Mercy, Freedom and the Flow

For the first time in my life, it feels like words are not enough.

During seasons of change, heartache, loneliness, and even joy, I have found solace in language. In the stringing together of ideas. Words have enabled me to know my own mind and be comfortable with uncertainty—because there is always certainty within.

But since my mom passed, I have experienced the sorts of things that words just fail to match. It is nearly impossible to describe a profound spiritual experience with ordinary language. Words are linear. Time, I am learning, is not.

Which is not to say that I’m moving to the Himalayas to live in a cave and meditate as pages go flying off the calendar. I don’t feel like the Master of the Universe. Some days, I don’t even feel like a good person. I still struggle to tell people how I feel when it counts. There are still days when I would rather have a screaming match than a polite exchange of concerns. It’s quicker and readily leads to an emotional release. My fight face masquerades as a smile, and underneath, I’m wondering why the Aquinnah Solution is not the same as the Obvious Solution.

So, no, I’m not trying on sainthood or putting myself on a pedestal. I’m simply aware that something is changing and that I can no longer count on a well-constructed sentence or paragraph to take me where I want to go.

The journey is going to require more than that now.

Compassion -> Mercy

I keep coming back to the concept of mercy.

I’ve been fiercely loyal for as long as I can remember, and when I finally began to understand self-love, I made myself a recipient of that loyalty. But standing by your friends in times of need is not the same as seeking vengeance upon those who did them harm.

If mercy is compassion in action, then losing my mom brought me to point A. It’s up to me to see it through to point B.

Meditation has been a good friend to me during these learnings. It doesn’t require absolute solitude or a blank mind. My alarm goes off, I think, “New day,” and then I see what else arises. There’s the lingering stress from yesterday and the knot in my shoulder from a restless night. There are the things I want to say and won’t because, underneath, I do care.

And then, after a while, there’s quiet.

Because all those thoughts are just… thoughts. I exist apart from them. And that is a beautiful thing.

When overwhelm strikes, I try to pause for EFT tapping. Energetic clearings have done wonders for my health over the last couple of years, but sometimes, I’m left to my own devices. EFT is great for that.

But aside from systems and strategies, I’m trying to tap into a sense of flow around mercy. Key word there is trying. It will take some time to sit back and let it work its magic… but when it does?

Something big is coming.

Faucet -> Flow

One of my favorite quotes about writing is from Louis L’Amour. It says, “Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”

I think that applies to so many things. Not just writing but the visual arts, music, the performing arts, and the healing arts.

The longer we stare at the blank page, the more imposing it becomes. But turn on the faucet—even a trickle to begin—and everything changes. The words or notes unravel into a story. Your brushstrokes become shapes. The person in front of you has a breakthrough as ballerinas pique in perfect synchronicity.

Are those things trivial? To some, maybe. But not to the Flow.

The Flow is vast and old and knows that the act of creation is never just a drop in the ocean. As Rumi said, “You are the ocean in a drop.”

I think that with mercy comes a deeper capacity to create, not as a reward for good behavior, but because when we put compassion into action, the overflow can’t be contained. We bubble over with the same grace that has been shown to us.

And maybe words are not enough for that. Maybe they never will be.

But I think this work still matters. I hope it matters.

These sentences can’t carry me, and in that knowledge, I am free.

Photo by Dmitry Osipenko on Unsplash