The Hole In Me

There’s a big hole in me.  Or at least somewhere along the lines I hallucinated one and have since invested a great deal of energy in keeping it filled.  Today it is empty and I feel uncomfortable.  Usually when I feel scared and lonely like this, I move toward my boyfriend for comfort and security.  If he’s not around, I’ll at least text him and share exactly how I feel.  If he is around I ask him to hold me.  I find solace in merging.  Merging.  It is this complete merging that has been my hollow salvation for many years.  This merging is a tall order and can only be filled by one.  Calling on a friend is not the same… because we do not share that complete and total intimacy of body, mind and spirit.

Today I am poignantly aware that Mykael no longer holds this space in my heart.  To be honest, he was never really that good at it in the first place, which throughout the course of our relationship was a source of occasional suffering for me.  Listen, I’m not putting him down.  No, I’m fumbling my way to greater depths of maturity and divine ripening.  Expecting my intimate partner to fill this perceived emptiness inside me actually suffocates the relationship over time.  Partnerships that thrive and flourish are those where two whole and complete individuals come together to play.  I am not designed to be filled and fulfilled by one other.

But this morning I started the process of going through my material possessions, choosing what to keep and what to let go of, in preparation for my move (to Kauai) at the end of the month.  Stuff.  Its amazing how much of my identity lives in these random things that I have somehow accumulated over the years… Even I, who spent my entire twenties moving around and constantly shedding the curse of stuff… somehow manage to continuously accrue solid objects by which I define myself.

For example, I have been plagued by the question of do I want to keep my books?  All of them?  Some of them?  If so, which ones?  All of these books that sit day in and day out upon my shelf stagnating in their individual pools of literary ennui and neglect.  Ask me when was the last time I picked up a book off my shelf and actually read it (In inspired moments, I take them off my self… but don’t usually get as far as the reading part)… I guess not too long ago if you count Hafiz poetry… but you shouldn’t count that, because Hafiz poetry lives in a world whole and independant and can not be compared to your garden variety novel, self help book or even poetry book.  Hafiz is golden drops of effulgence poured straight down the moistened throat inside my omnipresent heart.

Mykael once said that books are important status symbols.  Things you should flaunt.  You know, like when people come to your house, you should have your books plainly visible so they can be informed as to how intellectually, cosmically bitching you are (or aren’t, as the sorry case may be).  Hearing him say this turned me off.  I thought, “What a phony show off.”  But the truth is, when I find myself in someone’s home for the first time, their book shelf is usually the first thing that inadvertently sucks me hither.  I guess it’s kinda like butt sniffing is to dogs.  Well my butt ain’t gonna have much of a scent for a while, because I opted to relinquish almost all of my precious, word wrought treasures.  Shrug.   Gawd, it’s not like there’s a shortage of books in the world.  It’s not like there aren’t multiple libraries and bookstores in every city.  Mostly all I kept was the aforementioned Hafiz book, Autobiography of a Yogi, by Paramahansa Yogananda, the Bhagavad Gita, and the Artist’s Way… (which I would have passed along, except that I marked it up so much, it could only ever be mine…)

I get pretty extreme when it comes to shedding my identity.  I have shaved my head three times in my life.  But I think I have satiated that ritual… Now I’m attached to looking like a pretty woman.  Hair… talk about identity… Anyway, I just don’t feel the need to drag a bunch of heavy stuff around with me, even energetically weighing me down by just sitting in boxes collecting dust in someone’s garage.  I am free and I have everything I need right here, right now.

That said, my heart felt heavy and saturated with inexplicable ache as I sorted through the miscellaneous remnants of this life I call mine.  I quickly became exhausted.  Tears started to spill.  Mykael left for “obligation” (that’s what he calls work… he says his real work is his art… and someday nursing).  Suddenly I was falling through a hole inside me.  I felt excruciatingly alone, insignificant and helpless as I floundered about my bedroom spewed with disarray.  Who would hold me now, in this state of exhaustion, aloneness and overwhelm?  No one.  No one but God.  But suddenly God felt to be across the galaxy.  There was nothing to fill my hole.

Welcome to your new life, Athena.  You will no longer strive to fill this hole.  Because this “hole” is actually your burgeoning WHOLEness.  Just breathe.  Just be with yourself, nothing added, nothing taken away.

This frightens me.  Or is that excitement trembling through my core?  It is what it is.  And I am.  Oh… We’re back to THAT again… I AM.   Yes.  Amen.

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4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. souldipper
    Aug 05, 2010 @ 04:23:09

    Guess what? You’re stuck with me. And probably about every one of your readers!! Oh, I know, we all need Spiritual Beings with skin on, but until you have people to hold in Hawaii, visualize a big crawl up into the Creator’s Lap. Ask the Divine to whisper some Hafiz poety to calm you:

    Laughing At the Word Two

    Only

    That Illumined
    One

    Who keeps
    Seducing the formless into form

    Had the charm to win my
    Heart.

    Only a Perfect One

    Who is always
    Laughing at the word
    Two

    Can make you know

    Of

    Love.

    Reply

  2. Rosy Moon
    Aug 05, 2010 @ 07:21:24

    Eating spicy, pungent, purple (magenta, actually) sauerkraut, made by the hand of a wild, whole oneness.
    It rested long in my refrigerator.
    I am thankful.

    Love you

    Reply

  3. duke1959
    Aug 05, 2010 @ 09:47:06

    Maturity is a process and very often a painful one.

    Reply

  4. bureaucrat3247
    Aug 06, 2010 @ 16:25:33

    I was always complete, I was just afraid I wasn’t. Trying to fill the hole and not letting that fear follow its course kept me in darkness for many years.

    Reply

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