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mercy street

Grace's fraternal twin sister, Mercy visits me from time to time. Sometimes Peter has to hit me over the head to acknolwdge it. And sometimes Mercy isn't sweet and supportive, but instead sad and rips and tears. Not because she means to cause pain, quite the contrary. But the cold hard reality is that to be able to greet Mercy, the scars have to be pierced. And that hurts. I remember being on my knees, looking for Mercy. She was there, looking over my shoulder. But unable to speak. I turned, seeing double from the tears and the fear. Mercy and Grace a fleeting vision as they looked at each other and walked. Unable to help except in my dreams. Until I could wear my inside out.

I press the string and a note sings. It's sweet, then it fades, only to be replaced by another as the key shifts. They move into the void in a vain attempt to fill it. The lesson that has to be learned again and again. There's tenderness in the void. The empty space between the notes. Trying to fill it chases the love and joy away. Let it sit. Damp the string and pause. Sit out a beat. Then ease in gently. There is a time to slap. And a time to let it bloom. And a time to sit out. Not quitting. There is a reason they call them rests. Another bar will come around. It always does. Until it doesn't. Then you're done. Try not to think about it, Alice. Say hello to Grace and Mercy.

Is this what I'm supposed to be doing? I guess we'll find out. Because if I don't at least ask the question, then I'll never know. And there are some things that you need to know. Or at least ask. Live the question...



This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on August 13, 2006 10:37 PM.

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