“Unless you let your bread break and bless and feed others,
you will have no life in you.”
When he said it, they walked away.

Nearly everyone’s looking for better life,
more life, greater life than what is given.

Where’s it at?  Or is there no such thing?
Where’s it at and do I want to go there?

MY bread, MY everything,
My everything I think important,
I need let it break?
How could that be?

Let my bread be broke?
for WHAT?…I choke.
“No bread, No broke,
We’ll die,” they spoke.
And then they walked away.

Ah, there’s the rub against my soul:
MY Bread, MY BREAD…
No breaks allowed.
I want it how I want it
when, where and why.
MY Say…all else at bay.

You gotta have bread,
your very own bread.
Can’t give it away
or let it be taken.

Let your bread break?
Let it BREAK?
Let it break as it will?
Let it or NOT?

Broken Bread?
Won’t that make me a loser?
“Don’t we all lose our bread anyway?
Can’t take it with us.
“No, …but somehow it sustains us.

Broken bread, the hopes and dreams and visions
and things that seldom come true…
’cause life don’t make itself  small enough
just all ’round me and you.

Can’t break my bread…
for life has broken it on me.
“Poor me” the only bread I got…

Co-miserating’s what keeps me going
and going and going, round and round
over and over, back to where I began
…unless I let my bread break?
…those precious plans for how things ought to be?
how me and you and she and he
just “rightfully” ought to be?

The still small voice inside
the one that calls elsewhere,
the where and how and why that has no reason or resources,
the crazy call from unknown quarters…

So, unless I let my bread break,
there will be no life in me?…no life in what I do,
or just something terribly missing…

They said I’d be happy; they said I’d be safe.
Certainty and Security, my bedfellows, chafe.
Where, O where, is the bread I need break?

 by Sister Lea