Have mercy on me.
“He was standin’ on the corner
A hundred dollar bill in his hand
Said I could feed a lot of these people with this
But that ain’t the business at hand
Ain’t but one reason for a white boy to be
Over on this side of town
He gave that money to the man and he
Bought a little mercy for now
Have mercy on me
Have mercy on me
I’m a sinner Lord can’t you see
Have mercy on me “
– Steve Earle –
Sometimes it feel like the burden of my whole life and all the wrong and right I have done all leans in on me. Some great balance tilting one way and then the other. And I try hard not see God and mercy as conditional on what kind of mood God is in today and if he’s got it to spare. He don’t work that way. Not like asking your buddy if they got ten to spare till you can make it up to them.
I searched out grace and mercy in a lot of places. In a song, a handful or prick of a drug. A bottle or a woman. In the chase of devils and the push toward God. Always a mile from heaven and just a foot out of hell. Maybe it wasn’t so wrong. The new psychological premise is that an addiction is simply a coping skill and not a right or wrong. Those who fall under it are simply trying to survive in most cases a life that is unbearable. Maybe that’s a good way of looking at it. I couldn’t ask for heavenly mercy or grace, but I could ask a bottle, it was there and I knew it would come.
But sometimes all that matters for nothing. I am lonesome, heartbroken and angry. I search and find nothing to ease my feelings some days. I miss people, I miss ghosts, I miss life. I am so damned poor right now that I often don’t know where my next meal will come from and things you call needs and expenses I call luxury. And I can’t help but wonder if maybe I forced the hand of fate and God and this is some strange penance. That I have to stand in a doorway and watch my little girl drive off or I can’t call my father when I need a hand. My family has scattered and I cannot find love inside me anymore. I wouldn’t even subject a woman feel like there is something in me that could be called romance and affection. I have no trust left and so little love to give, that I’d just feel like a thief. So I stay alone because to have a friend means knowing how to be a friend. I can’t even do that.
So here I am down on myself. I sometimes am grateful that I haven’t the means to end it all at hand because I have these impulse moments where I say to myself “Fuck it, what’s it matter anyhow?” and if it were easy enough…Well I guess I wouldn’t be here to write.
Does that make me a bad person, sick or unsuitable. I don’t think so. I think it’s just a heart that has hurt enough and lost enough that it wants nothing but relief. The pain of living sometimes outweighs the fear of dying.
But I got on. Frustrated and angry. Feeling rejected and unwanted and sometimes I ask myself ‘Is this how Joseph felt when he was looking for a manger? Before the miracle?’ Because I don’t feel holy, I just feel desperate and responsible to carry out some mission I have no real understanding of.
Time to shut my morose ass up. You folk don’t need to read it.
Be well, be love.