Glorify the wounds, every cut and scrape.
Rumi says, that’s where light enters you.
Sitting here looking at so many on myself, I started out with singing songs about them.
The tunes tried healing, succeeded sometimes.
Even while sitting in murk, hoping for sunshine.
Finding a thin ray of light, basking in it, growing in it.
Desperate for some of it to reach where it is needed most.
The sun lights up the whole sky, never asking anything in return.
But why is it still outside where I go looking for light and not within?