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Where the Light Enters We're all wounded.

Our wounds are sometimes physical, sometimes emotional, often both. And they're almost always painful. Wounds hurt.

But these wounds do not leave us any less whole. In fact, you might even make the argument that our wounds make us more whole, like Rumi (or the kabbalists or Leonard Cohen's great song). Wounds allow the light in, which illuminates and speeds our healing.

Wounds also allow the darkness to penetrate deeper, when there is no light. And in our darkness, there is power. For when we can't see, we have to rely on our knowing, our inner knowing. And that is perhaps the best test of all, when we can't see any light around us and are forced to shine inwardly, instead.

I'm rereading a series that has a (minor) character in it who is a pit fighter. He is covered with scars, for he allows each of  his opponents to wound him, before killing them. That way, he remembers and numbers his fights. I am certainly not a pit fighter, but I can learn to count my wounds, just the same. And I can learn from my wounds, as long as I remember them.

I'm thinking about wounds today, of course, because I am feeling mine. We've had a hard morning here. Tempers flared and I am not feeling like a nice mother at the moment. Or rather, I am feeling the after effect of not-nice moments, though they have vanished.

My wounds let in the light. And they let in the dark, too, and in the dark I can tell you that I don't think I am as mean as I am afraid I am. In the light, I think my wounds show me how to mother better, after.

There's a breeze coming in through the open window next to me, and the wounds let that in, too.

My self is whole. Wounded, yes. But these wounds are part of me, whole in my self, light and darkness both. These wounds remind me to drink in the beauty of the world while I can. These wounds remind me to love the world, for it is also wounded, deeply.

My wounds remind me of my battles and my victories.

My wounds remind me that I am human. Only and amazingly, both. Connected to the web of life that surrounds me, a web of fragility and strength, of darkness and light, of everything and nothing, all at once.

My wounds let it all in, for they are holes of wholeness.

And none of us escape them.
