We lose certain things that cannot be replaced. We have holes in our hearts from people and experiences we've had to let go, let die, set free. We are walking museums of heartbreak and pain, and also walking testaments of rebirth and joy.
When we come to the end of all things, I'm sure we'll get a chance to take a full look at our hearts, and probably cringe a bit. We'll realize that life has been punching holes in us, like second grade confetti, since we were born. But maybe the overarching narrative that says pain is "the new norm", needs to be fought. Maybe these holes aren't roadmaps of how much we've lost, but of how much we've learned, or loved, or learned to be loved.
But first, the holes. We have to let them be what they are. For me, I am [finally] allowing the empty spaces to be what they are: empty. The cut out spots (the hole-punches) aren't necessarily easy, or happy, or full.
We must learn to accept certain things as hol(e)y.
And in this acceptance of lacking or loss, something happens; the once overwhelming "emptiness" begins to echo the things around us. (A friend laughing, a dog snoring, a summer barbecue and a sunny day).
When we allow empty spaces to breathe as they are, the hollowed-out areas of loss (empty and haggard and without warmth) begin to fill themselves. In the acceptance of what is, the possibility of what can be is ushered in.
So the hole-punch comes and it cannot be filled; true. And the heart turns blue like a blueberry and red like a strawberry and it burns and tears and cries and sings and laughs and recycles all of these emotions far too often. This is necessary to recognize. But as we appreciate the goodness (or pain) of things forever lost--and as we let the emptiness rest in its vastness--we realize: Life always learns to echo hope off the walls of our sorrow. Emptiness and holes are not a state of being, but a state of becoming; they are not the finish line, they are the process of getting there.
We are not the sum of what we have lost, or who we have failed, or what we have "yet to do". We are in this moment now, learning to lift up our heads, and notice our surroundings--to echo the beauty (amongst pain and suffering) when we find it.
So we wait, and we sit in the silence a little bit longer. Let's sit here, and learn to call this moment - even now - beautiful. These roadmaps will take us somewhere meaningful, I think. These empty holes and caverns are ready to shout; let's lift up our heads, find our own voice again, and show them how.