Dead Places

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”

― Rumi

The woods are dark

In the depths of the trees

The light rarely shines

So to the rain and snow

Are blocked from entry

And so

All too often

In those dark secret places

Those hidden places

Deep within

Little grows

Oh perhaps a mushroom or too

Or Oregon Grape (nothing stops Oregon Grape)

The fungi

And the pests

So too the dark places of the soul

Are the places where wounds fester and rot

Where the dark things grow

Sometimes, when we are wounded

That very place

Where we are broken open

Becomes the place where the light can enter

To dispel the darkness

And bring growth

And

Life

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“The beauty that emerges from woundedness is a beauty infused with feeling; a beauty different from the beauty of landscape and the cold perfect form. This is a beauty that has suffered its way through the ache of desolation until the words or music emerged to equal the hunger and desperation at its heart. It must also be said that not all woundedness succeeds in finding its way through to beauty of form. Most woundedness remains hidden, lost inside forgotten silence. Indeed, in every life there is some wound that continues to weep secretly, even after years of attempted healing. Where woundedness can be refined into beauty a wonderful transfiguration takes place.”

― John O'Donohue