My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at

My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at

22/09/2025
22/10/2025

My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.

My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at
My mother's face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at

Host: The light in the café had softened, casting long shadows across the table where Jack and Jeeny sat. The atmosphere felt contemplative, the quiet murmur of conversation blending with the soft clink of coffee cups. Jack seemed distant, his fingers lightly tracing the rim of his coffee cup as he stared out the window, lost in thought. Jeeny, sensing his introspective mood, gave him a moment before speaking.

Host: After a while, Jack looked up, his expression thoughtful and a bit heavy.

Jack: “I came across a quote by Sylvia Plath today. She said, ‘My mother’s face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.’ It made me think about guilt, forgiveness, and how the weight of our actions can affect the people closest to us. The idea of doing something that causes pain to someone you love, and the long road to forgiveness, is something we all experience in some form. What do you think? Can forgiveness ever really erase the weight of guilt?”

Jeeny’s eyes softened, and she leaned forward slightly, clearly engaged by the depth of his question. Her voice was gentle but filled with understanding.

Jeeny: “I think Sylvia Plath’s words show just how complicated guilt and forgiveness are. Guilt is something that can weigh heavily on you, especially when you’ve caused someone you love to suffer. It’s not always something you can easily forgive yourself for, even when others choose to forgive you. But forgiveness — whether from others or from ourselves — is a process. It doesn’t erase the past, but it can provide a sense of release, of healing. What’s powerful here is the mother’s choice to forgive, despite the pain. It shows that forgiveness is often a choice we make, not just for the other person but for our own peace.”

Host: Jack nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling in. The café seemed quieter now, as though the conversation had opened a door to deeper reflection.

Jack: “But does forgiveness ever really make the guilt go away? I mean, it’s one thing to be forgiven by someone else, but how do we truly forgive ourselves when the damage we’ve caused is so heavy?”

Jeeny’s smile was soft, her eyes steady as she responded.

Jeeny: “Forgiving yourself is often the hardest part. The guilt can linger because we have a tendency to hold onto the idea that our mistakes define us. But forgiveness — both from others and from ourselves — isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about accepting that we’re human, that we make mistakes, and that we can learn and grow from them. The key is in compassion, both for others and for ourselves. It’s about recognizing that we’re not perfect, but we can still move forward with a sense of understanding and healing.”

Host: Jack seemed to reflect on her words, his fingers still on his mug as he thought about the deep complexity of guilt and forgiveness. The world outside the café continued its usual rhythm, but inside, the conversation had turned into something more profound.

Jack: “So, forgiveness doesn’t necessarily erase the guilt, but it allows us to move forward, to stop being weighed down by the past. It’s about releasing the hold that guilt has over us so that we can find peace.”

Jeeny nodded, her eyes filled with quiet affirmation.

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s not about forgetting or pretending it didn’t happen. It’s about finding a way to live with the past and still find a way to move forward. Forgiveness is a form of freedom — it releases the hold that guilt and shame can have on us, giving us the chance to grow, heal, and rebuild.”

Host: Jack leaned back in his chair, a small smile forming on his lips as the realization settled in. The café felt quieter now, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air, but also offering a sense of clarity — that forgiveness, both given and received, doesn’t erase the past but allows us to free ourselves from the weight of it. The world outside continued on, but inside, Jack and Jeeny shared a quiet understanding that guilt is something we all carry, but forgiveness gives us the chance to put it down and move forward.

Sylvia Plath
Sylvia Plath

American - Poet October 27, 1932 - February 11, 1963

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