Blessed Are The Merciful

by Sal Moriarty

“Life's as kind as you let it be.” Charles Bukowski

“Goodness can be found sometimes in the middle of hell.” Charles Bukowski

If you've found your way to this humble endeavor, it's likely the new year. Did you make any resolutions? If so, are you keeping them?

I've never made a new year's resolution. Perhaps this year I'll make just one. Sort of get the ball rolling, and if I'm still breathing in and out for 2026, maybe make two.

First, what's off the table?

I have no plans to stop drinking, nor cease enjoying cigars. Fate, of course – or, more specifically, cause and effect – could intervene with other plans. It might be nice to get some rest.

I often lament my use of profanity and have tried to curtail the more onerous examples from my vocabulary. In the 21st century, there's nothing clever or rebellious about cursing. It's just more lowest-common-denominator garbage that's enveloped the culture. Like “Survivor” and TikTok.

But I doubt I'll stop swearing.

I have some interest in the philosophy of stoicism. Depending on who you talk to, I am either the most stoic chap since Buster Keaton, or the most frantic since Benny Hill. So, I could use some work there, I guess.

I can be rather judgmental and often draw conclusions about my fellow citizens quickly. Probably not a good trait, but the contradictions and hypocrisies encountered daily are tough to ignore. Nevertheless, judge not lest you be judged. That's a Bill Clinton quote, I think.

With that in mind, I remember a horrendous night from my youth. I was twenty-one years old, watching movies with two friends at the home of one friend's parents. It was the VCR era and so long ago Ronald Reagan was still held in high regard by Republicans.

In an attempt to build a fire on a chilly night, the fire got away from me. Thankfully, my two friends escaped without injury, and I only sustained minor burns. The house, however, burned to the ground. In it were family heirlooms and pets.

My friend's parents were away. When they got home around midnight, everything was gone. They were literally left with nothing but the clothes on their backs. It's not an experience I would wish on my worst enemy. Horrific, and it is a rare week that passes that I don't think about it, decades later.

Everyone gathered at a home across the street. In retrospect, I must have been in shock. My lips were trembling, and I kept driving a thumbnail into the flesh of my arm - hoping to wake up I suppose. I wasn't talking.

Then something extraordinary happened.

My friend's parents, who'd just lost everything, said all that mattered was we were safe. They said everything that had been lost could be replaced. They said they had insurance.

The next day, wandering through the smoldering ruins, I still couldn't talk. I stumbled around in disbelief with my dad. Several friends, kindly, tried to engage in small talk. Talk of the Longhorns, I remember. My friend's mother pulled my dad aside and I saw them whispering, occasionally glancing my way.

Later, my dad told me she was worried about me. Less than twenty-four hours after a catastrophic loss, still wearing the clothes from the previous night, she was worried about me.

There's a resolution to be made from that recollection, I think. Try to be more like those people, now long gone.

I'll give it a shot.