Little Hinges
I read about some people who saw the boys who eventually killed him, lead toddler Jamie Bolger to his death in Manchester in 1992. These people sensed something wasn't right about the toddler being with two older boys, and thought about saying something, but didn't.

In March 2001, the German trawler Hansa, sank near the Scottish Isle of Mull with a 16-man fishing crew. The last man rescued was Juan Jesus Caamano. Despite losing a liferaft and being buffeted by high winds, he held on to his brother-in-law in the icy waters of the Atlantic. He had clung to Victor Bretal Santos for 12 hours until the pain in his arms became unbearable, and he had to let him go. Five minutes later, a rescue helicopter arrived.

I read about a couple who had an argument at breakfast - shortly before he stepped onto one of the planes that crashed into the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001.

And here we are. The great unforgiven. Every day the same. We torment ourselves with thoughts of what if. What if we had said or done something? What if we had just said a word? Just made a gesture. And we carry these burdens because we have forgotten we are imperfect human beings; by our very nature we don't always do or say the right thing at the right time; we don't always make the right decisions. And for these 'sins', some people try to punish themselves by denying themselves a future, by locking themselves in a past that no longer serves them, or anybody else. And though no one has condemned them, they still condemn themselves.

One of the most spiritual pieces of writing I have ever read has, perhaps, an answer. It comes from Abel, the main character in W H Hudson's Green Mansions, and it comes at a time of his deepest anguish.

In those darkest days in the forest I had her as a visitor - a Rima of the mind, whose words when she spoke reflected my despair. Yet even then I was not entirely without hope. Heaven itself, she said, could not undo that which I had done; and she also said that if I forgave myself, Heaven would say no word, nor would she. That is my philosophy still: prayers, austerities, good works - they avail nothing, and there is no intercession, and outside of the soul there is no forgiveness in heaven or earth for sin. Nevertheless there is a way, which every soul can find out for itself-even the most rebellious, the most darkened with crime and tormented by remorse. In that way I have walked; and, self-forgiven and self-absolved, I know that if she were to return once more and appear to me - even here where her ashes are - I know that her divine eyes would no longer refuse to look into mine, since the sorrow which seemed eternal and would have slain me to see would not now be in them.

Little Hinges takes up the theme of self-forgiveness, and suggests that with just a little effort, a little self-forgiveness, we will come to realise that the heavy, closed doors of our guilt are hung on little hinges, and with just a push we can open them, and ourselves, to the world again. We will realise that although we are imperfect by nature, we can still make a contribution to the world, and indeed atone for any transgressions - real or imaginary, by choosing to forgive ourselves, first, and then move on to write the next chapter in the book of our own lives.

Written by Con Meehan
© 2003 Lightning Bird Records Ltd.
℗ 2003 Lightning Bird Records Ltd.
All rights reserved.