Beginning as such an overpowering experience of the waves I wanted to escape, but something in me prompted me to stay until it gave me its name; it’s name lamentation. I am in a swirl of lamentation, so much lamentation, named and unnamed, discombobulated, until perhaps 40 minutes later , the ebb and flow of mercy, mer-cy; I am in the strong steady embrace of MERCY. Have I been as Rilke says: to limits of my longing, where wrapped in ‘mercy upon mercy, upon mercy’ there is a path through lamentation cries of my city, my province, my country, my heart?
