This smashed-egg glory

There’s no going back, ever.

There’s no going back ten minutes, let alone ten or twenty years.

We cannot retrace our steps to some imagined Eden and start again.

Like the omelette – cracked shells, broken lives – we are what we are, because we’ve been through what we’ve been through.

Unmaking all that is way too fiddly for either heaven or earth.

So no going back from this place where we stand; no useful ‘what if’ or ‘if only’.

But is there a way forward? It’s an obvious question though for an answer this must do:

You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs; yet the omelette is lovely.

So a way forward? Maybe that’s a prayer, maybe that’s where you start.

Or maybe, without knowing, we’re already there and every day a prize.

In the door way to the future, in fine silhouette, we stand cracked, broken but lovely –

and up for being lovely in new ways tomorrow.

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