I know pain;
kneeling by the side of the bed in the middle of the night, fearing the next
breath, wishing and praying for the dark creature within to twist the knife and
bring it all to an end. I do not know your pain.
I know fear;
the terror of the furious voice, or hearing the words that may end your life,
or at least life as you have known it, casting you into the depths of
hopelessness. I do not know your
fear.
I know loss;
the hollow emptiness of a vacated organ or friend or loved one, to suicide,
accidental death, miscommunication, cancer, or other illness. I do not know your loss.
I know anger;
the fire in the stomach that threatens to force its way out, with or without
permission, filling me with fear of repercussion if I let it out, or
consequences if I do not. I do not know your anger.
I know
despair; the slow slide from oblivion to the abyss, where one
contemplates unspeakable acts upon one’s own person, seeking only momentary
relief, with no real hope of achieving it.
I do not know your despair.
I know
ignorance; the exhaustible confusion of not knowing what to do, what can
be done, what should be done, what has been done. I do not know your ignorance.
I know
suffering; the heart wrenching ache that cannot be quenched, that
demands to be quenched, that can only by pacified a little at a time. I do not know your suffering.
I know
hatred; the all-encompassing abundance of wrongs done and wrongs received. I do not know your hatred.
I know shame;
hiding in the pit of my soul, regretting actions or inactions, thoughts and
desires. I do not know your
shame.
I know
forgiveness; of wrongs done and wrongs I have done, to myself and to
others. I forgive you. I forgive me.
I know mercy;
its starts by recognizing ourselves in each other, and treating each other with
loving kindness. I offer you mercy.
I know compassion; the sweet beauty of
a wrong relieved, removed, corrected, often at the hands of a stranger
unfamiliar with our shortcomings. I offer you compassion.
Let me show you.
