There is a hole in me.
I’ve never let myself get too close.
I’ve kept my distance—wondering, but never venturing near its shore.
Its presence is vast, leaving me feeling unknowable, even to myself.
Its presence is palpable, always reminding me that it is there.
Its ache is ancient, eternal.
There is a hole in me.
Experience tells me that this hole is hell.
It is to be avoided at all cost.
It can never be filled;
it can never be closed.
But what if?
What if my experience has been tainted by wounding,
rather than guided wisdom?
What if this hole is not hell?
What if it is Holy?
What if it is not a vast emptiness to be filled,
but a sacred space within to be visited?
A space solely for me.
A space where I can Be.
A space where I can commune with the Unknowable, the Ancient Eternal, Remembrance itself?
What then?
There is a hole in me.
Wisdom tells me it is Holy.
For within its presence, I am whole.
