“It’s no use crying over spilt milk, because all of the forces of the universe were bent on spilling it.”
― W. Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage
When I was a child, if a glass got broken the resulting reaction of the adults around me led me to conclude that it was one of the worst things which could ever happen. If the broken glass also happened to have liquid in it, then the catastrophe was nigh on apocalyptic.
At some point I realised that a broken glass was nothing more than an object breaking free from its present form, and any spillage was liquid liberating itself from the constraints of its vessel.
The drama which those witnessing this event felt the need to indulge in, was simply stress releasing itself, as though they too wanted to escape the confines of their restrictive forms but they needed the help of the broken glass and spilled liquid to give them permission, an excuse to scream and shout, shake it all about.
Breaking glass and the subsequent mess, have been mentors to me, teaching me throughout the years various lessons about the art of life being lived and the diverse ways to explore it.
This post is coupled with – He Sees: Breaking Glass