The Shattering

I keep hearing the shattering...the glass hitting the ground and shattering into a thousand fragmented pieces. Pieces that could maybe be put back together under the tedious care of one completely devoted to restoring wholeness. But even then, there would be cracks. I once heard that a pipe is strongest at the spot that once was broken. When welded, it becomes stronger at that spot than all others. Perhaps the cracks are strong like that. But the shattered piece will never be the same.

Sometimes revisiting the past feels like this. With every memory I can hear the shatter, as though the memory goes into slow motion as it replays in my mind. And then as the full force of the reality hits me, I hear the shatter. For some its a diagnosis. For others, the infamous call that they won't ever forget. Still others, its a traumatic experience. But there is always that moment. That moment when your standing on the precipice...that tiny spot that lies between your greatest desire and your greatest dread. For a moment you waver on hope...knowing you could be 2 seconds away from your hearts desire, or being forced to let go. Its a tricky spot, let me tell you...to stand on that small spot that balances these two poles.

But whats worse is that when you are forced to move...when you hear that shatter...and you know your forced to let it go...and you have to do so alone. When you have to walk through something dark and seemingly hopeless. When the rest of the world sees your painted smile and expects the same old things out of you that they always do...and you don't have it to give, but no one knows that...because they can't know why. When the reality hits that seclusion and isolation feels safer than community. When you reach out, and no one takes your hand, or worse yet...pushes you further under.

I am not in that spot any longer. I have moved. But I was. And digging out from the shatter...the fragmented hopes and dreams, is a process, long and elaborate. Sometimes it feels like three steps forward and two backwards. Sometimes being forced to remember the moments of impact set off a chain reaction and all I can hear is the shatter. And I don't want to. I don't want to be reminded. I still haven't decided where to land and pitch my stake on many issues coming forth. I know I am stronger. I know that I have learned a lot. But the lines between self preservation and self sacrifice so easily get blurred.

I am not even sure what point I have to make here. Dreams and hopes and ideals have all been shattered. I am now in the process of rebuilding. For what? I am not certain because nothing in this life holds the promise that it won't be shattered once more. Nothing is completely about us, or for us. I believe it all serves a greater Purpose. But faced with a choice as to if I would rather sit in the rubble or start building, I choose to build. To gather supplies, lay the mortar, and place the bricks. The shatter may come again. In a different form. But I will always build. It is who I am.