Broken/Open

Broken/Open

There is a difference between

being broken, and broken open.

But we don’t always get to choose

which state we slip into during

moments of pain. If simply broken,

we must seek the help of those

opened by their suffering, trusting

this is how we each take turns.

And if blessed to be broken open

this time, we must become like

a tomato in late summer, having

absorbed so much light and heat,

it finally splits down the middle.

Yet see how birds flock to the crack

in its skin, seeds spilling an urgent

feast for all who come near.


I have often felt bothered by the phrase, “broken open,” especially in my own grief, when several well-meaning people assured me I had not just been broken by my loss, but also opened by the pain. “You’ve been broken open,” someone said to me, and while they may have had a point, I wasn’t yet ready to see or feel beyond the brokenness. Sometimes, we must seek the help of those pried open by their suffering, the wise ones who have been able to alchemize the hurt into something that can serve others. And sometimes, we become the helpers ourselves, finding that after we have processed and integrated our sorrow, we have some wisdom to offer. Those of us with a strong inclination toward service often want to leap ahead, skipping several of the necessary and messy steps of healing. But in my experience, the pain cannot be escaped; it always follows us, demanding to be ex-pressed, not de-pressed in any way. This has all been on my heart and mind lately as we endure this Age of Grief in which we undeniably find ourselves. As has always been true, what we do with this grief, and how we hold it—whether or not we choose to feel it, or simply pass it onto others—makes all the difference. This week, smoke filtered across Canada and the United States from wildfires raging in both countries. And many of our hearts broke yet again with news of the senseless, racist, and illegal killings of two men, both of them proud and hardworking fathers—Joan Sebastian Guerrero from Maine, and Lorenzo Salgado Araujo in Texas. Some of us right now are simply feeling broken by the climate crisis, by the cruel actions of government-funded, masked men. And some of us are being broken open—protesting, writing poems, singing songs, and answering the call to both organize and serve. We will always be taking turns, moving back and forth between the necessity of rest and integration, and taking concrete action. As Ram Dass once famously said, “We’re all just walking each other home.” Yet in a time of such uncertainty and danger, we must also take refuge now more than ever in each other—both the broken-hearted and the broken-open-hearted. We must make a home among those willing and able to sit inside their pain, and let it teach them how to bring more compassion and love to our hurting, burning world.


Invitation for Writing & Reflection: What does it feel like to be broken as opposed to broken open for you? You might describe how this dance of “taking turns” has played out in your own life during times of loss and pain. You might also begin with the phrase, “Even though it seems the whole world is burning . . . “ and see what comes to you.


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Friends, I am so honored to find my poem, “So Much Space for Song,” from Turning Toward Grief read on The Slowdown Show this morning, hosted by poet Maggie Smith. You can read/listen here!

photo credit: Photo by Anna Evans on Unsplash