk barefoot without being hurt?
As the great Nelson Mandela, who had more reason than anyone to live with resentment, wisely said: "Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies." For years, I drank that poison in small sips, believing it made me stronger, that it protected me from future wounds. But the only truth is that I was rotting from the inside. The original offence had long passed, the damage was already done, but it was I who relived it every day, giving it power over my present.
Forgiveness, then, becomes the antidote. And here I wish to be honest, without a trace of cynicism. Some offences tear at the soul and leave indelible scars. Forgiveness is not a magic act that erases the pain, nor does it justify the wrong. It is not forgetting. How could I ask someone to forget a profound betrayal or an irreparable loss? So, what does it mean to truly forgive?
For me, to forgive is an act of sublime selfishness. It is to consciously decide that I will no longer allow another’s poison to run through my veins. It is to release the anchor that keeps me tethered to a painful past, so that I might sail towards new horizons. One who truly forgives does not harbour resentment, because they understand that resentment only harms themselves. It is an act of personal liberation. As the theologian Lewis B. Smedes put it: "To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."
Today, after so many battles fought —some won, others lost— I can say that I feel light. This lightness does not come from a life without problems, but from having learnt to let go of the stones I had gathered in my pack. Despite all the negativity I have experienced, I feel free, because I understood that my peace is more valuable than my wounded pride.
And so I ask you, who are reading this: what weight are you carrying today? That offence you are holding on to —is it giving you strength, or stealing it from you? Life is too short to be lived with a furrowed brow and a shielded heart. Perhaps it is time to look at that wound, not to pick at it, but to cleanse it, let the air dry it, and finally, allow it to heal. And you— what invisible chains are you willing to break today, to begin walking a little lighter?
I have walked this earth for over six decades, long enough to have seen the seasons change, not only in the landscape but in the very souls of people. On this long journey, I have concluded that I now feel compelled to share: resentment is the heaviest of all burdens and, paradoxically, one we choose to carry each day.
I define it, perhaps boldly, as a purely human instinct. I am not speaking of animal instinct, that flash of defence or aggression that quickly dissipates. I speak of something more complex, a construct of the mind and emotion that clings to us like a second skin. It is a bitterness that has taken root, a persistent echo of an offence we refuse to let die. I have seen this echo resonate in the most unexpected of places. I saw it on church pews, in people beating their chests while speaking of love and forgiveness, yet whose gazes betrayed an entrenched hostility, an unsettled score with someone not even present. What good is prayer if the heart remains a stone?
Courtesy of Pixabay.
Resentment has a face, and it is not a kind one. It manifests itself in those hardened expressions, in the clenched jaws of those who live in a state of perpetual bitterness. They are faces that have lost the ability to smile openly, for the energy required for joy is consumed by keeping a grievance alive. They have not grasped one of the simplest yet most profound truths of existence: life is but a breath, a constant cycle of giving and receiving. What I sow today in my actions is the harvest I shall reap tomorrow. If I cast thorns, how can I expect to walk barefoot without being hurt?
As the great Nelson Mandela, who had more reason than anyone to live with resentment, wisely said: "Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies." For years, I drank that poison in small sips, believing it made me stronger, that it protected me from future wounds. But the only truth is that I was rotting from the inside. The original offence had long passed, the damage was already done, but it was I who relived it every day, giving it power over my present.
Forgiveness, then, becomes the antidote. And here I wish to be honest, without a trace of cynicism. Some offences tear at the soul and leave indelible scars. Forgiveness is not a magic act that erases the pain, nor does it justify the wrong. It is not forgetting. How could I ask someone to forget a profound betrayal or an irreparable loss? So, what does it mean to truly forgive?
For me, to forgive is an act of sublime selfishness. It is to consciously decide that I will no longer allow another’s poison to run through my veins. It is to release the anchor that keeps me tethered to a painful past, so that I might sail towards new horizons. One who truly forgives does not harbour resentment, because they understand that resentment only harms themselves. It is an act of personal liberation. As the theologian Lewis B. Smedes put it: "To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."
Today, after so many battles fought —some won, others lost— I can say that I feel light. This lightness does not come from a life without problems, but from having learnt to let go of the stones I had gathered in my pack. Despite all the negativity I have experienced, I feel free, because I understood that my peace is more valuable than my wounded pride.
And so I ask you, who are reading this: what weight are you carrying today? That offence you are holding on to —is it giving you strength, or stealing it from you? Life is too short to be lived with a furrowed brow and a shielded heart. Perhaps it is time to look at that wound, not to pick at it, but to cleanse it, let the air dry it, and finally, allow it to heal. And you— what invisible chains are you willing to break today, to begin walking a little lighter?
Thanks to our friends @issymarie2 and @iriswrite for the kind invitation to this dynamic: Silent Shadow That Devours the Soul. And I'd like to read posts by @atreyuserver and @chironga67.
Growing as a person, seek and find what you need to be a better person in the Holos&Lotus Community. Surely, there's a topic that will catch your attention.
Community's own infographic Holos&Lotus
Dedicated to all those who, day after day, make the world a better place.
Dedicated to all those who, day after day, make the world a better place.