Transmissions From Alana Solomon

It is clear to me and I know it in my heart that one can forgive a person completely, not hold even a bit of hatred in one’s heart, yet still not approve of or understand the harm they have done & not want to ever see them again. With no dark bitter feeling. I wish I could explain this

Sometimes I think about the estranged and abusive persons who probably think I am so angry, but I forgive them all from the deepest part of my soul which only God knows

I also love all of God’s creatures, but do not hug snakes or scorpions

You don’t need to work things out with a person, be completely healed to forgive them, or even speak to them in order to forgive them; you don’t need to be all right with what they did to forgive them. And they don’t need to understand or acknowledge that what they did was wrong for you to forgive them either

The danger (socially, & possibly to their soul) is if you say “I have forgiven you” and they don’t understand what it means. If they think it means “we are good, it was no big deal, all is reconciled with you and me, with you and God” then that is a problem

But none of that impedes you from forgiving them in your heart. The way we function as communities and the way forgiveness is supposed to work within them has been shredded, but God never leaves us and it is always good to forgive in your heart

I was in Chicago on September 11th. Nearly 20 years old, hopping trains around the country. Staying at a punkflophouse.

Although I was in a city that day, this was an aberration on that months-long trip. For stretches of weeks I saw only rural areas, train yards, small towns, truck stops. Almost no media. Almost never indoors. Still a big blank spot regarding films, songs, events, books, pop culture from that year.

To experience the aftermath of this event in context, and at age 19-20, was incredibly strange, maybe.

I would walk across a field, go into a gas station in the middle of nowhere after hopping off a train, and the shock of all the lights and colors and products would overwhelm. This is surreal enough, but also, every surface seemed plastered with American flags and photographs of death and devastation. Dazed waitresses pouring coffee at truck stops with the same unreal footage silent on the muted news behind them. The flying J.

I have often wondered, what would it have been like to be away from a city that day, away from television and newspapers? What if I’d wandered out of a trainyard, across some highway, and into news of this horror, a week, two weeks afterward? From a bewildered trucker, or told by some old yard hobo who I’d regard skeptically?

But really, I do not think it would have made any difference in my understanding