Most Truly

eric mccarty
2 min readOct 9, 2021
Most Truly — Poetry — Headless Now — Moca McCarty Photo

Most truly:

to be most truly what I am — and this isn’t an achievement to aspire towards, nor to dismiss anything not deemed worthy to my life. There is no effort to this being, nothing other than what I am right now and every moments that’s to follow. With this there are no rules, no proper way to show grief, no length for sorrow to remain. Everything belongs, and often this shows as multiple expression at once, that sadness allows a glimpse of joy even through the fall of tears.

there is room for everything to appear.

through capacity there is no separation, this is all more intimate than a simple hold, but really an embrace of emptiness lent to the form of its appearance, one thing in service of its own involvement, life in every aspect of its flow. What I most truly am is capacity and all that unfolds, with no point divided, and everything given as an expression of the whole.

with this I am already free, awakened, and allow myself the honor of being human, with all that it entails through every expression. Nothing is unworthy in its appearance, sorrow equal to a moment’s joy, anger belonging with compassion, everything existing with a merit of its own. There is no spiritual realm separate from here, no other place to find true home. This is where my life is lived, here, this one moment in all it’s shifting appearance of loss and sorrow, beauty and overwhelming awe. What I most truly am is capacity for this life to be, unconditional, without bias to my love.

and yes, it is love that most truly exists as this capacity, without sentiment, allowing, open. I see this in the death of my father, in his surrender to his final moment, and the quality of spaciousness that remained. Something held my father through the very act of letting go, and instantly too embraced my anguish as its own. Everything belonged there, death, life, relief of suffering, the grief of carrying on. It was all allowed, and at once, without conflict of any expression. My father was free in his surrender, no longer there to suffer, yet capacity for his unique and much loved appearance still existed, gave room for my own life to continue through this loss.

only love was present.

only love remains.


Peace, Eric

eric mccarty

Writer, prose poetry, meditation teacher and lifetime student