"Is it not the greatest irony that in our quest for goodness, we often find ourselves entangled in the very fabric of wrongness?"

It's a curious paradox, really—the notion of human goodness. Why is it that the heart forgives, yet the mind seeks justice?

Isn't it so very weird how the heart can be such a peaceful, tentative place and simultaneously below the bloodiest battleground?

The timid sun, as if to answer my question began to tentatively and very gently peeked through the curtain, as if it was very afraid of irritating me.

My optic nerve which had adapt to the dark surrounding of night was irritated however, following that, my eyelids fall down slightly, as if to declare the lord of day for its failing.

But, I forgive you, the Sun. For it was your duty to light up the world for the longest of time.

"Hah."

We are so very proud of ourselves aren't we? On our ability to forgive, and to rise above the petty grievances that litter our everyday lives, and yet, isn't it just as easy to wield forgiveness like a weapon?

Let's, for argument sake, say, a person exists, and they wrongs you, perhaps in a way that feels unforgivable, in a vomit inducing way.

That imaginary person steal your trust, your smile, your goodness, your very essence.

And, lets say, after they mutilated and tear down your heart into hundreds of millions little pieces, left you alone, so that you could pick those tiny dust up and mend it yourself.

In such moment of betrayal, do we not feel an overwhelming urge to retaliate?

To lash out?

In that state, would you used up your lifetime to collect those little pieces, or rather pick up the stone by your foot and threw at them.

It's a natural instinct, isn't it? Almost animalistic, to choose the more satisfying and easier option.

Because, If only you could follow your violent thoughts, if only you could be satisfied, even lightly, the abyss should be a very peaceful resting place, no?

But if so, I would have a question then—did you agree or not, the offender be the one to mend what they've broken, to shoulder the burden of their misdeeds?

Unfortunately, this question assumes that you have already return the deeds, so shouldn't that ceremony required for forgiveness be necessary no more?

Let's, for the neurotypical peasants, dumb it down further.

Imagine a labyrinth, a maze woven with the threads of our choices.

Every turn, each decision and action leads us deeper into the reflection.

If we hold, lets say tightly to the idea that, those who do wrong must seek redemption, aren't we simultaneously shackling ourselves to the notion of vengeance?

Because, if your forgiveness requires the notion of redemption, or guilt, is that truly forgiveness?

Again, Imagine, if you will, but this time a world where every slight, every wrongs, is met with an equal and opposite reaction.

A world of complete and utter justice, where vengeance begets vengeance, and the fires of retribution consumes all.

In this hypothetical inferno, would you not be curious?

What becomes of the soul?

Does it not wither under the weight of its own bitterness, like a flower deprived of sunlight?

If a person wrongs another, shouldn't they, as we discussed, be compelled to mend the one they've harmed instead?

But, should we really demand restitution? A payment for the emotional, and in some cases psychological debts incurred?

However, the assumption stands, you have already executed the plan of your revenge.

But, if we went deeper into the, said, Labyrinth, into that moral fog of a maze, I find myself questioning: can a truly good person forgive someone who has committed a grievous wrong?

The very act of forgiveness implies a kind of moral superiority, doesn't it?

But then again, what does it mean to be "good"?

Is it enough to just refrain from wrongdoing, or for the neurotypicals, avenging, or must one actively seek to uplift those who have caused them pain?

Imagine, again, a world where you've been wronged—betrayed, perhaps.

The natural response is to recoil, to shut down like a clam, or more naturally return the favour to them, in the most horrifying act that is available to you?

But what if the wrongdoer comes crawling back, begging for forgiveness?

Do we, lets say for argument sake, as good people, hold the power to absolve them?

Or do we risk becoming complicit in their misdeeds by accepting their apologies too readily?

Let's consider the story of the prodigal son, shall we? A story which I am extremely fond of.

The son squanders his inheritance, indulging in a life of excess and folly, only to return home, hat in hand, seeking forgiveness.

The father, with an unconditional, biased love, welcomes him back with open arms, an undeserved forgiveness, you could say, after the betrayal, quite sweet, if it was told from the "Prodigal son's" point of view.

But what of the brother left behind, the one who toiled in silence while his sibling enjoyed the money he'd squanders, in reckless abaddon?

Is it fair to ask him to forgive?

Is it really fair to condemn that man if, for the conversation, say, he refuses to forgive?

To refuse embracing his brother once more, as if nothing ever transpired?

And, even if he act like the good boy and wished to forgive his brother, what evidence does the brother have that will convince him that he would steal no more?

And, again, for argument sake, what if he, the prodigal son steal once more. Wouldn't the blame be entirely be upon the biased father and the faithful brother?

Going back to the question, it's weird isn't it?

The possibility in our quest for compassion, we might inadvertently foster a breeding ground for more wrongdoing, as if kindness were a breeding ground for moral apathy.

Should one offer forgiveness, or should one demand accountability?

It's a paradox that lazily dances on the edge of absurdity.

If the victim, say the faithful son in this case, had choosen forgiveness, is he not simply enabling the thief's, or for this case, the prodigal son's eventual decay once more?

But, if he had refuses to forgive, does he not risk becoming the very embodiment of bitterness, he feared to become?

I lean towards the idea that forgiveness is not only a gift, but also a necessity and health for one's own soul, however, in case you have no faith, for your mental well being let's say.

To forgive, as I trust, is to free oneself, yourself, and your surroundings from the chains of resentment, which, I regret to inform you, can grew as time passes.

But, in any case the faithful son may misunderstand, I am not ignoring the darker, bitter side of this coin, as one might misunderstood.

I would, let's say as the father, hug and whispered to his ears, there is a fine line between forgiveness and enabling.

But, if he asked, "Then what is the line, father? Tell me, for I have failed and wished not to repeat." How should I answer?

Should I told him, "I've been told that forgiveness is a gift, a way to liberate oneself from the shackles of resentment."

Would he then believed it?

But then again, what if he ask, "Can a truly good heart forgive a grievous wrong of my brother? And, what in fact, is forgiveness?"

How then, would I answer?

If I speak more, would it not be a dangerous territory where the wrongdoer may feel justified in their actions, simply because they are met with understanding rather than accountability?

In the grand schemes of things however, we are all, not just him and his brother, and by that grace, the both of us also are the wrongdoer and the wronged.

But, in the end, I still can not answer, can we, as a flawed organism truly forgive?