To say the word evokes a form: woman. And then the snake. The ‘ce’ slithers and the word begins to molt and I wonder: does this happens only to those who fall from grace?
Grace: approval, favor. To stay in my family's good graces.
Grace: disposition, affect. Women of my generation lack a certain grace.
Grace: to exempt or reprieve. But for the grace of God were that me.
Grace: a title. Your grace demanded justice and so she was staked and burned.
Grace: unmerited divine assistance. Show me mercy, show me grace.
Sanctity. Sanctum: the place of inviolability.
The Bible teaches of two graces. The common grace is the grace given to all. The saving grace, the kind you need, is reserved for the chosen.
Grace, it would seem then, is a commodity. The exchange between Heaven and Earth, an economy. What can I barter with? Serious sinning—the kind I do—removes not only merit, but extinguishes grace. Only through penance can mortal sins be forgiven and the balance of grace be restored. The snake has shed her skin. But look: is she anew?
No. This kind of cap and trade grace seems wrong. Grace is surely more spontaneous than that. In the world anyway, grace works on and in and through you: a kairotic exchange when two souls recognize the others’ humanity.
Grace. Space: the inbetween. It can only happen when the other isn’t looking, isn’t meaning to, stumbles on it and is overtaken by the need to give it.
I am in a state of grace when I look into space. I see the Carina Nebula : constellation : a network of stars that make up the face of God.