It can be so hard, and so painful, to apologise sometimes. But what would happen if we saw that rupture and repair were an inevitable part of every relationship? If we knew that it is the very act of repair that knits us together into something more real, more durable, more connected?



This week's Turning Towards Life is a conversation about a loving, mutually respectful, dignified path we can follow when we're in difficulty with others, hosted as always by Lizzie Winn and Justin Wise of Thirdspace.



This is Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by Thirdspace in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living. Find us on FaceBook to watch live and join in the lively conversation on this episode. You can find videos of every episode, and more about the project on the Turning Towards Life website, and you can also watch and listen on Instagram, YouTube, and as a podcast on Apple, Google and Spotify.

How to Apologise

by Ellen Bass



Cook a large fish—choose one with many bones, a skeleton

you will need skill to expose, maybe the flying

silver carp that’s invaded the Great Lakes, tumbling

the others into oblivion. If you don’t live

near a lake, you’ll have to travel.

Walking is best and shows you mean it,

but you could take a train and let yourself

be soothed by the rocking

on the rails. It’s permitted

to receive solace for whatever you did

or didn’t do, pitiful, beautiful

human. When my mother was in the hospital,

my daughter and I had to clear out the home

she wouldn’t return to. Then she recovered

and asked, incredulous,

/How could you have thrown out all my shoes/?

So you’ll need a boat. You could rent or buy,

but, for the sake of repairing the world,

build your own. Thin strips

of Western red cedar are perfect,

but don’t cut a tree. There’ll be

a demolished barn or downed trunk

if you venture further.

And someone will have a mill.

And someone will loan you tools.

The perfume of sawdust and the curls

that fall from your plane

will sweeten the hours. Each night

we dream thirty-six billion dreams. In one night

we could dream back everything lost.

So grill the pale flesh.

Unharness yourself from your weary stories.

Then carry the oily, succulent fish to the one you hurt.

There is much to fear as a creature

caught in time, but this

is safe. You need no defense. This

is just another way to know

you are alive.



Photo by Steve Mushero on Unsplash