Kintsugi
I have a
strange love of storms.
They make me
feel energized. I suppose this is true of all storms, however the really big
storms, like blizzards and hurricanes, the ones that force us to take
precautions and threaten to cancel our plans, are my favorite. I am not sure
exactly why, but I think it is because of the disruption of the routine. The adrenaline
rush of preparation and the anticipation of the storm’s force are exhilarating.
I feel gravity in the collective of it all; a sense of belonging that we are
all experiencing the same big pause in our day-to-day routines that normally define
our different schedules. And while I do not take pleasure in any damage that
follows the storm, I find great beauty in it’s power to shine a light on the
best of humanity. Neighbors helping neighbors. People checking in on the
elderly. People sharing resources. It is visible love shining through the
aftermath. It inspires me and fills me with hope.
In a hurricane,
there is a predictable wind direction as the storm comes ashore that we have
hopefully braced for. Then the eye comes over us and there is a brief period of
stillness before the backside of the storm comes in, shifting the wind in the
opposite direction. It is in the eye of the storm, the stillness, where its power
is so electric. It is like the shift of a pendulum in that split second between
the peak of the arch and the downward return motion. Like the second the tide stops
moving in and retreats from the shore. A brilliant woman once told me that if you
can focus on your breathing and key in on the second between the breath in and
the breath out, that is where the magic is. That is where the divine finds us.
I feel this
way about the pandemic, and I risk sounding crazy saying so. I want to be sure
to emphasize that to anyone who lost a loved one during this horrible storm, I
am so sorry. I know the pain of losing people; the ones that we knew we would
one day, but not just yet, and the ones that we never anticipated having to learn
to wrap in our memories instead of our arms. I have lived that pain and it is
horrific and while I no longer carry it with me, I can reach back and touch it
anytime that I allow the eyes of my heart to look there. For you, the pendulum
might well be stuck for some time.
The pandemic
hit me like a storm as it approached the horizon and threatened to come ashore.
I felt the adrenaline rush of preparation as we gathered supplies and braced
ourselves for lockdown. Fourteen months ago, fueled with Cortisol in my veins,
I drove with my daughter to our Farm store, the health food store, and yes, the
liquor store wearing masks and gloves to collect the pre-arranged curbside pickup
into the car’s popped trunk, bringing it all home to spray it all down with
alcohol. The storm raged and I remember
the discomfort of not being able to see faces; suddenly living in a world
without smiles. We experienced the devastation of Brad’s job loss after 30 years
of loyalty to his company and the financial unknown of the days ahead.
But also in
this time of lockdown, we paused our routines. We found gratitude for our geography;
for occupying a space that allowed us to be outdoors and for the beautiful
spring weather that welcomed us there. We saw the pandemic illuminate the beauty
of humans finding ways to connect, to share, and to take care of one another. We
saw cities filled with people singing and clapping on their balconies. We saw music
from artists filled with love and hope, spliced together with the adhesive of
technology into an inspirational concert that pulled the collective into one
space.
As the pandemic
raged, the lockdown eventually lifted, and we waded into murky waters filled
with regulations and restrictions. We tread carefully as we returned to our
jobs and watched family members become ill. We watched the children shift from
isolation in zoom classrooms, to masked little faces in school bus windows who
learned to tolerate the sore ears and faceless peers.
We adjusted.
We distanced, we masked, and eventually, we vaccinated. One by one, some with joy
and others like me with trepidation, we stuck needles in our arms to begin to
find our way back. And then one day, after a year and a half of fear, at 2:00
in the afternoon, the president made an announcement. The CDC lifted the mask mandate
and we were free to show our faces. It was the pendulum at the top of the arch,
paused and ready to swing back in the other direction. It was that space
between breath in and breath out where the magic and the divine are found. It
was a return to human relationships. I found myself the next day walking into
the world slowly, blinking to be sure I was seeing clearly. But I did see them.
Faces. Smiles.
As we begin
to heal and to mend our lives, we find ourselves putting the damage back together
bit by bit. For some, there are missing pieces that can never be replaced. Kintsugi
is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold.
The cracks are filled and embossed with gold to make the once broken piece even
more valuable, embracing flaws and imperfections to create something even
stronger and more beautiful.
Our lives,
which have been cracked and broken need Kintsugi. Perhaps this could be the way
forward for us. Maybe we can find beauty, strength and a way to honor our brokenness
by filling the gaps with love.
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