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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