They are real, the knots that naive, weak, malevolent, or fearful winds make of us, wrapping around and through us - leaving us like trees on unrepentant cliff faces, warped.
So we are often lost, without anyone to perform delicate attentive unravelings - particularly the transgressors - and we must do the action ourselves, an arduous process. It is hard to plainly ask redress from our transgressors - or even know who they are. Or know we need it. Or know what to ask for until we stumble upon it in a tumbled string of actions or phrases. Or know we were knotted until we release.