July 24, 2001

Somewhere along a lifetime most are broken
but we pretend we are not,
taking up armor and masks
as if so doing we could fool the rest,
as if a state of brokenness
was something to be ashamed of.
Contorted behind a smiling
and daily polished patina
we bend ourselves into pretzels for fear
a glimmer, warm and needing,
might shine through and blow our cool.
As if no one could read the details
running tickertape across our foreheads.
As if none could see our clumsy antics
tripping over bloated and rotting unattended business.
As if our single-minded hypocrisy
caused no pain.
As if we could hide from who we are,
as if who we are was hiding.
And still we are loved by those who see us
better than we see ourselves
love letting go of face forever and
taking up the heart of us,
however broken.
Perhaps it is time to accept that broken is a part of place,
that within these learning fields on earth
broken is a state of grace
wherein opportunity exists to learn the best
and the worst of it.
Perhaps it’s time to recognize
and embrace the way we feel.
Picking our broken pieces off the ground of being,
learning to knit them together again
with compassion for ourselves,
larger than we were before,
larger than we ever imagined.
Building with a new awareness
that somehow broken opens a door
invisible before.
And with newfound wholeness, expansive,
that embraces the broken and the mending
we become alive to the possibility
of sharing our humanity.

Unbroken we can never know this.
So let go of fear of falling,
stubbing pride and dignity.
Embrace the lessons a lifetime brings
laughing and crying wholeheartedly.
To ride our time without a bump
in our imagined being
would be to live an epoxy bubble,
brittle, indifferent, and unmoved by beauty;
untouched by an ocean of love surrounding,
beckoning us to jump.

Copyright © 2001-2003 Kristen Spexarth