Fragility is scary. That risk of shattering into pieces so tiny they can never be fit back together. Shards that pierce your heart, your soul. Fragments that burrow in deep, cutting apart millimeter by excruciating millimeter.
Better to be tough and protected. Practical and sturdy. I'll trade my bone china for dishwasher safe, microwave safe, ovenproof crockery.
But it's a lie, this safety. It crumbles around you. Hearts shatter, souls explode. There is no protection from life. There is just the delicate balance of living with risk, with fear...with possibility.
The risk of being broken on the floor, bleeding out from soul deep wounds, is also the risk of discovering the true essence of yourself; the strength, wisdom, sheer grit and unanticipated beauty that comes from rebuilding, as unfair and unwanted as the reconstruction may be.
There is beauty in the rough edges, the cracks and seams, the missing gaps where pieces were lost and never found.
Because, there are gaps and lost parts - crevices that are never filled or covered over. But maybe it's the cracks where the gust of thankfulness rushes through.
Maybe it's the gap where the whirlwind of wonder forms.
Maybe it's the vibration in the fracture that makes us recognize and sing with the exquisite pleasure of each beautifully fragile moment of time that we're given.