Sunday, June 12, 2011
[broke]
The Buddhists say we must create from a place that is broken/open. I believe this. Nothing broke like my water, not before. Water in an unbroken line, before. The darshan of the dharana. The one-pointed, the stream. My son, who breaks me open every day, keeps me sculling in the ocean of my heart. Lost at sea, so to speak. So, to speak, to talk of what is broken, with a mouth that seems closed at all the wrong times, to write with a sinking feeling, a coffee cup with cracks in it. We keep gluing it back together, broken. Rich in love, we are yet broke. Pockets of currency, currents of love. I need a break. Will it break me? Giving birth, sucking up death, facing fear at every turn, my seams seem to scream. Bursting. A heart as big as a whale. A long crying out. A smile at dawn. The day breaks me again, and the night closes over us. Cowboy sheets and covers, a hole in the quilt, he now knows the word "gun," and I'm done. Line break. Empty space. Return.
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Broke.
ReplyDeleteBroken again. Made that attempt to try it and made that attempt to end it and made that attempt to repair it and made that attempt to break it. And I break it. Hoping that by breaking I can then move on from the aching. The breaking that takes every breath of heated desire into an underground, cool, cavernous pond where the shatters and slivers from what I had thought was a whole thing, a workable thing, a delicate thing, a precious thing, could somehow, in the soft, cool, clear-blue waters, glue back together again, into something that made sense, something that may still be broken but at least a little bit less distorted. Broken like a mosaic, smashed apart, shards into art, into beauty. Scars and a fucked up smile, my imperfections haunt me, but being broken ain’t so bad. I can let it go easier, knowing that—yup— I am a fool to think that what I thought was possible is better left broken. And perhaps someday, I’ll get a little braver and a little less bitter as we slowly, with tender gratitude, share together our crystalline broken pieces, strewn across these endless horizons of the heart.
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