A few weeks ago, I cut my finger using a mandolin kitchen tool. I was trying to prepare sliced fruit for a celebration at my home. Hours before guests were to arrive, blood gushed from the top of my right thumb, and in the interest of being alive for my guests, I dashed off to Urgent Care for treatment. I arrived back home with an hour to spare before guests rang my doorbell; with a bandaged finger and a reminder of my vulnerability I made light of the incident. I typically heal quickly from injury, so I was not surprised that after only a couple of weeks, the wound seemed to heal –on the surface. But the thumb remains tender to the touch, even though the surface appears restored and sealed.
The internal healing will take a bit more time. I realize that I must be patient with the process, because everything is always as it should be in life and healing. We may feel pain for a while, but there’s no need to hold on to it, since healing starts quickly — from the outside in. Deep hurts are slower to heal on the inside. As we manage the impressions we make on others, we sometimes conceal the pain with smiles and avoidances, but with steadfast belief in the inward sanctuary, the inevitable healing occurs.
For me, the internal and external healing is a metaphor for change. We cannot hurry it along, believing that because it looks good on the surface, the internal workings are moving in perfect symmetry. Everything is as it should be, even if our perceptions and stories try to convince us that the world is broken or damaged or unsafe. The pace of the change helps us to be stronger and more in touch with what is our core being, the I am where who we really are sits in quiet perfection. The slowness of the change helps us to savor the present moment, to allow the asymmetry between who we are and what we are experiencing to come into alignment with each other.
The internal sensitivity of my thumb is also a metaphor for the story we create about loss. We see daily the loss of life, wealth, status, relationships, and reputation, and we sometimes use those conditions to lament the temporary and somehow unsafe nature of life. We become melancholy about the seeming “death” of aspects of our lives and ignore the birth of life all around us. In fact it is the endings that make the beginnings possible. Each moment is a beginning, and our only reality. Life is an eternal continuation; death and loss are simply tipping points where a growing awareness transforms.