Missing
Openings, longing, and wholeness…
“Do you ever miss anything, like some time in your past or your imagined future?” I asked my sister. I felt silly asking it, like suggesting something was wrong, and I didn’t explain it well. I couldn’t explain it well.
I couldn’t explain this feeling of empty spaces that once had vitality but were now static with a faint tingle. The tingle kept my attention, and I knew it reverberated to something. Was it a long-ago memory? A wish for something now? Or a shimmer of something ahead? I couldn’t be sure.
I watched my sister’s face as she considered my question for herself. The breeze rustled slightly, and sunlight through the leaves cast leaf prints on her cheeks. “I’m not sure,” I remember her saying after a while, as if still thinking about it. I can’t be sure either. I can’t be sure what it is, but I am sure of the feeling.
Curious about the word’s etymology, I looked up “missing” to see if it offered any interesting clues. The Proto-Indo-European language root *mei- was unexpected: “to change, go, move.”
I’m in the midst of my life. I have quite a way to go, and I’ve come a long way, and now I’m here. There is what was, what never happened, and what can’t be anymore.
The spirals keep going around, edging closer then edging away from each other, closer and away. When you move close, hold on, and when you move away, let go.
The wires twirl around the stems, adapting to their shapes, their long strands looping back. Things change, and you change, adjusting to what is. What once was is also present now.
With silvery spirals dangling on the leaves below, the wire strands coil around a long, thin stick held steady above, leaving empty spaces between them. There will always be empty spaces where that faint tingle reverberates and feels like something is missing. It is a shimmery opening.
Closing my eyes, I can feel myself in my early twenties in Japan, running along the Philosopher’s Path near where I used to live. It’s a strong memory like my body and heart have come alive again to how I was back then. And I miss that feeling, and I wish to be there, and yet I’m feeling it now.
On a recent solo hike, I sensed it there, too. Maybe it was evoked by the way the morning light was cast, hearing nearby bird songs, a breeze through the thick canopy of trees overhead, or breathing in clear, warm air. Perhaps that was all happening within me, too, those sensations filling the missing spaces in the present.
Is it possible to miss something I’m in the midst of, like a recognition that what was empty is now being filled? Maybe missing is that open space, a vulnerable and achy opening, where what comes in is that longing to fill whatever is missing, like a balm and a solace. Where missing and filled merge, and it’s possible to know both.
Feeling into those vibrant, missing-filled spaces where wholeness resides...
LouLou
“Missing” was originally published as an exclusive post to supporters in June 2024. Now it’s public to you, too! If you’d like to support my art and writing life, please consider a one-time donation or a monthly membership ($6/month) on the creator platform, Ko-fi. I would be most grateful!
A huge thank you to my wonderful Ko‑fi supporters for supporting my creative endeavors! Kara B, Kori J, Marga F, Sharmila K, Skip M, Beck C, Richie M, Sush M, Michelle L, and John C.
