A Party for the Broken

First, I want to express my heartfelt gratitude for all of the 50th birthday wishes. I was truly touched by the kindness shared by so many of you. Thank you.

I limped into this new decade on my peg-leg crutch on the long, slow recovery process from my Achilles tendon tear. Of course, this wasn’t what I had planned for fall. Coming toward the end of a year long mentorship with Jozef Frucek of Fighting Monkey, I had been feeling more free and strong and dynamic in my movement than ever before.

A day before the injury, I was sharing with Erin how much I value the long history of injuries and healing I’ve had in my back and spine because it keeps me close, it keeps me listening to that which is most vulnerable and tender. And, just in case I didn’t get that memo, a day later I got another invitation to slow down, to give my care to what is most tender and even mythically vulnerable – the Achilles tendon.

I was reminded of the line from James Hillman: “In your inferiority is your soul.”

So often, in a culture of ascension, we just want to improve, grow, push through, plow forward with our plans, and leave what is broken, what is limping behind. One of the great gifts I have received over the years working with Francis Weller is to come to recognize the sacred in what is broken. What is limping. What is struggling. What is confused. What is not working. The parts of myself that I want to improve, correct, get over etc. Do you have any of those? Any of those parts that you just hope meditation or therapy or psychedelics or exercise will help you get rid of?

Perhaps we could invite them all to the party that our poet friend, Tom Hirons is throwing – a Party for the Broken.

A PARTY FOR THE BROKEN

Tom Hirons

Tonight we will have a party

Only for the broken pieces.

Only the crooked and the blunt ones

Are welcome tonight;

The shattered and the stained can come,

But you perfected ones should stay away.

All the orphans and exiles

Will be arriving soon with their

Bundles of rags and sorrow.

Make room, you bright angels:

Now the wounded are coming home.

Tonight will be a celebration of our tragedies

And our petty stupidities,

Our shameful transgressions,

The unedifying failure

To become what we might have been

In other, more radiant lives.

Here are the unrelinquished griefs

And the never-forgiven slights;

Here is the stuttering clumsiness

And all the stagnant laziness.

Here is the hollow

In my heart.

Come in.

Welcome.

I’m so glad you’re here.

Outside, the Buddhas

And the Saints are laughing.

In here, there is a quieter

Communion of our tragedies.

Sit. There is food and cheap wine,

A warm fire and candles.

Eat. Drink. Then speak,

And we will all weep

Sticky and graceless tears.

At this party, we are dancing

To the tune of ten thousand folksongs,

Each one of imperfection

And darkly holy for it.

This is the party for the broken.

Imperfect music plays

For imperfect dancers.

Imperfect speeches are

Imperfectly spoken.

We bang tables and forget

Our words and

Wash the floor with our tears.

You shattered and stained beauties,

All crooked and graceless as you are,

Blunted by the hard world of death,

Love and the push of time’s spear;

You who are more glorious than statues,

As rich in stories as pirates,

As worthy as comets or stars,

This is the secret I want,

Tonight, to tell you:

Our dark-tongued singing

Reaches heavens even the Saints don’t know;

Our graceless, defiant dancing

Opens up the whole Universe.

The broken world is our country.

The struggle is our homeland.

Tonight, let the Buddhas be silent;

In here, we will raise our glasses

To our brokenness, howl

And sing so loud and badly

That all the bright and dark

Heavens will hear our song.

p.s. The wonderful site Hedgespoken, which carries Tom’s written work as well as that of other gifted writers, along with the incredible art of his partner Rima Staines, is having a Samhain sale. Don’t miss it or the chance to support their soulful offerings!