DW's Blog

Wholeness: Nothing Is Broken, Nothing Is Missing

by DW Green — January 7, 2026

“…everything belongs. Nothing is excluded. Nothing is separate. Nothing is broken, and nothing is missing.”

There’s a warmth that comes with certain words. Not the meaning we’ve been taught, but something deeper—a recognition, a coming home, a feeling of completeness that rises up when the word lands just right. Wholeness has been one of these words for me since I was a child, long before I could articulate what it meant, long before I understood why it filled me with such quiet happiness.

Wholeness. Even now, saying it, writing it, holding it in my awareness—there’s that warmth again. That sense of everything being exactly as it should be. Not because everything is perfect or pleasant or the way I’d prefer it, but because everything belongs. Nothing is excluded. Nothing is separate. Nothing is broken, and nothing is missing.

This isn’t philosophy or spiritual concept. This is felt knowing, as fundamental as breathing, as certain as existence itself.

Not My Wholeness, But THE Wholeness

Before we go further, let me be clear: I’m not speaking about my personal sense of feeling whole or complete, though that may come and go with circumstances and moods. I’m pointing toward something much more fundamental—the Wholeness that is the nature of reality itself, whether I recognize it or not, whether anyone recognizes it or not.

My experience of Wholeness is mine—the particular moments it has revealed itself, the specific ways it shows up in my living, the warmth it brings when I remember it. But Wholeness itself is universal, eternal, unchanging. It’s not something that needs to be achieved or attained. It simply is what is—the complete, undivided nature of the One expressing itself as everything.

This Wholeness was here before fragmentation was invented, before the mind learned to divide reality into acceptable and unacceptable, good and bad, broken and whole. It will be here after all our judgments and categories have been forgotten. It’s the ground of being itself—not as something we need to get to, but as what we’ve never actually left.

The Whole Person

You know how we typically see people? We focus on parts. The smile. The features. The body. The personality traits. The things we like or don’t like. We fragment them into acceptable pieces and unacceptable pieces, into what attracts us and what repels us, into the aspects we approve of and the ones we wish were different.

But every once in a while, you see someone whole. Not analyzing, not judging, not selecting which parts to see and which to overlook. You see the entirety—the history written in their face, the experiences that shaped them, the light and shadow both, the wounded places and the wise places, the whole human being standing in front of you.

And when you see someone this way—completely, without fragmentation—something shifts. They become beautiful, not in the conventional sense, but in the real sense. Because you’re seeing them as they actually are: whole, complete, nothing missing, nothing broken. Even the parts that appear damaged or difficult or challenging—they all belong. They’re all part of the wholeness of this particular expression of consciousness.

This is what genuine connection requires: seeing the whole person, not the edited version, not the parts we’re comfortable with, but the totality. Meeting them in their wholeness rather than in our preferences about who they should be.

Everything Belongs

Here’s what Wholeness keeps teaching me: everything belongs.

Not just the pleasant parts. Not just what we’ve deemed acceptable or spiritual or good. Everything. The shadow and the light. The pain and the joy. The broken places and the healed places. The things we’re proud of and the things we’d rather hide. The dented garbage can and the perfect rose. The annoying cricket and the beautiful symphony.

All of it belongs to the Wholeness of what is.

This isn’t about making everything equal in value or pretending that nothing matters or that all choices are the same. It’s about recognizing that reality doesn’t actually come in the fragmented pieces our minds create. The One expresses itself through infinite forms, and every single form—even the ones we judge as wrong or broken or unwanted—is part of the whole.

When we exclude something, when we say “this doesn’t belong” or “this shouldn’t be,” we’re creating fragmentation where none actually exists. We’re dividing what is inherently undivided. We’re trying to separate ourselves from parts of reality we’d rather not acknowledge.

But Wholeness doesn’t care about our preferences. It includes everything anyway. The question is only whether we’re willing to see it, to recognize it, to stop fighting against the fullness of what is.

Nothing Is Broken

This is the radical claim at the heart of Wholeness: nothing is actually broken.

I can already hear the objections. What about suffering? What about injustice? What about all the things that are genuinely wrong with the world, with ourselves, with life as we’re experiencing it?

Here’s what I mean: from the perspective of Wholeness, even what appears broken is whole. Even what seems damaged is complete. Not because damage doesn’t exist or suffering doesn’t matter, but because the damage and suffering are themselves part of the wholeness of reality. They belong to what is.

A cracked vase is still whole—it’s a whole cracked vase. A wounded heart is still complete—it’s a whole wounded heart, with all its woundedness intact, nothing missing. The person struggling with addiction or depression or failure—they’re not broken people who need to be fixed before they can be whole. They’re whole people who happen to be struggling, and the struggling is part of their wholeness in this moment.

This isn’t spiritual bypassing or toxic positivity. It’s not saying “everything is fine” when things are clearly not fine. It’s saying something deeper: even when things are not fine, even when there’s genuine pain and suffering and need for change, the fundamental nature of reality remains whole. Nothing is separate from the One. Nothing is excluded from what is.

The recognition of Wholeness doesn’t prevent us from working to reduce suffering or create positive change. If anything, it allows us to engage more fully, more compassionately, because we’re not operating from the fiction that some parts of reality are broken and separate and need to be fixed before they can rejoin the whole. We’re working from the recognition that everything already belongs, and change happens within that wholeness, not as a journey from broken to whole.

Seeing With Wholeness

When you see with Wholeness, everything changes. Not the world—the world is already whole. But your perception of it.

You stop fragmenting reality into the pieces you like and the pieces you don’t. You stop trying to edit existence down to only the acceptable parts. You start seeing what’s actually there—all of it, the full catastrophe, the entire beautiful mess, the complete picture without leaving anything out.

Recently, we discovered termites in our kitchen. After removing a section of built-in cabinet, the full scope became visible—an entire wall section eaten away, carved into intricate channels and pathways by countless tiny mandibles doing what termite mandibles do.

My first reaction: ugly. Gross. Damage that needed immediate fixing and removal from sight.

But I kept looking. Over several days, I found myself returning to look at it again. Really seeing it instead of just reacting to it. And something shifted. The patterns the termites had created—the organic architecture of their survival, the natural design emerging from thousands of individual creatures simply being termites—became genuinely interesting. Even beautiful in its own way.

Not because I was trying to put a positive spin on home damage. Not because I was spiritually bypassing the practical reality that yes, this needs repair. But because when I saw the wholeness of it—termites doing what termites do, wood being wood, natural processes unfolding according to their nature—the judgment of “ugly” fell away and what remained was simply what is. And what is, when fully seen, has its own integrity, its own rightness, even when it’s inconvenient or costly or not what we’d prefer.

This is what allows Beauty to appear in the garbage can and the cricket and the homely face and even termite damage. When you see the whole thing—not just the parts you’ve been conditioned to call beautiful—Beauty reveals itself because you’re no longer fragmenting reality into beautiful pieces and ugly pieces. You’re seeing the wholeness, and wholeness is beautiful.

This is what allows Truth to be recognized. When you stop selecting which parts of reality to acknowledge and which to deny, when you meet what is in its entirety, Truth becomes obvious. Because Truth is what is—all of it, not just the comfortable parts.

This is what allows Love to flow. When you see the whole person, the whole situation, the whole moment without fragmentation, Love arises naturally. Because Love is what recognizes itself in all forms, and recognition requires seeing completely rather than selectively.

Wholeness is the ground that allows Beauty, Truth, and Love to be seen clearly. Without it, we’re always fragmenting, always dividing, always separating ourselves from parts of reality we’d rather not acknowledge.

The Illusion of Separation

Here’s what we do: we create divisions where none actually exist. We fragment what is whole into pieces we can manage, categorize, control. We divide the world into me and not-me, acceptable and unacceptable, broken and whole, sacred and profane.

But these divisions are mental constructs, not reality itself. Reality is undivided. The One is expressing itself as everything, and everything is part of the wholeness of what is. There is no actual separation—only the illusion of separation created by the fragmenting mind.

When a wave rises from the ocean, is it separate from the ocean? It appears separate, has its own form and movement, seems to have an independent existence. But it’s ocean the whole time. It never actually left. The separation is apparent, not real.

We’re like waves, thinking we’re separate from the ocean. Creating elaborate stories about our independence, our brokenness, our need to get back to something we never actually left. The whole time, we’re ocean. We’ve always been ocean. We can’t not be ocean. The wholeness has never been absent—only our recognition of it.

The Prayer of Wholeness

There’s a prayer I carry with me, simple words that point toward this recognition:

God be in my head and my understanding.

God be in my eyes and in my seeing.

God be in my mouth and my speaking.

Be in my heart and my thinking.

This isn’t a request for God to enter from outside. It’s a recognition that God—the One, Wholeness itself—is already here, already expressing through every faculty, every capacity, every aspect of being.

When God is in my eyes and my seeing, I see with Wholeness. I see the complete picture rather than fragments. I see what is rather than what I wish were there or fear might be there.

When God is in my understanding, I understand with Wholeness. I comprehend that everything belongs, that nothing is separate, that all of it is the One expressing itself.

When God is in my speaking, I speak from Wholeness. I don’t fragment reality into acceptable and unacceptable parts. I acknowledge what is, completely.

When God is in my heart and my thinking, I feel and think from Wholeness. I recognize that even the wounded parts, even the struggling parts, even the parts I’d rather hide—they all belong to the wholeness of who I am.

This prayer is the practice of Wholeness—not trying to achieve it, but remembering it. Not working toward it, but recognizing what’s already true.

Living From Wholeness

What does it mean to live from Wholeness rather than from fragmentation?

It means seeing people completely rather than in parts. Meeting them in their totality—the pleasant and unpleasant, the easy and difficult, the developed and undeveloped—all of it belonging to who they are.

It means acknowledging your own wholeness even when you feel broken. Recognizing that even the wounded places, even the struggling places, even the parts you judge as wrong or inadequate—they’re all part of the wholeness of you in this moment. Nothing is missing. Nothing needs to be excluded before you can be whole.

It means engaging with life without constantly fragmenting it into good experiences and bad experiences, wanted moments and unwanted moments. Meeting what is, as it is, in its entirety.

It means understanding that change and growth happen within Wholeness, not as a journey from broken to whole. You don’t need to become whole—you already are whole. You only need to remember it, to stop fragmenting yourself and reality into acceptable pieces and unacceptable pieces.

This doesn’t mean you stop wanting things to be different or working toward positive change. It means you do so from the recognition that even what you’re changing is already whole, already belongs, already part of the One expressing itself.

The Recognition

Here’s what I know with the same warm certainty I’ve felt since childhood: Wholeness is the nature of reality itself. Not something we need to achieve or attain, but what we’ve never actually left.

You are whole right now. Not when you fix your problems or overcome your challenges or become who you think you should be. Right now. With all your woundedness and wisdom, your strengths and struggles, your light and shadow—all of it belonging to the wholeness of who you are.

The world is whole right now. Not when suffering ends or justice prevails or everything works out the way we hope. Right now. With all its beauty and tragedy, its joy and pain, its order and chaos—all of it belonging to the wholeness of what is.

Everything belongs. Nothing is excluded. Nothing is broken, and nothing is missing.

This is Wholeness—not as concept or ideal, but as what is always already true, waiting to be recognized by anyone willing to stop fragmenting and start seeing completely.

The Invitation

Look at your life right now, exactly as it is. Not as you wish it were, not as it might become, but as it actually is in this moment.

Can you see the wholeness of it? Can you recognize that even the parts you’d rather change or hide or fix—they all belong? That nothing is actually broken, even what appears damaged? That you’re not fragmented pieces trying to become whole, but wholeness itself temporarily forgetting its nature?

This isn’t easy. The mind is strong, the habit of fragmentation well-worn. We’ve been trained to divide reality into acceptable and unacceptable, to fragment ourselves into good parts and bad parts, to see brokenness everywhere.

But Wholeness is patient. It doesn’t need your recognition to exist—it’s already what is. It simply waits, quietly, for the moment when you’re willing to stop fragmenting and see completely. When you’re willing to acknowledge that everything belongs, that nothing is separate, that there is only One expressing itself as all things.

And when that recognition comes—even briefly, even partially—there’s a warmth to it. A rightness. A sense of coming home to what you’ve always known but temporarily forgot.

Nothing is broken.

Nothing is missing.

Everything belongs.

This is Wholeness.

This has always been Wholeness.

This will always be Wholeness.

The only question is: Will you recognize it?