Broken at birth, broken by fate, broken by love, broken by hate.

Broken by the hand that says too poor, too tall, too small, too thin,

too fat, too fast, too slow, too loud, too quiet, wrong colour,

wrong time, wrong day. Broken by the bottle, broken by the needle,

broken by the trauma, the terror, the anger, the shame.

 

 

Who declared we are broken, who gathered up the missing parts 

Who declared them so? Who came with the wand of dispensation,

who came by the hand of healing, threading the needle, stitching our many wounds?

Until transformed, adorned in our freshly minted unbrokeness, we emerged,

no longer vivisected, but newly reconnected, reconstituted, whole.

 

In this awful Palace of Perfection there is no solace for the soul.

In this measured moment there is no peace for the heart.

In the rush to codify we lose the rapture of what it means to be alive.

Sunlight on skin, glittering eyes, the truth is within us, take courage, seek it.

The truth is within us, if we have the courage to live it.

 

Come, come past the turning of the seasons, past living and dying.

We are broken and unbroken, human and divine, eternity and time.

Every heartbeat, every breath is a miracle. A symphony, a dance upon this earth.

We are lightning, thunder and the night sky of the heart, a blaze of stars in the great conjunction of our blood. The constellation of consciousness, the constant bliss.

© The Constant Bliss. Terry McArthur. Blue Pearl Music.

     Cover Art: Deborah Young. Moving Light. Oil on Canvas.