That hole
at the very center
of your created being
has been punched out
with perfect precision;
branding you wholly incomplete.
It has been known to cause
a mysterious inner turbulence
to pursue
to commune
to love
to create
something of yourself.
Perhaps you, like me, at times,
have grown weary of the gnawing ache
and thought it rather cunning
to gather those accessible round pegs
(possessions, talent, relationships)
and hammer hard into that hole.
But perhaps you, like me, discover
the incessant pounding yields nothing more
than calloused hands.
For that stubborn hole is (not only) square
but insatiable
for worldly things.
Though I try,
I cannot be completed
by counterfeit.
This blessing (for it is one)
comes with radical permission
to celebrate what’s missing
(like pierced ears).
To be still and acknowledge how it stings.
For that missing part,
a part of you,
was purposefully crafted.
It is your
invisible
umbilical.
Miraculous
how the absence
is itself a presence
sufficient to sustain.
My nothingness
creating space
for the everything
that is Himself.
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