The Alchemy of Being Broken: Shifting Pain into Beauty.


I'm about to get everything I want. Can I handle that? 

A tiny space widens for a moment's hesitation. I suck in fresh breath as I sit by the old lake, hearing splashes from children playing and feeling the watery breeze on my cheek. 




I state in the low hum of a mantra that I feel utterly devoted to---in the way yes runs through me, like a waterfall, like stroking long, golden hair. 

I am ready. I am ready to welcome these blessings as they fall upon me. It's time.

I've been dipped in the slow glaze of mollasses of really doing this work---shifting the hurt and pain into art and gold. 

Making the pain into something that feels pure again. 

And I've done it---the ashes of the past sift through my open palms, I am no longer grasping the ache like it's the seed of my identity.

Knowing I can let go---

That is the seed. 

That is what will bear fruit. 

Not the pain itself, but in how we respond to it---how we hold it, behold it; let it move us as it creates and re-creates us. 

The pain is not healing in itself. 

Our choice, our will---that's what can make it healing. 

This understanding glistens as tears do, in the corners of my eyes cascading through my being to reach all parts of me. 




Purity crystalizes, frothes up, and then runs clear. Finally. 

And I am breathless, agape with all that can be made into beauty again. 

Beauty sourced through the veins of the deepest wounds: 

Shame. Rage. Rape. Power games. Abuse. Manipulation. Broken. Pain. Chaos. Destruction. 

And I think of all the ways I have given myself to men---loved them like it was my religion, only to be left empty and exhausted---stolen from myself in the end. 

I've sucked in the fury of hell. 

I've walked around as a fragment. 

Now, the once broken shards shine in the sun---they melt from the saltwater rain of my tears and fuse together again. 

Except better. 

In the space of being broken---God rushed in

Like breath

Like breeze

That's why breaking is valuable

Sacred, even. 

The seven seas leak and twirl within me in ribbons of moist aquamarine 

Ancient wisdom blows in by mother wind and father sky. 

Breaking is sacred, if we regard it as such. 

For me, it was a chance to become who I always knew I could be. 

After years of taking myself apart---I put myself together again. 

I put myself together again in the noonday sunlight. 

It licks me. 

The lake holds me. 

I lack nothing. 

I am whole. 

I made it.