olivia says

Coming at an end, the lovers
are exhausted like two swimmers. Where
Did it end? There is no telling. No love is
Like an ocean with the dizzy procession of the waves’ boundaries
From which two can emerge exhausted, nor long goodbye
Like death.
Coming at an end. Rather, I would say, like a length
Of coiled rope
Which does not disguise in the final twists of its lengths
Its endings.
But, you will say, we loved
And some parts of us loved
And the rest of us will remain
Two persons. Yes,
Poetry ends like a rope.

- Jack Spicer

A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.

I do not mind living
like this. I cannot bear
living like this.
Oh, everything’s true
at different times
in the capacious day.

- Stephen Dunn 

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

-Rumi 

Because our skin is the full landscape, an ocean,
We must be unforgettable or not at all.

Squids that are never seen alive surface
to follow the moonlight on the water—anything

that flees so constantly must be desirable.
In doing so they run aground or are caught

by their enemy the whale. Sometimes fishermen
hang paper lanterns on the prows of skiffs

and row backwards towards land. It takes
such a long time to believe

in evidence.
Consider the broken moon over the waves,

the missing scent of moonlight
on salt water—eventually

pattern emerges. The giant squid
is rarely seen alive, but whalers often find it

dead in whales. There
it exudes the powerful fragrance,

its spirits—Joy, Fly By Night, Green
Paradise—always working towards

what must become the finished. Ambergris, what
was her name? it moves before me almost within reach—

jasmine, lavender, bergamot, rose…

- Jorie Graham

this article has been floating around lately, and i resisted reading past the first few lines the first few times i opened it because i thought it was just another self-helpy translation of a hindu deity. but, when i opened my eyes, i read the wisdom. that there even is a goddess who is ‘always broken’ — that we can call upon her — reminds us that our most chaotic, shameful, unnerving moments are so utterly HUMAN. even if you don’t like her, the characterization of her crocodile alone makes the article worth reading. akhilanda challenges us to elevate ourselves from the Always Broken to the Always Broken Gods and Goddesses. enjoy!