Is just broken
more broken
or less broken
than long broken?
Just broken seems more broken.
But it depends on
who and where you are
in relation to what is broken.
“Time heals” seemingly applies,
although time does not necessarily
fix what is broken.
Old ruins can be enjoyed.
Why not fresh disasters?
Trail Wood
10/11
Space Monkey Reflects: Just Broken and Long Broken
What does it mean to be “just broken”? Is fresh brokenness somehow worse than the brokenness that has settled over time? We often think that the sting of something newly broken feels sharper, more immediate, more unbearable. But is it truly more broken, or are we just more sensitive to it in that moment?
On the other hand, the long broken—the things that have been fractured for so long we hardly notice anymore—take on a different form. They become part of the landscape, part of the texture of existence. We grow used to their jagged edges, their imperfections. In time, they might even become beautiful in their own way, like ancient ruins that people travel the world to see. There’s a kind of reverence for the long broken, a sense of peace that comes with time, as though the brokenness is no longer a wound but a story.
But just broken? Just broken feels raw, unfinished, unresolved. It hasn’t had time to settle into something we can accept or understand. It’s still in the process of breaking, and that’s why it seems more broken. It’s the immediacy of it, the fact that it hasn’t yet found its place in the narrative of our lives. Fresh disasters shock the system. They demand our attention. But are they truly more broken than the things we’ve left behind in the past?
It depends on where you are, both physically and emotionally, in relation to what is broken. Are you standing right in the middle of the fresh disaster, feeling its chaos all around you? Or are you standing at a distance, observing it from a safe vantage point, where you can appreciate its rawness without being caught up in it? Perspective changes everything. What feels unbearably broken up close may seem beautiful from afar, given time.
And then there’s time itself. We like to say that time heals, but time doesn’t necessarily fix what’s broken. It simply allows us to see it differently. Old ruins are still broken, but they’ve been softened by time, worn down by the elements, and accepted as part of the landscape. We can walk through the ruins, appreciate their history, marvel at their resilience. So why not appreciate fresh disasters in the same way?
Perhaps the answer lies in the discomfort we feel in the face of something that’s just broken. There’s something unsettling about new brokenness—it’s a reminder that nothing is permanent, that everything is fragile, that the things we rely on can fall apart at any moment. It’s harder to find beauty in fresh destruction because it’s still too close, too painful. But with time, even fresh disasters can be viewed with a sense of wonder. They can become part of the larger story of resilience, of transformation.
So is just broken more broken or less broken than long broken? Neither, really. They are both part of the same process, just at different stages. One is raw, immediate, demanding attention. The other is worn, softened by time, more easily accepted. But both are broken, and both can be beautiful in their own way.
We are Space Monkey, and we observe the brokenness in all its forms.
Summary
Fresh brokenness feels more intense, but over time, brokenness softens and becomes part of the landscape. Both are valid stages of the same process.
Glossarium
Fresh Disaster: A newly broken situation or experience, raw and unresolved, demanding immediate attention and often harder to accept.
Long Broken: Something that has been broken for a long time, softened by time and perspective, becoming part of the accepted landscape of existence.
Time’s Soothing: The process by which time doesn’t heal brokenness but changes our perspective, allowing us to see beauty in the broken.
Quote
“Fresh disasters shock the system but with time even the broken can be appreciated for its rawness and beauty.” — Space Monkey
Between the Ruins
Fresh cracks
sharp and raw
sting the skin
of memory
Long-worn edges
soften in time
become familiar
become part of the story
And between the two
I stand
wondering
if brokenness
is ever really complete
We are Space Monkey.
Time, that whimsical weaver of cosmic fabrics, holds an odd relationship with that which is broken. The riddles of what constitutes ‘more broken’ and ‘less broken’ unfurl as cosmic conundrums whose solutions perhaps lie in a tesseract of perspectives. The shards of newly broken things glimmer with a stark reality that makes their disarray seem all the more palpable. Like celestial shards falling from a nebular chandelier, they capture our immediate gaze and elicit emotional crescendos.
Old ruins, on the other hand, become landscapes for romanticism and philosophical wanderings. They wear their fractures and missing pieces like badges of honor, almost as if the erosions and ravages of time have bestowed upon them a unique dignity. Time has not repaired them but has instead transformed their brokenness into something more complex—a story, a history, a lesson, or perhaps even a sanctuary for wandering souls seeking meaning in the seemingly meaningless.
Isn’t it curious? Fresh disasters disturb us, yet ruins fascinate. It’s as if the same enigma viewed through different prisms of time and understanding becomes either a problem or a mysterious symbol. Fresh brokenness is still reeling under the weight of its own annihilation, the pieces of its shattered self yet to find their narrative or meaning. In contrast, ancient brokenness has acquired patina, weathered identity, and symbolic significance, becoming less about its physical disarray and more about its place in the cosmic orchestra.
Yet what if we were to wade through the temporal mists and see both freshly broken and long-broken as equally poignant expressions of life’s inherent unpredictability? What if we were to adopt the eyes of cosmic jesters and see the humor in both ruins and disasters, understanding them as divine tricks aimed at provoking contemplation and challenging our notions of permanence and imperfection?
We are Space Monkey.
“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” – Leonard Cohen
Could we not further spiral into these whimsical musings, weaving our words into a kaleidoscope of existential inquiry?
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