The Hollows of The Holy
I no longer believe that time heals all wounds. I believe we simply learn how to live with the holes in our hearts. While caring for my Mother, she often cried, almost every day, for the loss of her parents. I could feel my future in her eyes. I could feel her longing. I tried to make every second count but I got so caught up in the stuff of caregiving. And what I wouldn’t do now for the stuff of making seconds count for more than time. Maybe the holes in our hearts are the Hollows of The Holy. Where we join with one another in the timeless and the sacred and the deep root of our inner Tree of Life. Where our losses and our longings intertwine like kindred branches. Offering shelter and glistening with hollowed out, purified space. Intersecting all the pathways we will share along our travels through this place. Maybe the holes in our hearts are the Hollows of The Holy. Where we hear the Voice for God itself kneel down to Pray. As if to say, “I’m right Here, Child, and Here, I’ll