Dear Miracle

Setting free the beautiful truth inside.

MERCY

7 Comments


Mercy

Photo by S. Wolfington

 It takes courage to tell you this

at the risk you’ll think less, nevertheless, I will.

I’ll tell you what depression is—like this—

a barren land leaning into forever,

a dark annhilation; it’s a

void of hope or imagination

when hell comes to pay a call.

And here’s the secret: I was just there.

But most of you would never know.

(You might even be there now, too.)

Truth as I saw it then, this life had been enough,

I was done.

But you think like that when you’re in hell.

And so began to envision, with each glass of water

that passed my lips, what I could do

with that and a few or more pills.

I didn’t exactly plan that I would, only imagined it so,

how it could be.

There was no more room for anything–

not in the cruelness of men or the ghosts denied, or

the self-deprivations while acting strong for everyone

visiting all at once in my life.

Orphans each of emotions

looking for the smallest drink of love.

Not that I wasn’t loved.

Not that I didn’t love in return, not that I didn’t care.

No, it wasn’t that at all.

It was the driest white bone of exhaustion,

all the lifetimes lived in the space of one.

It was like a gift

as I see it now.

I’ll tell you what strength is—like this—

strength is taking one small move in mercy’s direction,

even a flinch or a step,

towards whom and wherever it might be found.

When all you can say to anyone with kindness in their eyes,

to whatever’s holy or sacred paying attention,

help me, please.

And I did, because my life was leaving me,

just like the sea rushing back from the shore.

A gift, indeed.

A profound breaking, a leaving, then

a sad resurrection towards the miraculous while those that could,

in compassion, seen and unseen, walk me back to myself,

back to a kind of confounding beauty,

an uncertainty of what was to come.

And it was enough.

(We’re never really alone.)

Were I to be honest, the pull towards leaving

still haunts me once in awhile

when I imagine drinking that cup while tired, I forget

that mercy waits just past the next corner, the next fork in the road.

And I remember nothing is for certain for any of us,

and life and death have a way of reminding us

there’s nothing to control.

It’s a coming home again to myself,

wherein between staying or leaving,

I need only extend myself a whit to say help

to ask for mercy, please,

when hope is lost.

© 2015 Shoshana Wolfington

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Author: dearmiracle

The hardest thing you will ever do is tell yourself the truth. This is about that. Vulnerability, becoming comfortable with ambiguity and answers that don't always arrive when we think they should. Living in that liminal space, a threshold of not always knowing becomes a sweet spot, a place of opening again and again.

7 thoughts on “MERCY

  1. Poignant…

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  2. I have been in the abyss too many times to count. I am blessed by those who simply minister to me in my madness.

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  3. I’d like to make a small correction on the word “know” and add a “n” to make it known. opps.

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  4. I have not know depression in my life but your writing has let me see a glimmer or insight of life through your eyes. Please know I am never further than a phone call.

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    • Yvette, don’t you find that those fresh reminders seem to have an uncanny way of clearing space in your life for gratitude and bliss, to use an overworked word, once you climb out?

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    • You’ve been a good friend, Tom. You are fortunate. Depression often has a way, if you allow it, of clearing out a lot of cobwebs once you get through to the other side of it. It blows all the senses wide open leaving you humble and full of deep gratitude. Although I wouldn’t ever tell you to try it sometime in order to have that happen. Depression can be a life of its own.

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