From Hole to Whole

Keeping it real

Dear Friends,

Today I offer writing about a hole where I have recently been both dwelling and resting. I’ve climbed out of the hole now and am enjoying the sun again. But I think it’s important to acknowledge and even honor the holes in which we find ourselves (as both a location and a process).

I wrote in the format of the 11’s again, a form I was introduced to by Jena Schwartz. It’s a format I turn to when writing is hard. I recommend it. As I was writing, I kept writing whole instead of hole which led me down another path. This can be part of the magic of the process of writing. Although, as you will read, I acknowledge that sometimes I just can’t write, and the process can’t start until it’s ready.

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From Hole to Whole

One

After I reassured all my beloveds about my recent cancer progression, the reality descended like a cold fog and I was flattened. I was angry. I was sad. It is my first bad news since the original bad news (you have metastatic cancer) two years ago. This isn’t going to be pretty.

Two

When I fall into a deep hole, I find it’s best to sit a while and find my bearings. Eventually I will find that there is ground beneath me, and my eyes will adjust to the place in which I find myself.  It’s important to feel and accept the truth of the hole, before attempting to climb out.

Three

During the pandemic, I started learning Irish Gaelic on Duolingo. 1200 some odd days later, I still plug away at this language rooted in a land I’m so drawn to. I’ve finished the available lessons, but I neither really speak it nor understand it spoken. The best I have is some familiarity with the sounds, and a rudimentary ability to read it.

There is nothing intuitive about the language for me, one that frequently strings 3 vowels or 3 or 4 consonants together in a word. The code-cracker in me pushes on.

This week I noticed the contrast of the word dochas (hope) and dorcha (dark) or dorchadas (darkness). Even the raging part of me has to admit that hope can be found in the darkness. The poets know this, but maybe more importantly for me right now, the earth knows this. The dark of winter holds the hope of spring.

Four

Part of me would prefer to just mope in my dark hole, but my pity parties are limited to a one (non-alcoholic) drink maximum.

Five

While I’m in the hole, I can’t write. I have to move this energy somehow, so I turn back to painting. I sign up for an online class for some inspiration to loosen up, play, keep moving. I paint some sunflowers that I kind of like. I paint some silly goats. They look back at me inviting me to whimsy. I don’t really feel whimsical.

But color feels better than words, so I keep going.

Sunflower, goats, sunflower for Nex

Six

(I keep writing whole, instead of hole. Perhaps it is the Whole trying to get my attention.) Hole. Whole. Holy. Wholly.

Seven

Here in the hole/whole, I find music. Joy Oladokun releases a new song, “questions, chaos, and faith.”

Nothing is certain, everything changes,
We’re spirit and bone marching to the grave,
There are no answers,
there are only questions, chaos, and faith.

I listen over and over. When I see these words written, they look morbid, but I actually find this to be a hopeful song. Truth is hopeful.

Eight

If I know one thing about cancer, it is that it is random, it is part of the chaos. This is comforting in its way, like my phone sticker: “Relax, nothing is under control.”

I’m so tired of cancer group posts: “my scans were good. God is good.” What happens to that God when your scans are bad, as they will be one day?

Nine

Sitting in the dark calls for baking. A chocolate cake. A fresh batch of granola. Some sweetness for this season.

Ten

In my exercise class we are doing what the teacher calls “brainwork,” alternating movements in a way that makes you have to think about it. Except when I think about it, I get confused, and I realize it’s better when I just let my body do it without too much thinking. The body gets it.

Eleven

The body. This body. This flesh. These bones. I feel them all and see that we are still here, and we still feel pretty good, despite what grows within.

I climb back out of my hole where the darkness has held me in its grip, but also in its embrace. I bring the colors, the music, the chaos, the sweetness with me and keep going. The Whole beckons.

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Holes are hard places to be. Period, full stop. I find that they can also be places of rest, respite and healing, if I can allow the darkness to embrace, rather that restrain or overcome me. Outside of the hole, I remembered another beautiful piece of music, Little Blue by Jacob Collier (featuring Brandi Carlile).

Don't be afraid of the dark
In your heart
You're gonna find a way
To carry the weight of the world
On your shoulders
You're gonna find a way home

If you’ve found yourself in a hole, I send you extra love and I wish that you find its embrace while you’re there. The Whole beckons to all of us.

We are all walking each other home as Ram Dass says. I am grateful to be walking with you. Keep going.

Thanks for being here. I love to hear from you in the comments or by replying to this email. Please share this with folks who might find it useful.

Lots of love,

Maija

Songs of the Week: questions, chaos and faith by Joy Oladokun. So far, it has only been released on her Instagram. Also Little Blue by Jacob Collier (featuring Brandi Carlile).