Those Black Holes

So often we see holes as imperfections, signs of failure to care for what we have been given; signs of infestation, or of weakness; harbingers of death and loss to come.

But what if, instead of looking at the holes as a kind of sieve, a sign that the goodness of life is leaking out, we saw them instead as an opportunity for God to break through? We work so hard to keep things perfect, secure; struggling constantly to shore up flagging energy, to patch the walls around our hearts, to hold the world at bay. But often it is at the moments when we realize our work has been for naught -- that exercise cannot stop the aging process, that giving a child every opportunity to succeed does not guarantee success, that carefully regulated diet will not always keep disease at bay -- that our lives may be flooded with a surprising richness.

I heard today that a former actor friend has discovered he is HIV-positive. And the woman who wrote to tell me this had the following observation:

"It seems to be the best thing that could have happened to him. He is getting assistance with health care and can get free counseling. He was as happy as I had ever seen him. Dare I say, almost grounded."

Which is not to say that the holey moments in life are not difficult or even dangerous; no one could deny the fear and sorrow, the enormous potential for loss that arises in these situations. But sometimes it is at those very moments when we face into the darkness that the rich light and color of our lives is most dramatically thrown into relief. And it is the act of facing into the darkness that is itself so often the bearer of that light.

I read a wonderful quotation this morning from Pema Chodron's book, Comfortable with Uncertainty. She says:

"The central question of a warrior's training is not how we avoid uncertainty and fear but how we relate to discomfort. How do we practice with difficulty, with our emotions, with the unpredictable encounters of an ordinary day? For those of us with a hunger to know the truth, painful emotions are like flags going up to say, "You're stuck!"... When the flag goes up, we have an opportunity: we can stay with our painful emotion instead of spinning out. Staying is how we get the hang of gently catching ourselves when we're about to let resentment harden into blame, righteousness, or alienation."

Sure, we can paper over the holes in our lives. But what if we don't? What if we allow them to show; what if we accept them, even peer into them? And if I stand before you, exposed, allowing my own weakness to show, both to my mirror and your eyes, could it not be that both our lives might be enriched? And with luck, in that last glowing moment before all fades and turns to dust, we will see clearly the soft green promise of the spring that is to come.