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For eight years,
there was someone who pressed me down.
He took what was mine
and pushed me into the mire.
For eight years, I lived cursing him.
Because he had stolen what belonged to me.
For eight years, I lived in hell.
Then one day, I realized:
what he took from me
was not only money and time.
What he tore away from my life
carried with it a burden of karmic debt,
equal in weight to what was lost.
He stole my light,
but he also took upon himself the shadow
that clung to that light.
That shadow,
I doubt his eyes could ever see.
The moment I understood this,
a strange, deep gratitude
rose up within me
toward the one who had robbed me.
From the day he stole from me,
my own burdens began to shed,
one thin layer at a time.
The debt I had to repay
had quietly disappeared.
What greater blessing could there be?
And so these days,
I am unhurried.
I live with room to breathe.
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