Valentina was one of the most beloved nuns of the Order. Kind, cheerful, warm, and intelligent, she moved easily among the different circles of the congregation. An aerospace engineer with a solid career built at a famous aviation company, a poet of rare sensitivity, a devoted wife and mother. With long black hair, expressive eyes, and an elegant figure, she stood out for her beauty, both physical and spiritual, at fifty years old, just recently completed. She had joined the sisterhood shortly after I had. Our friendship was immediate. I knew her family and admired them for the harmony, respect, and love they showed one another. She was at the monastery for another study retreat. However, this time, the engineer was behaving differently. Quiet and withdrawn, she disappeared during the breaks between lectures and courses, taking long walks in the mountains. I found her behaviour strange. When I tried to approach her to talk and check if everything was all right, though she remained polite, she always found some excuse to avoid the conversation. Clearly, something had gone wrong. I mentioned the poet’s distant behaviour to the Elder, as we affectionately called the oldest monk in the Order, while he trimmed the roses in the monastery’s inner garden. “She’s hiding from herself,” the Elder remarked, without pausing in his work. I found that even stranger. Before I could ask, the kind monk explained: “There are several reasons that can lead a person to behave like that. Trauma is the most common cause. Depending on how the experience was processed in the laboratory of the soul, it can generate shame.” I asked what gives rise to shame. The Elder explained, “The difficulty in dealing with reality. When that happens, we lie or we hide. Shame follows closely behind guilt. For not having acted differently when the situation occurred, the person throws an unreasonable weight onto their own shoulders. An unnecessary burden. Depending on the situation, it can trigger a feeling of destruction, as if the image the person holds of themselves had been shredded by the facts. We lose all reference to who we are. It’s very serious. A misguided mental construct, built from poorly processed emotions, can bring someone down.”
I said that Valentina needed help. The Elder nodded and added, “Being withdrawn is, in some way, a cry for help, even if still unconscious. I tried to speak with her, but was unsuccessful. She changed the subject and walked away. Until there is inner readiness, no help will be possible. A firm and sincere will on Valentina’s part to leave the dark place where she put herself is essential if she’s to rediscover her beautiful light, which for now is lost.” I argued that maybe she hadn’t placed herself in the dark, but had been pushed there by the force of a brutal event. The kind monk explained, “We fall into the shadowy side of life by carelessness, unpreparedness, or even by choice. The shadows don’t always hold us by brutality; more often, they use tricks of seduction. Victimhood is the most common.” He paused before adding, “I don’t believe that’s the case with the nun. I suspect there’s another feeling, still unacknowledged or suppressed, that at this moment is preventing her from moving to leave where she is. As long as she denies it, she will remain under the rule of her own misunderstanding.”
Before I could ask what feeling he was referring to, the kind monk handed me the pruning shears and asked me to help with the roses. I got the message. We worked silently for nearly the entire afternoon, until we were surprised by a familiar voice: “You said I could come when I felt ready to make this difficult but beautiful crossing to find my heart again and restore my lost peace. Here I am.”
It was Valentina. Her eyes looked shipwrecked in a storm of tears and suffering. The Elder arched his lips in a welcoming smile and hugged her tightly like a devoted father. He let her tears run their course. The kind monk asked if they could talk right there, sitting on the stone bench in the garden, away from the murmurs of the monastery. She said it was perfect. It would be a night without a moon and without clouds; soon, a blanket of stars would grace the moment, she said poetically. I made a move to leave them alone, but Valentina asked me to stay. Both the Elder and I had been godparents at her wedding. We had known each other for decades. We were friends. She wanted me to listen, and she also wanted to hear herself. We sat on the same bench, with the Elder between us. Without needing any prompting, the poet told how she had been caught off guard when Alfredo, her then-husband, asked for a divorce. In truth, she confessed, she had already noticed a change in his behaviour. Using work as an excuse, he was spending less and less time at home. Slowly, the affection between them and his attention to their children had waned. When questioned, her husband insisted everything was fine. After a few months, she began to accept his new behaviour as normal. She got used to what she should not and could not have gotten used to. Love strengthens relationships; it never causes them to fall apart. She admitted she forgot what she knew. She went silent for a moment, as if looking for the courage to continue. After a deep breath, she said the hardest blow was discovering they were separating because her husband had been involved for some time with Sofia, one of her best friends. They were in love and were going to live together. The deepest cut was finding out that nearly all the money withdrawn from the couple’s savings, supposedly to invest in the company where he was a partner, had been used to buy a house for Sofia, where they moved after the divorce. She wasn’t concerned about the money, as she had a solid career. What hurt was the lies and the betrayal. Or betrayals. Sofia was the godmother of one of the couple’s children, a frequent visitor to Valentina’s home, and one of the friends to whom she confided many things, including concerns about her husband’s changed behaviour.
She felt anger. Deep anger. She knew she needed to forgive. She understood the liberating power of forgiveness. She had even advised many people to forgive, so that resentment, a wound of the soul, would not be expelled through illness in the physical body. She needed to forgive so the past would no longer be a prison, transforming it into a school of love and dignity toward herself. Only then would she feel free and at peace again. Anger, hatred, resentment, and bitterness, variations of the same misunderstanding, imprison us more deeply than the cell of a maximum-security prison, which holds only the body. By narrowing the mind and poisoning the heart, anger and resentment shrink the spirit, the essence of who we are. To make things worse, they sour the place where we truly live. No matter the country or the street we live on, on a deeper level, each one of us lives within ourselves. We become less than we are. A waste. Although she knew everything about the theory of forgiveness, at that moment, she inhabited a dark and sorrowful place. She couldn’t apply the equations of knowledge to the problems of the heart. Why? She needed to understand. She confessed she wasn’t even sure if forgiveness truly existed.
The Elder listened to her without interruptions and, at the end, reflected: “Forgiveness is all of that and much more. It is the highest expression of love, for all the understanding and overcoming it demands, and of freedom, for the rescue it offers. It restores peace and dignity in how we treat ourselves and opens the path to happiness through the evolutionary step it enables.” He paused to begin his reasoning and said: “When the equations of knowledge seem not to dissolve the sufferings that cause so much damage, it means that the equation is wrong or incomplete in its elements. It becomes necessary to understand the phases of the process. Forgiveness is not just a desire. It is a construction. A work of mental and emotional engineering. As such, its steps follow a logic that, if ignored, forgiveness will be no more than a paper building in which no one can find shelter.” He paused before concluding: “Yes, forgiveness protects us from ourselves.”
Valentina asked him to explain further. The Elder was didactic: “The anger we feel doesn’t come from the person who hurt us. It is ours. It has always been inside us, latent, waiting for a moment of lack of control to emerge. This is the key point. It is not a battle against anyone else, but the inner construction of a bridge that will allow us to cross the abyss of suffering.” He looked at the nun and said sweetly: “Yes, those who are angry suffer. A lot. The faster you build the bridge, the fewer the consequences of suffering.” She closed her eyes in agreement. The good monk warned her: “Every construction has a method and foundations. Without understanding the process, you will remain lost within yourself. You won’t be able to build the bridge to cross the dark precipice that prevents you from moving forward.”
The nun asked why she couldn’t forgive. “Because you feel anger,” answered the good monk. Valentina argued that she wanted to forgive precisely so she wouldn’t feel angry anymore. A feeling that poisoned her. She wanted to heal. The Elder explained: “The sacred books, as well as the ancient sages, taught us the immeasurable value of forgiveness. They are absolutely right. Not a comma should be changed in the valuable teachings handed down to humanity. However, while anger predominates in your heart, there will be no room for forgiveness.” She said she wasn’t understanding. She wanted to know if time would heal her, as many say. He clarified: “Time heals nothing. Time is just a road we must make use of and travel. Without the correct movements, we will never get out of place. Time is useless for those who do not understand that all change happens within us and only then manifests in life. For these people, the hours of centuries are of no use. They will remain stuck in their own misunderstandings.”
He paused to return to the heart of the matter and disconcerted us: “Feel the anger. Allow all the anger burning in your guts to pulse. You have that right for what was done to you. Don’t try to expel the anger, but embrace it, welcome it, and let it overflow until it is spent. As long as you punish yourself for feeling it or deny its existence, it will dominate you.” Then he made an important caveat: “However, never allow yourself to do any harm because of anger. These are different things. If you do, you will get involved in poison and quicksand. It will be much harder to return to the axis of light that, for now, has shifted. There will be much regret. However, don’t chastise yourself for feeling anger in the heat of the moment. It’s normal. Don’t blame yourself for your feelings; just be careful to know what to do with them. You must be in control of your anger, never the opposite. Inside each person pulse the best and worst feelings. Understanding how to deal with them defines who we are and our immediate future. Some allow themselves to be dominated by dense feelings and end up falling into madness, revenge in its many forms, and even crime. The news reports these sad stories every day. Anger cannot become fuel for any evil, whether toward others or yourself. Never become a bitter person, disbelieving in love and life because of other people’s behaviour. Use as an example those who, wisely, use anger as a drive to discover themselves more and better or as a tool for achievements long delayed. Like taking a sailing trip around the world, climbing a mountain, developing an untested gift, changing professions to pursue a dream never confessed, writing a book, among a thousand other possibilities.” He smiled and suggested: “Choose yours. Take this opportunity to learn how to direct your feelings as instruments of self-development. All, absolutely all, feelings serve the highest purposes when guided with love and wisdom, serenity and boldness.” Then he continued: “Anger is a pulsing energy that should be used to accomplish something that moves you forward. When you allow it, and nothing prevents you, , before you know it, the anger will have dissolved to give way to the joy born from a new achievement. Then you must be thankful for having lived the difficult, yet beautiful, transformative experience. Without the former, the latter wouldn’t exist.” Then he concluded: “Only then are we ready to forgive. The ground has been cleared; no structure can be built atop rubble. We may begin construction of the bridge.”
Valentina argued that if the anger had been spent, forgiveness had occurred. The Elder shook his head no: “A common mistake. What remains are the hurt and resentment which, in essence, are residues of anger and hatred. Every time you recall the events, you will be enveloped by a bad feeling. You will try not to remember, but no one forgets. We simply sweep the dirt into the basement of the house where we live, the unconscious. The pain we pretend doesn’t exist is still there. And it interferes a lot. This explains some of our reactions, which we often don’t even realize, but they throw us off balance. In the blink of an eye, we’ve already spoken or acted. We are taken over by an impulse faster than our ability to reason and reflect. The unconscious is this and more. We are more our unconscious than we can comprehend. Poorly processed experiences, the reasons for our fears and suffering, lie hidden, waiting for a cleanup. Forgiveness performs the cleansing of conscience, discarding everything that hurts and will harm us as long as it’s stored inside us. Discarding means learning, accepting, and using the facts as tools for transformation and, then, being able to turn the pages of memory without fear or pain. It is the definitive healing of emotional wounds. That’s how we pull out the evil that devours us. That’s the cure. One must be grateful for all the experiences provided by the school-workshop of life. Without the missteps and disasters, we would not be able to understand the perfection of life.”
The nun said she understood the equation of forgiveness. The initial stage would be to transmute anger through the practice of creative, unusual activities that generate good and well-being; the stage of forgiveness would follow. She wanted to know what the process of building forgiveness would be like in practice, after the anger had been spent. The Elder explained: “When you, instead of repressing or denying, acknowledge the existence and the just causes of anger, you begin an internal dialogue of understanding and resolution for your conflicts. By accepting and understanding anger, an inevitable part of who we are at our current stage of evolution, we gain the power to take control over our choices, preventing anger from dominating us and pushing us into the abyss of corrosive emotions and destructive actions. By channelling the dense feeling into the practice of good deeds, we exhaust it through transformation. From evil, we make good. Light is the natural consequence. The heart calms, the mind expands.” He paused again so that the reasoning could follow the logic: “Possessing knowledge doesn’t mean having it within you. Bringing a learned concept from school to the workshop for building a structure is what turns it into wisdom and evolution. We know we cannot demand from anyone the perfection we cannot offer. We have our own faults too. Without exception. Comparing our mistakes with those of others, claiming that ours are not as serious, is to use an ineffective argument; it’s like using other people as yardsticks to measure our size. Nothing could be more immature. If no one is like anyone else, comparing mistakes is like trying to find similarities between camels and tigers. We set aside the task of overcoming our own difficulties and imperfections to duel and defeat others. There will be no progress. We will always find those with higher and lower levels of awareness than ours. The electric current between the positive and negative poles of our days and of life, if well used, moves us toward the light. That virtue is called compassion, the alloy capable of uniting all stones under one purpose: the construction of the bridge of forgiveness.”
The Elder continued: “The next step is complete disconnection from those who harmed us. I’m not talking about avoiding all forms of interaction, that would be refusing to face the trials of forgiveness. There is no freedom in escape, only fear. Freedom arises from autonomy, acceptance, and enchantment with who we are.” For a moment, he observed one of the red roses near where we stood, gently ran his hand along its thorns without getting cut, and said: “Avoiding interaction would often make life even harder, as in the case of coworkers, family members, or people in the same social circle. What I mean is, do not meddle or go looking for news to find out if some divine punishment has been delivered or anything like that. Whether they are happy or not.” He smiled with resignation and pointed out: “Yes, it’s a common and petty habit. It is utter foolishness to believe the Cosmic Laws serve petty and personal revenge. That is the antithesis of forgiveness, due to a complete misunderstanding of its function, reach, and power. Such cosmic synchronicity and order aim at the education and evolution of all, applying the lessons each individual needs, no more, no less. ‘To each according to their works,’ an ancient master taught us. This is the Law from which no one escapes. It’s not about punishment, but about learning for the sake of evolution. Don’t let yourself be wasted by the harm others caused. Do your best, forgive. Trust yourself. Move internally, so you can move more and better through life and the world. In due time, everything finds its proper place. Inexorably”. Valentina revealed that what made her rage greater and forgiveness harder was that Alfredo and Sofia showed no remorse for what they had done. The Elder noted: “Forgiveness is a gesture of love and liberation. The one who is suffering and imprisoned is you. Waiting for someone’s remorse is to give them the power to heal you, allow you to love yourself again, and move on. It’s a permission that may never come. Forgiveness is a deeply personal act, and therefore, non-transferable. A movement that depends on no one else’s validation or action. It’s between you and yourself. There’s no reason to deny yourself the power and direction over your own life”. The engineer admitted that it bothered her that her children still got along with their father, even after everything. The kind monk pondered: “Thank goodness. Or would you rather that the couple’s separation meant the boys losing their father? There’s nothing that says mistakes in a marriage prevent someone from being a good parent. Haven’t the children already suffered enough from everything that happened? Wouldn’t it be worse if being with Alfredo was painful for them? To love them is to rejoice in knowing they are happy. Don’t turn the divorce into an unnecessary war where people have to take sides. Use it to reinvent yourself and begin a new chapter. The best parts of your story begin now.”
There were no more tears in Valentina’s eyes. Even if faint, a familiar light returned, one that had dimmed from so much suffering. The poet could clearly see all the stages she would need to go through to fully rebuild herself, and even though she would remain the same woman, she would become another, someone reborn within herself. The true meaning of transformation, the genuine magic of life. The light in her gaze came from the firm and sincere determination to build the bridge. Crossing it was a commitment she made to herself in that moment.
That very night, in the canteen, I noticed the first changes. Though her effort was evident, it didn’t take away from her. On the contrary, the intention behind the movement strengthened her. Valentina spoke with everyone, showing ease and warmth. Though subtle, something inside her had begun to shift. She was no longer the withdrawn woman who seemed ashamed of having been betrayed, as if that made her less or revealed her as incapable of maintaining a healthy, meaningful relationship. She had done nothing wrong. She had loved and acted ethically throughout the marriage. To each according to their works. She no longer wanted to waste time and energy judging anyone. She had too much to do for herself.
The following year, Valentina requested a break from her studies at the monastery. We later learned that she had arranged a sabbatical from her company. With her children’s support, and no trace of resentment, she left them with their father. For a while, we heard nothing from her. Until, unexpectedly, she showed up at the monastery. She brought Ragnar, her Norwegian boyfriend. She told us she had worked as a cook in Spain and a waitress in Croatia. In Greece, she taught diving. In Mykonos, she met Ragnar, a doctor who had been widowed for almost two years. They lived a passionate summer romance. Upon returning, not by chance, she learned that the airline she worked for was opening a representative office in Oslo. She applied. She was accepted immediately. Her children joined her, excited about living in a country with such a different culture. She reunited with Ragnar. As they lived together, passion turned into love.
Another year went by. The engineer returned. Her long black hair had been replaced by a short cut at the nape, which highlighted the intense light in her eyes and made her facial expressions more striking. She looked more beautiful than ever. She was happier than ever. She was healed. She had come to request Ragnar’s admission interview to the Order. He was enchanted by the opportunity to join the studies and self-awareness practices offered at the monastery. Valentina had shared many of the stories she had witnessed there. In some, she had been the protagonist; in others, a keen observer; in all, a handful of learning. Moreover, the poet had published another book, in which, through dozens of poems and illustrations, she dissected and deepened the details and intricacies of the construction and crossing of a bridge called forgiveness. At that moment, we were interrupted by the Elder entering the canteen, approaching with his slow but steady steps. Upon hearing the news, he smiled and asked about the title of the book. Valentina looked at the kind monk, winked as if no secrets were possible, returned the smile, and said: “Life is perfect.”
The Elder asked why she had chosen that title. The poet explained: “It’s impossible to reach this understanding before grasping the reasons behind life’s perfect imperfections.” The kind monk smiled with satisfaction.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
