Fill My Cracks With Gold
Earlier today, I read a remarkable article by Omid Safi about the Japanese art of Kintsugi. I was reminded of this ancient practice of repairing cracked or broken ceramics with gold or silver. The resulting pieces are magically beautiful and special. I originally learned about Kintsugi eleven years ago when I was coping with my cancer diagnosis. I loved the concept that broken and mended objects are more beautiful because of their damage and repair. At that time, I didn’t learn the whole story. But now I think I want to know more. Because (in typical Western fashion) by rushing to conclusion, I missed an essential aspect of the art—its spiritual and contemplative aspect.
The Kintsugi artist doesn’t simply repair the object with gold lacquer. He first seeks to understand the piece, to understand its history, where it came from, its purpose, and intrinsic nature. Conversely, here the US, we seek to expediently fix things without understanding them first. We hide the repairs and pretend they never existed. We strive for “as good as new”, without understanding how wrong that approach might be — that some things will never be the same as new, but they can be better. Kintsugi teaches us that breakage and repair are part of the history of things, and is embraced and illuminated, not hidden. We learn that restoring and preserving these once-damaged objects for future generations is an act of love and respect. Central to this is the philosophy of embracing the imperfect nature of things, called wabi-sabi.
A while back, after an especially rough period, I asked my therapist if I was broken. I was dealing with a myriad of consequences that challenged my every action. Physical and emotional pain was omnipresent. Dysfunctional biological processes tested my personal dignity. Intellectually, I knew what I was experiencing was a natural part of my cancer battle. But that was cold comfort at three o’clock in the morning when the sleepless demons of fear and doubt visit your bedside. Of course, the therapist assured me that I was decidedly not broken.
I realize now that despite her assessment, I really was a little broken, but not irreparable.
Referring to the art, Ellen Avril of Cornell University said, “Mending in a way that calls attention to the brokenness of an object became an expression of the Zen spirit of mushin (“no mind”)—nonattachment and the acceptance of given circumstances.”
That “acceptance of given circumstances” is a powerful notion. As survivors, we are ingrained with the need to fight. We call the disease ‘our battle’. But at the same time, we also must learn what we need to accept. We accept the support garments that alleviate the pain of lymphedema, the side-effects of drugs and radiation treatments, and the surgical ravages done to our bodies as we solider on in a very personal war inside our own bodies.
This got me thinking about what it takes to fix my personal cracks and shards—what is the gold lacquer I can use to glue myself back together? One part is most certainly love. Love is the answer to so many questions, and the love of my life has helped hold me together through all of this. I’ll add meditation—time for introspection and reflection so I can look upon this broken piece of pottery and see the value and beauty in it. I guess that means my meditative practice needs a reset. My dear friend Dr. Deming teaches that exercise is the fountain of youth, so let’s add an active life to the prescription. Finally, I’ve learned that sunshine is essential to healing my body & soul. Those things sound like a good start. Overall, I think I can get behind this project.
I am a work in progress.
There are still some cracks and broken pieces, and I’m working to understand the story and meaning of this Me that I’m repairing. I will use the tools and materials that I have to work with. With my beginner Kintsugi methods, I will not hide the imperfections and flaws, but embrace them. Then through this repair, I hope to ultimately become a more beautiful and useful vessel.
