Kintsugi is the art of fixing pottery by joining the broken peices with a lacquer mixed with metalling powder (often gold). The effect is stunning, veins of gold or platinum darting across the piece. On the briefest of glances, one can appreciate the respect the Japanese culture has for the beauty in imperfection. When I was growing up, my culture was not like that. In Puerto Rico, if something broke, to keep it was considerered to be bad luck, and we would need to discard the item. I grew up not only not appreciating imperfection, but worse... considering broken things not worthy of fixing. It is no wonder I sometimes consider myself not worthy of goodness. Every little crack my psyche received was only more fodder to hate myself.
When life gets overwhelming, I often feel an urge to escape my situation. Sometimes my mind feels like a pot, simmering to just under a boil. I blow the bubbles with all my might to keep the water from overflowing. But there is always an instant where something happens around me and I stop blowing for a fraction of a second. Not long, but enough for the water to overflow. It makes me feel like a menace in some ways. It makes me feel broken and unlovable, because when the pain is at its worse, the people I love will simply say... “what is WRONG with YOU???" And when that happens, I always feel myself shattering just a little bit more. With each rejection, I reinforce to myself that I am irreparably broken.
In some ways, it would be easier to follow the path I grew up with—toss the broken things aside, sweep the pieces away, and move on. I can’t blame my culture for this; life is hard, and sometimes it seems simpler to discard than to repair. But I can't discard myself. My pottery, though cracked, is still here. I am learning not to run from it. I want to invite those who can see the gold streaks in my imperfections, to accept the beauty in my healing.
I said: what about my eyes?
He said: Keep them on the road.
I said: What about my passion?
He said: Keep it burning.
I said: What about my heart?
He said: Tell me what you hold inside it?
I said: Pain and sorrow.
He said: Stay with it. The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
– Rumi