by Daniel Blake
Now our secret fears stride legitimately out of the dark
With an I-tol-you-so trumpet to their lips.
That dream too good to last -- didn't.
That life too smooth to be real -- isn't.
Promises too large to keep lie shattered and scattered
amid the debris of our broken-openness.
Curse the jagged edges of that breach!
Stauch the seeping flow of that Might-have-been-life
Which slips away at the seams!
Bridge the yawning, getting-wider gulf
That marks out the point of this broken-openness.
Explore the causes of stress that led to a shattering
Of that cool and casual facade
Leaving us exposed as broken-open ones.
And soon, spent with weariness from oath-making and stauching
And bridging, and exploring, there comes a certain surrender.
Out broken-openness is complete.
And the aching, now questions are -
Where to from here? and how? and why?
Then comes guilt for allowing these inside preoccupations
to Blind this broken-open one to the brilliant light
That steams through the seams from outside.
And the far side of that shaft of light is truth -
Probing some never before exposed recesses of the soul.
Truth crushes those cherished but false illusions
Common among intact ones.
The near side of that light is grace,
With a clear invitation to new life beyond the devastating
Moment and a promise of strength for the living of it.
Maybe the light of truth and grace
That comes in the midnight of our despair
Points to the only God there is or ever will be:
The God of broken-open ones.
The broken-openness becomes
An avenue for receiving His kind of liberation
For life in the real world.