Love is a force,
You’ve ever given it credit for.
It is not the passive submission you fear it to be.
Love is where the rubber hits the road.
Your suffering does not make you a stranger,
It makes you human.
Discomfort is guidance from your soul-compass
Toward what really matters.
The out-of-tune piano prays to be played
In new ways,
Refuses to be discarded,
Wants its good parts to be made useful,
Longs for new melodies
Created from the invention bred of necessity.
We can no longer afford the luxury of unconsciousness,
Its price now outside our purview.
Praise be to these united states of broken hearts,
These shattered instruments of transmission
Forcing us to see with new eyes,
To feel with raw-nerved belief,
To fly with no net,
To go collectively off-script,
To dismantle the illusion,
And know the truth
Photo: Broken Piano by Rachel Knickmeyer