MERCY
is our merciless witness, waiting patiently for us, through every one of our unforgiving days, until the very last days of our lives. Mercy is a sharp, double edged sword: it tells us there are gifts beyond our power and our need for control waiting to be given to us, but that the way we are, and the very way we are living in this world, are our very obstacles to receiving them.
Mercy lies in the invisible, both in what lies beyond our ken, but also what we ignore in everything that is visible in our lives: the rising moon, the easy give and take of the ocean, the changing storm filled skies, or the miracle of a daughter’s eyes: eyes that are eyes, as Antonio Machado said, not because you see them, but because they look back and see you.
Mercy is difficult because it seems to want us to unite one separate life with all other lives in the same bodily understanding, and in our poignant end, to unite our life and our death in one understanding.
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