The Gift of Kintsugi: A Love Letter

Dearest Golden Repair 

kintsugi

 

Broken pieces have always found their way into my life.

It’s no wonder I love my mosaic mirror so… Yet another gift and reminder that I am so very loved. Funny that. And stories that tell of gathering up the scattered fragments of the world, like the Myth of the Shattering Vessel… It’s no wonder I love artists like Sara Fanelli whose life’s work has been to collect forgotten memorabilia, so often discarded artefacts, to create something beautiful and made whole.

This has been my life’s work too, I guess, in one way or another, whether quilting with my Nana or building sandcastles with pieces of seashell or in days spent collaging… Luckily then I had a roommate who loved the sound of tearing paper as I paged and paged and sought out the colours I needed, to weave together again. And, of course, there’s the people. The animals. The sick plants. Like I said, they find me. Or perhaps I just can’t help but seek them out…

But this time, it was I who was in pieces. And I didn’t even know it.  Not really. Until I met you. And with you, so many others who have come to love me for my brokenness.

I would merrily profess to anyone who crossed my path that vulnerability is a powerful force, but for all my talk, I was loathe to see it in myself. If only I could be so very fearless, I secretly wished. So much more like the other, happy-go-lucky humans. But perhaps, in the end, we are all afraid. Of something. And if we have lived, a life worth living anyway, then are not all of us a little worse for wear, frayed at the edges here and there, patched up in parts and weathered by experience…? By that first broken heart. By the loss of a loved one. By a letter of rejection. By each and every small disappointment. By greater disappointments. C’est la vie, as They say.

Who can say… Maybe the alternative is all the more worrying. The path of least resistance? A tree that for all its blossoms may bear no fruit?

But me, I was too proud, you see. I thought I could fix myself… When I was done saving the world. Yeah. As if. Boy, how very foolish of me. As generous as it is fierce, the Universe let me have my moment. Until I was ready to be schooled. Good and proper. It let me think I was a-okay, me, myself and I and a cat. Then I awoke one morning, my heart so filled with love it brought tears to my eyes over my morning cup of Ricoffy. What is one to do with so much love? Well, go forth and LOVE, I decided. With all my heart. But it’s not as simple as all that.

Turns out.

The universe wasn’t done with me yet. (Is it ever?!)

Whatever is pulling the strings up there, It knew all too well that loving others is so so much easier than being loved.

To love another, this is to risk very little. All things said and done. The centre still holds steady. And this little ol’ heart I call my own can repair itself in record time, when it has done nothing but give love. And yet, to embrace the love of another, to feel so very loved, this is when we have to relinquish that pesky interference, Control. Or Fear, is it not in the end?

This is when we are asked to blindly Trust. In Another. In Friendship. In Loyalty. There is no foolproof formula for these things. It’s no brainteaser with the answer at the back. And magic 8 balls are no help when it comes to matters of the heart.

We can only Trust. That is all.

And if I am honest, there are few things scarier than this. It is perhaps the scariest of all. My love is mine. To give, or not. Some may give of it too readily. Others might spend a lifetime withholding. Which is worse? Personally, I’d rather have a lifetime of loving. That’s just me. All the same, there can no denying that it’s a choice. It’s up to each and every one of us. We can either build an impenetrable wall, or tend to an open field, sowing seeds as we traipse along, barefoot for all the thorns.

And yet… Golden Repair. You cared.

It was a strange feeling. I have not allowed for care in my life for some time now… Not like that. Again, it’s nothing personal. That’s just me. But I’m working on it.

So here’s the thing, if you’ll indulge me a moment longer…

With your care, I felt the universe split wide open and scream at me for the book-smart clown I am. My pieces are mine to treasure, for the story they tell. But I’m no good with gold, not on my own. I have been living a half-life, so very hesitant to embrace the love and care of others, lest I ever needed it One Day and found myself without, afraid that this would break me into the kind of pieces I could never piece together. Ever. Again.

Broken.

Forever.

A waste.

Ready for the trash.

Instead, because of your enduring patience and kindness on the kind of day I’d never needed it more,with a warm cuppa, and because of you, just you, I have come to realise that the fear may be inevitable.

And I am afraid. Deeply afraid.

Be that as it may, it won’t stop me from trusting. I will have the final say in the face of fear. In the hands of a true artist and craftsman, broken pieces come to see themselves anew. I know this now. This is a gift that will never be forgotten until I breathe my last in this world.

All my love and eternally your friend,

The Whale Caller  

the-whale-caller

 

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