Glass Houses

I don't really know how to write this well. I really don't know. 

I could tell you that my thoughts are spinning around and around like some misguided missile or ill functioning motor. It has taken me so long to get this footing, to find the soles of my feet gripping the earth without excuses about how the earth was never really there to begin with. 

But this isn't really about me, is it? It's about connection, it's about disconnection. It's about people orbiting around each other but never touching. It's about carefully crafted reasons to not find good reason to let someone in. Let someone in. My glass house nightmare is that we are trapped inside while people look on from the outside, the tools of destruction in our hands. Do we shatter? My friends, do we break? Fragility is connection... the need is there but the consequences are so obvious. Cost benefit ratios, cause and effect, bar charts and graphs- the right answers.

But you don't have it. You don't have the right answers- you never have. Can you look at me in the eyes and tell me you know what it means to crash through glass, running and throwing yourself into the cutting, splintering pieces of glass? It hurts like hell and you will bleed and you will cry. But my god were we made to be fine porcelain? Sitting yourself on a shelf, only useful for impressing and presenting a shinier self. It makes me so tired. I am tired. I need the mess of connecting- the chipped, dull plate that I put on the table for love feasts, the cup I made at a pottery painting place with awkward paint and a chunk missing from its handle. God, make me that plate that cup that honest. 

This is the revolution: vulnerability, passions instead of priorities, vocation not career, love love love love love loving with hope and peace and compassion... and shattering glass houses, breaking tearing down glass crunching beneath our feet as we carefully dig the shards out of who we are. The revolution is connection. And it hurts sometimes, but it is always worth it.