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The words of Rumi, the Persian poet and mystic, give an instant lift: “The wound is the place where the light enters you.”

But the painful reality of wounds is that the light needs time to do its work.

When the wound is profound, like grief at the loss of someone you love, the darkness does not brighten at once.

Instead, the light works in ways you do not know and for a time cannot even feel.

Daily life continues, of course.

You take care of your tasks. You walk. You talk.

But the dance has gone out of your rhythms.

The heaviness of the heart becomes a numbness your body cannot shed and your emotions retreat.

This can sometimes go on for years.

Meantime, in your haze of unfeeling and unseeing, you are giving the light time to do what it needs to do.

So one day, and for each person the timing is different and particular, you sense a movement within:

Your wound tells you it has healed.

The spiritual wonder then is, the light that went into your wound now shines out from within.

Yes, the deep shock of your wound means you can never be the same, not ever again.

But you can be renewed.

You can move forward illuminated by the light that entered to work its healing.

You become the light in your wound.
 

In 2018 Catrien Ross has a new work of literary non-fiction, Still I Dream of Java, that retells a beloved aunt’s memories of the final, turbulent years of the Dutch East Indies, before the new nation of Indonesia emerged.

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