Wounded

The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
-Rumi

I was recently having a conversation with a friend about our hearts, our hurts and how they might adversely affect and perhaps even skew our perspectives on a variety of things. As he shared with me his wound, it occurred to me that wounds are not just inevitable, but necessary.

I’ll just start out by saying that we live in a culture that loves to further afflict their wounded. We love the stories of those who fall and we have a hard time with relating to those who are trying to get back up again. We love drama. We are obsessive about finding out all of the little details, thinking that there’s certainly something we may have missed.

But, there’s a person, another human being, that’s involved in this. Wounded. Broken. Poor.

In my conversation with my friend, he shared with me his aversion to things related to spirituality and organized religion. He didn’t need to have me pry into his wound. He just needed me to know that it was there and to tell him that he was loved anyway.

Our lives are much like the cyclical changing seasons and nature.

In springtime, life comes, we feel refreshed and nourished. There’s hope. We soak up sunshine and rain, and sometimes wonder how in the world we got so lucky.

But then, things get hot. Hotter than we are ready for. We try to stand up for as long as we can, but the pressure finally takes its toll. Anxiety. Pressure. We have to be strong but can’t. We finally wilt. We didn’t want to, it just happened. Wounded.

The temperature finally starts to drop. A cooler time prevails. We begin to hope again. But we are different than we were before. Cautious. Tentative. We now wonder if the elements which we so freely enjoyed will hurt us again. But, we must live. And we try. Wounded.

Then, a new season comes. It’s unwelcome. Always at a different time. Cold. Dark. Dank. Dreary. So cold. Alone. Depressing. Its elements we cannot withstand. So, we close our eyes and breathe our last, knowing, hoping, believing that perhaps the other side will be better than this one. (I’m not speaking specifically of suicide here, although there are some wounded folks who strongly consider and do that. My heart breaks for them). Wounded.

Death. This death is temporary. But we have buried ourselves deeper in the earth. Deeper in the dirt. We have a shell. A covering. A harder shell. It seems to get harder all the time. Every year, every season. Every death. Wounded.

But then, something happens again. We begin again. We tentatively sprout up, again hoping, a little less. Believing, a little less. But yet, we begin again. The sun, the rain, the light…they all feel so much better. More than could ever be explained because of how deep our darkness was. We see things differently. We change. We evolve. We have a varied perspective. We live. Wounded.

We realize that we lived last year, but we didn’t really live. We didn’t really appreciate what we had. Our wounds created in the chaos of our lives, are merely tools of resurrection. Wounded.

Let the light enter your wounded soul. Don’t be afraid to plunge deep into your own darkness. Only then could you possibly ever see just how beautiful the light is…and how necessary your wound was.  

Jeremy Farmer