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If mercy were two mirrors, facing one another and reflecting in their panels the infinitude of space and distance, His mercy would be greater. And falling into it, I, lost in the possessive amnion of its mystery, would only see one thing, smothering me in the richness of its texture and fragrance and flavour ? that mercy in which I would be hidden away. Would then grace become like a flood, and would it pour over that very mercy, within its folds and caverns to overtake me, flowing far over my head? In this crevasse would I gasp, my lungs gurgling full and conquered by its ebb and swell, choked, my panicked arms slowing in their thrashing? Yes. But then the inspiration, the breath in, the elation? grace would be the breath that captured me when I dared not to try the water for fear of sinking. I would breathe the thickness of His grace ? in? and out? - and then would I no longer wish to taste the air.
If grace were an ocean, I would be lost in its black.